A Ghost of an Affair

by Ellen March

  “What?” At that her head shot up.

  “Look at me, Grace, what do you see?”

  “A self-centred, egotistical twat,” replied Breece, continuing his assault on his prick. “Sorry. A twat is useful; that fucker isn’t.”

  “Will you shut up!”

  “What did you say? Did you actually tell me to shut up?” His green eyes sparkled with anger. “I hope I misheard, Grace, I really do.”

  “Yes, you misheard.” She would agree to anything just to get the interrogation over with as soon as possible. Especially with Breece witnessing it. She knew she looked less sane with each passing moment.

  “And?” He tilted his head. “What you see is a man in his prime, a man who worships his body, treats it like a temple. And it shows.”

  “How the hell can you stay with this prick?” groaned Breece.

  “While you, Grace, don’t look after yours at all; instead you treat it like a garbage disposal. Pushing everything that you shouldn’t into it.” He paced the room. “Only one chance at life you have, and the way you’re going, you’ll be old before your time.”

  “So what do you suggest?” Her eyes watered, and the ache between her thighs was getting worse. If only he’d suggest a quick jump! She was about to come just watching Breece get off. But she knew that wasn’t possible.

  “First, you will only eat what I tell you, and second, I’ll get you a gym membership. Consider it a gift. Your birthday is coming up, and that can be your present.” He pulled at her plaited hair. “I want this gone. It’s old fashioned. A short bob will do.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Then his words sunk in and she quickly added, “Sorry, we’ve had this discussion before, and I’m not cutting it.”

  “I’d like to see a little bit more enthusiasm, Grace. I’m doing this for your own good. But we’ll leave the issue of your hair for now.” He unfolded his arms. “Plus, I don’t want people talking when they see us out together. I’m aware I attract a lot of female attention.”

  Grace almost shook her head. God, he was so boring and up his own ass. Breece had made her see him for what he was and planted the seed of doubt. Could she go it alone? But she wouldn’t be alone; she’d have Breece.

  Yeah, but for how long? Her thoughts were into a melee, giving her a headache. What if Breece were somehow called home to wherever it was ghosts were destined to go?

  “I work hard for this body. It’s toned to perfection. I’d like to think that when people look at us, they see a beautiful couple. Right now that’s not the impression they are receiving, is it? And whose fault is that?”

  Grace stared at Breece, whose head was thrown back as he came hard in his hand. A drizzle of white sperm smeared his stomach. He let rip a loud rumbling groan, his hips almost rising off the seat.

  Her own fanny twitched, wishing his cock was deep inside. “Oh, God help me. Oh fucking hell,” she breathed in a soft, strained voice.

  “Exactly,” Sage gave a curt nod, “the fault is yours. Although I don’t like the language you used. At least you’re getting the gist.” He paused. “You could also start jogging, take that little fat friend of yours. In fact we could have a weekly weigh-in.”

  Grace nodded, distracted by the sight of Breece as he tidied himself up and tucked his lazy erection away. She breathed a sigh of relief, but the stirring between her legs persisted. Instead, it grew with every passing second, and she prayed Sage would hurry up and finish his scolding. Because she had to do something; her fanny was throwing a screaming tantrum.

  Suddenly she glanced up at Sage. He was undoing his buttons, tugging his shirt out of his trousers. Grace swallowed. Was he really going to screw her? She glanced across at Breece, who had risen to his feet, and by the look on his face he was thinking the same thing.

  “Look at this: pure muscle, hard as nails.” He slapped a hand across his stomach. “This is what you need to achieve, instead of the fat that’s there.” He prodded a finger into her rounded belly, where it sunk in.

  Too late, she tried to suck in her breath, and her face flushed crimson. She didn’t want Breece to witness her shame.

  “Come on.” He took her hand and rolled her fingers into a fist. “Hit me as hard as you can. Right there.” He pointed to his abdomen. Splaying his legs apart, he grinned. Brilliant white teeth glowed against the bronze of his skin.

  Grace shook her head. “No, I can’t. What if I hurt you?”

  “You won’t. Now do as I say, Grace. I’m really getting fed up with repeating myself to you.” His grin faded and his eyes narrowed. “Now.”

  Slowly she rose and brought her arm back. “You’re sure I won’t hurt you?”

  “Positive. This is a wall of steel.” And slapped his stomach again; the muscles rolled hard beneath his palm. “I won’t feel a thing.”

  “Like fuck you won’t.” Breece slammed a hard punch in, just above Grace’s. He watched in satisfaction as Sage went down. “I’ve wanted to do that for quite some time,” he said, wiping his palms against each other as if completing a job well done.

  “Oh my God, are you all right?”

  Sage lay gasping, clutching his stomach and rolled into a ball. “I wasn’t ready,” he said between gasps. “You were supposed to wait.” His eyes watering, he stumbled to his knees and held his stomach, grimacing with pain.

  “I thought you said I couldn’t hurt you?” Taking his arm, she pulled him to his feet and sat him on the coffee table she’d vacated.

  “Yes, well, I should have taken your size into account.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Another flush stained her face.

  “Well, you obviously packed a lot of weight behind that punch. Plus I wasn’t ready, hadn’t steeled myself.”

  Breece shook his head.

  “Are you okay now?”

  He nodded, still clutching himself. “Think I’ll go for a lay down, and whilst I’m there I’ll devise a diet for you.”

  Grace sighed and watched him hobble slowly out of the lounge. Once he was out of sight, she turned to Breece, her hands on her hips. An itch that wasn’t going away teased between her legs, fed by the unforgettable image of Breece fisting himself. “Did you have to punch him so hard?”

  “Yep, and he’s lucky that’s all I did.” He cocked his head, his expression quizzical. “What I don’t get is why you stay with the prick. He’s a bastard to you, ordering you around. He’s insensitive and insulting.”

  Grace heaved a long sigh. She couldn’t answer him.

  If she said it was because she felt honoured to have been chosen over all the other women he could have, she’d come across as shallow. She wondered if the reason Sage stayed with her was because a woman who could have any man wouldn’t tolerate his bullying … or his odd sexual habits. Yet every argument, everything he ordered her to do made a weird sense to her, or if not, Sage always managed to justify himself, and she had gone along with it. Above all, the fear dug deep—the fear that she would be left alone, on the shelf. The opinion she held of herself couldn’t have been lower.

  Breece tried to read the emotions skating across her face. “Did you enjoy the show?”

  “Your wank? You were cruel, Breece, cruel to tease me. But yes, I almost got off myself watching you.”

  “Good.” He pulled her to him and nuzzled her throat. “I was trying to distract you so you wouldn’t take him too much to heart.” His fingers tugged at her plait, freeing it. “Don’t ever cut it, Grace, I love your hair.”

  She arched into him, taking his hand and guiding it between her legs. Her own hand covered his crotch. She could feel him growing hard. “We shouldn’t be doing this; it’s not your day.”

  “Shut the hell up, you crazy woman, and let me make love to you.”

  “Oh God, Breece, please.” Her hand scrambled impatiently inside his pants and pulled his cock out.

  His fingers slipped under her skirt, where he tugged at her knickers and gave them a yank, sending them fluttering to the floor. There was
no foreplay, only a desperate urgency. Grace found herself on her knees, leaning over the table and clutching the edge, her ass in the air, grunting as Breece stormed into her. He didn’t take his time. With one hand he teased her clit as he fucked her hard, staking his claim.

  Determined that she should leave Sage, and accept that she was his alone.

  He knew he was hopelessly in love with her, but he couldn’t help himself. She was special and she was his. His body spooned over her he nipped at her lobe. “Every time I fuck you, Grace, I come alive.”

  “Shit, so do I! Oh Christ, Breece, what are you doing?” She arched into his fingers, ignoring the wood bruising her as he pounded in from behind. He was holding her tight against him, leaving no space between them, nourishing her with his cock, ploughing into her. Again he bit down hard on her shoulder.

  “Breece, I’m going to come ….”

  Grace twisted her head around, seeking his mouth, because that was the only way she wasn’t going to scream. His lips took hers in an open mouth kiss that seared deep. He swallowed her groan as she exploded hard against his hand. Her hips gyrated and writhed against him, under him, and he flooded her.

  She lay limp beneath his big body; her breath coming out is great, big gasps. “How did I ever manage before you came into my life?”

  “Ditto, baby. You don’t know how badly I wish I were alive.” He didn’t want to move. Every part of them was touching, despite their remaining clothing. They had never been so close.

  “Grace, I just remembered something.” Sage, recovered from his gut-wrenching punch, loped down the stairs.

  “Oh hell, get off me.” Grace panicked. Pulling her skirt down, she almost pushed a stunned Breece off of her. Still draped over the table, she gasped for breath.

  Sage stared at her and brushed a hand over his eyes. “What the heck are you doing?”

  “Exercise,” she said, huffing and puffing. “Thought I’d make a start.” She ignored the deep chuckle from Breece.

  “On the table?” he asked, sounding suspicious. Then his gaze lit on her torn knickers, lying in a purple heap on the floor. He bent and picked them up between two fingers. “What are these doing here?”

  “I use them for polishing.” She said the first thing that leapt into her head.

  “Really?”

  “Why else would they be on the floor?”

  He dropped them. “Are you going to get up?”

  As soon as she moved, she realized she’d have carpet burns. Her knees glowed ruby red. She wished her skirt were longer. Slowly Grace scrambled to her feet.

  “What happened to your knees?”

  “Friction. I had one hell of an exercise session. I thought you’d be pleased.” She tossed her hair back. It floated down, a heavy curtain of auburn.

  “I’ll say, baby.” Breece licked the side of her neck.

  “Hmm, really?” He did not look convinced. “Well, I suggest you leave the coffee table work-out there. I’m still not convinced it will take your weight.”

  She ignored his insult and stepped in front of Breece, who’d moved towards him. “What did you want? I thought you were going to have a lay down.”

  “Oh, I’m over that little tap you gave me.”

  “Want another, fucker?” Breece growled menacingly, stepping around Grace.

  “You wanted …?” she prompted. Again, she stepped out in front and used her hip to bump Breece to the side, shifting him away.

  Sage stared at her. “What are you doing?”

  “Swinging my hips. Supposed to be good for the waist.” She swung her hip to the other side and winced at a rebellious muscle.

  “Quite. Well, what I wanted to tell you is that I’ll be leaving early on Sunday morning. And as you’ve already had a few days off, I thought you wouldn’t mind doing my laundry tomorrow.” He stared her down, waiting for a response.

  “Why can’t you do it?” It wasn’t so much the washing—the machine did that—but she hated the ironing with a passion.

  “Grace, now do you see how incredibly selfish you are? I’m a busy man. I need this time to recharge my batteries. Tonight and tomorrow, that’s all I’ve got.” He blew out an exasperated breath. “You’ve had your time off. It’s not as if you do so much in your work. I mean, you’re not skilled. You don’t have to think. In fact, you probably don’t.” He waited. “The very least you can do is my laundry tomorrow.”

  She wished she could say no; instead she gave in. “Okay, is there much? You know I’m no good at ironing.”

  “That’s a good girl. There’s not a lot, only three black bags. And as for the ironing, I sincerely hope I don’t come to regret letting you do it.” He gave her a warning smile that didn’t convey much merriment. “But I’m sure you’ll do a good job. And just think of what will be waiting for you at ten o clock ….”

  Grace jumped in just in time to stop Breece’s arm, which seemed poised to strike again. He tried to shake her off.

  Sage stared. “Another form of exercise?”

  “Yes,” she gasped. “So if you don’t mind, Sage, I’d like to continue alone? I’m highly motivated to get fit, much more than you might ever imagine.”

  He paused, but then with a small shake of his head, turned and left the room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Grace stared out onto the back garden where Sage lounged, reading the paper, a pair of sunglasses tipped on his head. A large parasol shaded him from the hot sun. Guessing he’d sensed her interest, she waved.

  She struggled to smile. Then she wiped her forehead to remove the sweat that hadn’t already trickled down her neck between her breasts and pooled inside her bra. She felt hot, irritable, and fed up. When she’d asked what he had going on Sunday, having automatically assumed it was work, she’d almost thrown his clothes back at him.

  A flaming golf tournament, a relaxing day. She’d rammed the next load into the washing machine. Taking out a few items she’d put in the tumble dryer, she hoped there wouldn’t be so many creases. The rest hung out on the line. They drifted and flapped lazily in the gentle breeze.

  “Grace, could you fetch me out a juice, honey?” He didn’t bother to look up from his paper.

  She gave him a one-fingered salute and poured one, relieved that Breece had gone for a walk. Domestic duties obviously held no interest, and she couldn’t blame him.

  She still fretted about tonight and how he’d cope. Grace prayed he wouldn’t do anything stupid or become violent. She had a strong feeling he wanted to. Hell, he’d already proven he was more than capable. She scrubbed a hand across the nape of her neck and her fingertips came away soaked in perspiration. She was glad her hair was looped high in a ponytail, giving her a slight reprieve from the heat and the auburn mass that normally hung down her back.

  She took his drink out to him.

  Sage glanced up. “How come you’re sweating? Have you been exercising again?” She detected the hope in his voice.

  “Because I’m stuck in there doing your flaming laundry!” she yelled, and all but shoved the glass in his face.

  “You offered.” He checked his drink. “Where’s the ice?” He handed it back. “Come on, Grace, it’s not as if you’re busy. The least you could do is remember to chill the drink. It’s hot out here.”

  She snatched it back and stormed into the house, returning moments later, the ice clanking against the glass. She slammed it down.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Uncharacteristically she snapped at him. “You, that’s what!”

  “Maybe I’ll book you into an anger management course as well.”

  “Do what the hell you like, Sage, but don’t put me down for your bloody laundry duty again!”

  Grace stared at the mound of ironing she’d already gotten through. The room resembled a Chinese laundrette. Shirts hung from hangers at various spots. His trousers were neatly pressed, as were his casual clothes. She wondered if he’d fetched his entire wardrobe, because no way was there so
much when he did his own washing. She’d almost smashed the iron into his face when he’d finally wandered in from the garden and insisted that each sock and pair of boxer shorts also be ironed.

  “Why?” she’d asked, and couldn’t help noticing how cool he looked, whilst she resembled a giant water leak. There wasn’t an inch of her skin that wasn’t bleeding out a stream of perspiration. “No one can see them, and as to your underwear, it might be better if they did.”

  He shook his head and blew a whistle of despair through pursed lips. “Is that all you ever think of?”

  “Pretty much so, yes,” she answered honestly.

  “If you put as much effort into looking after yourself as you do into thinking about sex and my body, you wouldn’t have a weight problem.”

  She could feel her temper igniting. All day long she’d slaved over his clothes. A little bit of praise wouldn’t go amiss. “I don’t have a problem with my size, but it appears you do!” She slammed the iron down, forgetting his pants were under it. “If I disgust you so much, then why stay with me?”

  “You don’t disgust me. If I didn’t think so much of you, I wouldn’t care about your physical appearance, want to improve on it.”

  “What?” She tried to make sense of his words. Shit, he’d done it again, turned her words around. How did he do it? Until the aroma of burning drifted up. “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” She cried, quickly pulling the iron off his singed pants.

  He cricked a brow into a perfect arch. “You do realize they are my favourite?”

  “Were, because they’re no good now.” She stared at the blackened material, damaged beyond repair, a distinct mark of the iron across the crotch.

  “Gravel Emporium.”

  “What?” She peeled the charred material off the iron and flung it into the bin. She cursed when she caught her finger and a pale, watery blister immediately rose.

  “That’s where I bought them. It’s not far from work, so you can pick me up another pair tomorrow.”

  She sucked on her finger, cursing under her breath. “Why me?”