by Ellen March
“Now!” The one word was barked out.
She jumped. Her eyes widened in shock. He’d never spoken to her like that. Spoken down to her, yes, but he’d never used the tone of authority that was in his voice now. Expecting total acquiescence. She did as he asked, sidling up to the bed. His eyes remained closed.
“Why?” His hand moved, taking hers. She tried to snatch it away but he held it firm.
“Why what?”
“Don’t play games with me.”
Grace frowned. This wasn’t Sage talking. By now he’d be making her squirm with embarrassment.
“Sage?” Her heart began to hammer erratically in her chest. The fingers that gripped hers were sending flames of fire through her.
“I told you not to commit suicide.” His eyes flashed open to reveal dark chocolate irises. A hint of a smile played at his mouth. “But, baby, I’m so glad you did and got it wrong.”
Grace wobbled as the oxygen evacuated her lungs. “Breece?”
“I’d like to say, ‘in the flesh, baby,’ but I’m in this twat’s body.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t believe you, Sage. You’re messing with me. You think this is a joke!” Again the tears fell, and she wrenched her hand out of his, stumbling back. “How could you do this to me? You know how much I loved him, still do!”
“Grace, it’s me!” He struggled to sit up, but hell, being alive meant enduring the aches and pains.
And being hit by a lorry had a way of hurting a man.
She continued to stare at him, and his eyes—the colour of sweet chocolate—melted over her. Grace couldn’t understand how they had changed from the splintering green.
The windows of the soul! That must be it. Eyes were the windows of the soul.
Her hand flew to her throat. It couldn’t be. She swallowed hard and took a step towards him.
His soul was in Sage’s body?
“Ask me a question that only Breece would know.” He watched as she warily hovered over him, relieved that she was beginning to believe him.
“What happened on our last night together? What did you ask of me?”
“To fuck your ass, baby, and I did just that.” He smirked and held his arms out for her, wincing when she landed on top of him. Forgetting his injuries, she was all over him. Her body trembled and happy tears streamed down her face.
“Oh my God, Breece, but how? How did this happen?”
“I’d never left you, baby, but I was incapable of touching you, of showing you I was there.” With a shaky hand he smoothed her hair back. “Each single tear you shed, I matched with two. You don’t know how it tore at me not to be able to comfort you.” His voice became rougher. “And then you had to try what I told you not to do.”
“I couldn’t live without you! I didn’t want to.”
“I took over Sage’s mind, pushing him into looking out for you.” He gave a short, sharp snort. “But hell, he put up a fight, and kept pushing me out. Only one thing concerned him and that was what he wanted.”
“Tell me about it.” Yet Grace couldn’t come to terms with the fact that she was talking about the man she was looking at.
“When I realized what you were about to do, I had to act. I entered his body, pushed him so he was in front of you.” His hand cupped her face. “The impact killed him immediately, but I stayed put.”
“Serious? He’s dead?”
“Very much so. He’s probably having a chat with Frank as we speak.” He pulled her head down, sealing her lips with his, probing with his tongue. When he finished the kiss, he said, “But of all the bodies I had to inherit, it had to be that wanker’s!”
“Shit, I just had a thought,” Grace said. “How are you going to operate?” The thought of Breece loose with a scalpel sent the fear of God through her.
“I’m not. I’ve decided to take early retirement due to my, er, injuries. I’m medically unfit. I can arrange that. And then, baby, we get married.”
Epilogue
Two months had elapsed since the accident.
Breece leaned back against a palm tree. The sand gleamed a brilliant white, and the water shimmered beneath the sun. Alongside him lay Grace, her head in his lap, her long hair spread beneath her, her eyes closed. He tickled a finger along the line of her lip, teasing her.
She slapped his hand away.
He repeated the action.
“Breece, you know what you’re asking?” She squealed as he rolled her over, covering her with his body. Granules of sand stuck to his skin.
“I know what I want, Mrs. Denson.” He nuzzled his head into her neck. “What I intend on having is lazy loving.”
She giggled and pulled his head down, sparing a fleeting glance around. The beach was deserted.
The wedding had taken place two weeks ago, coinciding with his name change by deed poll. He’d muscled up, working out on weights, and let his hair grow until there was a permanent ‘just been fucked’ look about him.
Which, these days, he usually had.
He’d had a wicked pay-off from the hospital—the pension and Sage’s savings transferred into his account. Breece Denson was now officially alive and kicking.
“I want to make love to you again.” He unhitched the clasp on her bikini then skirted down and tugged at the ties of her bottoms. “You’re overdressed.”
Her hand stole over his cock; he’d already stepped out of his boxers. No white marks marred his bronzed body. She ran her fingers slowly down the sheer length then dipped further. “I love your balls,” she whispered, cupping them and squeezing.
“Is that all you love?”
She gave a shriek when he picked her up, striding towards the ocean that lapped at the sand. He continued until he was waist deep before sliding her down his body.
Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her legs around his waist, and she felt his cock snug against her. Grace licked at him, sweeping her tongue across his throat and tasting the mixture of salt and sun cream. Her tongue feathered over his lips, seeking him out.
Breece growled and snatched her to him. His mouth plundered hers, his cock throbbed, and his hands held her hips as he thrust up. In one smooth stroke, he filled her to bursting and began to push into her.
She leaned back, her arms gliding through the water and her hair fanning around her like a flaming halo. Breece fucked her hard, grinding his hips against hers, and as they moved together the current moved against them. The water swayed and teased.
“Harder,” muttered Grace, her dark gaze fixed on him, their connection unbroken. “Oh, God!” she screamed as a squall of heat exploded in the pit of her stomach.
Breece let out a victorious holler—“Fuck fuck fuck!”—and emptied himself inside her.
He pulled her back into his arms, and she draped herself over him. His cock was still pussy deep, and her sex clenched him tight. She wasn’t willing to let him go. “Breece, you don’t know how glad I am we held that séance, because trust me, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened.” She ran her fingers through his tousled hair. As each day passed he looked a little more like the man she’d first met. “I love you so much!”
“Ditto, baby. Now how about a bit more of that lazy loving?” Still holding her, he waded out of the ocean and dropped them both down to where the surf crashed in. It foamed around their bodies, covering them in a dusting of golden sand. He rolled over, holding her beneath him. His cock hadn’t moved; his erection remained heavy and hard, deep inside.
“How do you manage that?”
“That’s a little something I learnt from being a ghost.” His grin was wickedly sinful. “Here’s a little something for you.” His hips slammed into her welcoming body. The sweet whimper that broke out shivered over him as the sun’s hot rays stroked the both. He leaned forward. “I love you, Grace Denson.”
“Show me how much.”
“With pleasure, but be warned: you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
Her chuckle burst over him. �
�Then you’ll have to carry me.”
* * *
Amy sat and stared at the Ouija board. She hadn’t used it since that day with Grace. But she was curious. When Grace had explained that Sage was dead and Breece was alive, it had taken her days to get her head around the concept.
It was only talking to Breece and watching the interaction between them that had changed her mind. That, along with his beautiful chocolate eyes. And then he’d let his hair grow. It was no longer splinter short, shaved to his head. It flicked and feathered at the collar.
She took another glug of wine for courage. And hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. Yet reasoned Grace wasn’t here, wasn’t going to be cornered into asking for proof.
She asked the question out loud.
“Is anyone there?”
It immediately moved to yes.
“Your name?”
Sage.
“Do you know who I am?”
No, should I? You’re a bit on the fat side, though.
“Less of the fat,” warned Amy, realizing his personality was bitchy as ever.
There would be if you didn’t eat so many biscuits.
“Stop being insulting.”
It’s the truth. Now where am I?
“Dead. That’s as much as I know.”
Stop bullshitting me.
“I’m not.”
Silence followed.
“How do you feel?”
Horny. Don’t know why, but I’ve got one hell of a hard on.
Now this could be interesting, she reasoned. “I beg your pardon?”
You heard me. It surprised me as well. Fancy doing something about it?
“It’s not Saturday night.”
What’s that got to do with me fucking you?
Her eyes grew wide. Hmm, he’d obviously forgotten his fetish for Saturdays at ten. “Have you got a big cock?”
Yep.
She paused. A delicious heat steamed through her panties. “Prove it.”
A whisper of a laugh echoed around the room, and Amy grinned. This most definitely was going to be the start of a glorious affair.
A snag of a smile teased his lips, and Sage rubbed a hand over his erection. He didn’t know what had come over him. But if he was indeed dead, his cock wasn’t. It was the liveliest he’d ever seen it. His glance lit on the chubby girl—he’d work on her, get her to lose weight, restyle her hair—but at the moment she had exactly what he wanted.
A fanny and a sex drive to match his newly discovered one.
There were definitely some perks to death.
* * *
Ellen March and her husband live on top of a mountain in Wales, which is ideal in the summer but not so much in the winter months or when it rains. She has three grown children, one suicidal cat—it really does have nine lives—and five Alaskan Malamutes. One of her hobbies is showing and working them. Ellen’s first love, however, is reading and writing. Since childhood, she has devoured every romance and fantasy she can get her hands on and enjoys acting out her own fantasies in print.
Her body of work includes erotic romance, psychological thrillers, and supernatural fantasies. She has published three novels in the Doms of Drakos series—Escorting Sydney, One Night in Heaven, and Shadow Play (Ravenous Romance)—and two with Fanny Press so far: Promises and His Girl Friday. Fanny Press will be publishing more of Ellen’s erotic romances in 2014 and beyond.
You can find her online at ellenmarch.jimdo.com.
