by Emma Holly
A small growl of pleasure broke in his throat. His hand closed tighter on her pubis, two fingers jamming down on her clit as his hips surged forward. The depth and force of his penetration, like he’d knock her womb up into her heart, captivated her. She’d gotten so aroused going down on him she should have guessed this would feel good. Instead, it was a very welcome surprise.
The ache inside her intensified.
“Yes,” she said, reaching back to encourage his movements. “Do me, Connor. Keep fucking me like that.”
He went faster, his chiseled belly slapping against her butt. The contents of the island rattled, silverware and pans they’d put away already.
“I want you,” he groaned. “I love you so much, Georgie.”
She was rocketing to climax, her pussy clamping on his cock helplessly. He rubbed her clitoris in quicker circles, nothing delicate about the hard pressure. She couldn’t speak anymore. Only mewls of pleasure came from her throat.
His cock hardened further, his hips churning like a machine, every stroke full-length and rapid. The head of him ran over something sweet on her well-lubricated wall. Her neck arched back as his bent down.
She teetered on the edge of a truly sublime orgasm.
Connor drove in his deepest yet.
“Fuck,” he gasped.
His cock jerked and spasmed, his ejaculatory instincts holding him locked in her. He felt thicker suddenly, and the deliciousness of being stretched that fraction more triggered her. She went with a throttled scream, a sound she couldn’t recall uttering before.
He cried out too, jerking inside her again. Wetness inundated her and spilled out. Had he come twice that time? He had a crazy capacity for pleasure—giving and taking it.
Finally he relaxed on top of her.
“Don’t move,” she mumbled when he stirred. “I can breathe fine for now.”
He stayed and kissed her temple. Her body was warm all over, sated and relaxed like caramel in the sun.
“I love you,” she said.
“You screamed,” he returned with a small chuckle.
“Impressed you, huh?”
“Nonsense, Georgie. This time I impressed myself.”
LUNA HADN’T INTENDED to visit Georgie yet. Pretending the glorified junk store interested her would require effort. She’d concluded she might as well wait until its “kinks were worked out,” as Georgie put it.
To her surprise, the mansion felt . . . empty without Georgie and her manufactured demon boyfriend in residence. The empress hadn’t interacted much with the couple while they were there. Luna had her own life, certainly her own projects. Because of this, she didn’t understand the restlessness that filled her in their absence.
But maybe what Connor would get up to away from oversight worried her.
Deciding not to quibble about the reason, she drove herself into Black Bear Mountain that evening. The shop was closed, perversely disappointing her. She presumed Georgie and her little friends had enjoyed or at least survived their first day. The GRAND OPENING banner and the multi-colored confetti on the floor suggested a party. Were those helium balloons tied to front counter?
Realizing her nose was pressed to the window, Luna tched and turned away.
For her coronation, twenty male slaves had carried her through the city on a pearl-encrusted, solid gold palanquin. Her courtiers hadn’t tossed confetti. They’d thrown diamonds. The gems had covered the streets in places, sparkling brilliantly underfoot.
The poor had been rich for months on that windfall.
“Balloons,” she derided. Nothing but stretchy bits of rubber filled with gas.
Since she’d come this far, she strode around the corner to the long set of wooden stairs that led up the outside of the building. Georgie’s apartment took up the attic floor. She gathered Connor had been involved in making it livable. The ifrit was good at pretending to enjoy his assigned duties.
A little too good sometimes.
As if to prove it, thumping sex noises beset her ears on the final steps.
Oh for Iblis’s sake, she thought. Don’t those two ever give it a rest?
“I want you,” Connor was groaning. “I love you so much, Georgie.”
Luna’s groomed eyebrows rose. She knew this kind of declaration helped the ifrit maintain possession of Georgie’s heart. Nonetheless, in her opinion, he sounded overly sincere. Had Connor fallen for his mark?
This wouldn’t affect her plans, but it did annoy her. Luna had let the ifrit know, on more than one occasion, that she was open to a dalliance, should he grow weary of the human. Each time, he’d refused politely—with regret, so he said. He claimed if he weren’t sexually exclusive, Georgie would sense it subconsciously. He didn’t want to risk losing his hold on her affections, as Luna had been forced to admit he might. It galled the empress to think the handsome djinni had lied to her.
Was she forever fated to lose treasures to Najat’s twin?
Her lip curled in disgust as Georgie screamed out a climax. The ifrit was skilled—a shocking waste when the empress considered who he was spending that skill on.
Realizing she was frowning hard enough to give herself a headache, she shook off her peevishness. What Connor did and with whom didn’t matter. Once he’d served his purpose and Iksander was sufficiently miserable, Luna could enchant the demon to worship her instead. Long games had been her specialty since she was a girl—the best proof being that she’d become empress.
Her current game wasn’t far from paying off.
By her calculations, the timeline she’d created by killing Georgie’s mother would soon meet up with the one she’d left. All she needed to enjoy her payoff was a bit more patience.
With that reminder, she forced her feet down the stairs again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
—
GHOST
Despite Georgie moving her belongings from Ravenwings, sleeping in a new place was strange. The rafters were closer than she was used to, the scent of exposed wood and brick different. Also different were the sounds of town. Black Bear was no metropolis, but cars swept past occasionally. Their wheels made noises, their headlights creating movement at the windows. The streetlamp outside made her wish she’d hung curtains.
Connor was sound asleep beside her, one of the dead-to-the-world slumbers he occasionally fell into. Georgie wondered if, when this happened, he returned to the place his light had come from. He claimed he never dreamed that he could recall. Georgie had no reason to doubt this. Now and then, though, she sensed there were things he wasn’t a hundred percent upfront about.
A new sound made her sit up. Woken by her movement, Titus mrrp’d at her in complaint.
“Sh,” she soothed, petting him quiet again.
The noise sounded like a woman sobbing—not close by but not too far either. She held her breath as the weeping came again. Still not sure of the source, she got up to pad barefoot to the window. She saw no one down below: no insomniac out late walking, no yowling cat hoping to make friends with Titus. Nothing moved besides tree branches in the wind.
Titus thumped down off the bed to join her.
“Do you hear it?” she asked, picking him up and cuddling him against her.
Hamilton Salvage was directly across the street. The shop was dark at this hour and no one lived in the attic above it. As far as she knew, the space wasn’t converted. The window across from her was a twin for the one she stood behind: a clear, wavery square reinforced with chicken wire.
A white glowing figure suddenly appeared behind it.
“Jesus,” Georgie gasped, every hair on end. The figure looked like a ghost—one of those women in white paranormal shows always went on about. Though Georgie wasn’t close enough to make out the apparition’s features, she gave the impression of being young. Her hair was long and dark, her white robes flowing and romantic. Even from a distance, her expression was despairing.
The look struck a chord in Georgie. She remembered despair; still caug
ht a whiff of it sometimes. If it weren’t for Alma and Connor, she had no idea what her life would be.
A moment later, another shot of adrenaline hit. The specter pressed transparent hands to the window, seeming to see Georgie too.
“Help me,” the woman called. “I’m so afraid, Georgie.”
Connor didn’t do her nerves any good by bolting up in the bed right then.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Georgie’s heart pounded so hard she couldn’t speak for a few seconds. “I think there’s a ghost. Come to the window and see.”
Naturally, he didn’t doubt her. His own background was strange enough. He came to her and put his hand on her back.
“She called my name,” Georgie said. “She’s been crying there for a few minutes.”
She didn’t expect the shiver that raced across Connor’s shoulders. She’d have thought he of all people impossible to spook.
“I think we have to go over there,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed slowly.
“Do you know who it is?” she asked. “Is it someone you knew . . . before?”
He shook his head but not as if he were sure. Come to think of it, there was something familiar about the figure . . .
Georgie decided she couldn’t simply wait where she was. “I’m getting dressed. She seems likes like she’s in trouble.”
As soon as she said it, she felt as if there were no time to waste.
“We’re coming,” she called, gesturing to the woman and hoping she understood. “Don’t disappear before we get there.”
Connor dressed dazedly but as quickly as Georgie.
“Stay,” Georgie ordered Titus, who blinked at them from the bed. He probably would. He liked having all the pillows to himself.
She remembered they had no key only after they hurried across the street. Though she doubted Hamilton Salvage had state of the art alarms, Francine or Tobias would have secured the door. Bad girl rep notwithstanding, Georgie didn’t have the ability to pick locks.
“Shit,” she whispered. “Francine would love to have us arrested for breaking and entering.”
“I’ll get us in,” Connor promised. “No breaking required.”
He cupped his hands above the old-fashioned knob—as if it were a fire and he was warming them. Wondering what he was doing, she looked at him. His eyes were closed, his expression calm.
“I’d like you to open, please,” he said.
He was talking to the door. She guessed it listened. The distinctive snick of a bolt turning met her ears. Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised, but a tingle ran up her spine.
“Wow,” she breathed as Connor flashed a grin. “You might have mentioned you could do that.”
“Normally, I like being normal.” He waved one arm and the door swung open, without the bells jingling. “Will you go first or shall I?”
“I will,” she said. “I think I want you to watch our backs.”
She knew her way around the sales floor; she’d scoped it out enough times. If the situation had been different, she’d have enjoyed poking around without Marianne shadowing her. Hamilton’s stock might be different from Black Cat’s, but it was catnip to her. Rather than dawdle, Georgie headed for the employee stairs, suspecting they’d lead to the attic.
She wasn’t wrong. The splintery door at their top accessed the dark rafters.
She sneezed the second she swung it open. The mustiness was pungent. They sure could use a mouser like Titus over here.
“Georgie!” cried the tearful being they’d come to meet. “I called and called. I thought you’d never hear.”
Georgie put up one hand to shield her eyes from the ghost’s radiance.
“We’re here,” she said. “Hopefully we can help. Um, could I ask how you know me?”
The ghost’s bright light dimmed. “I’m Najat. We’ve been friends since we were girls. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten!”
“Uh,” Georgie said, not sure how to answer this without upsetting the ghost further. She’d experienced many odd things in her life, but meeting this being wasn’t one.
Connor stepped beside her and rubbed her arm, knowing as always when she needed steadying.
“Georgie,” he said in a quiet voice. “The spirit looks like you.”
Now that her glow had gone down a couple lumens, Georgie saw that she did.
“Wow,” she said, her jaw needing picking up. “Apart from your hair being dark, we could be twins.”
“We are twins,” Najat said. “Human and djinniya spirit copies, linked but each living in our own dimension.”
Georgie knew about djinn from reading Ishmael’s books. Was it rude to ask if Najat was a light djinniya or an ifrit?
“I am light,” Najat huffed before she could say a word. “Or I was.” Losing her sureness, the djinniya’s eyes welled up. “Now that I’m dead, I’m not sure how the Creator views me. Maybe I’ve sinned enough to go to Hell. I’ve been afraid to cross over completely. I thought . . . You are human, and you told me you go to church. Maybe you could put in a good word for me.”
Georgie scratched her temple. This was like having a conversation with a fun house mirror. Everything Najat said was off. Georgie hadn’t been to church in ages, besides which she’d never been one to believe her prayers were likelier to be heard than those of other folks.
She did, however, know someone who might have a more direct divine connection.
She looked at Connor. They’d never discussed what he was flat out. He’d only said he was a created being like her. It was hard for her to admit what she thought he was. If she was correct, he’d sacrificed more to be with her than she could imagine being worth.
“Can I tell her?” she asked. “It might comfort her to know someone with real celestial creds would intercede for her.”
Connor’s infinite eyes widened.
“I don’t think that man is supposed to be here,” Najat interrupted, shaking her head firmly. “None of this is right. Your hair is too short and that tattoo on your arm isn’t you at all. We’re secret friends. Why would you bring someone else with you? Plus, where is your apartment? I’ve visited here before. It’s never been empty.”
The ghost was backing away, her voice rising with anxiety. Georgie noticed her transparency increasing, as if she were preparing to fade away.
“Wait,” she said. “Don’t go! I don’t know why I’m not like you remember, or why I don’t remember you. I want to help, though. Truly. And I think we can. Connor is a super spiritual person. If anyone can guide you now, it’s him.”
Najat’s glow stopped flickering. “Is he a human priest?”
When Georgie searched Connor’s face, he nodded his permission to confide in their visitor. Her eyes pricked with emotion. She’d never been so glad for what he was, for his compassion and decency.
“He’s an angel,” Georgie said. “A really good loving one.”
Najat’s ghostly mouth formed an O. She snapped it shut a moment later, her expression changing unexpectedly to outrage. “He can’t be an angel. If he were, he’d never deign speak to me.”
THOUGHTS SWIRLED THROUGH Connor dizzyingly. Georgie knew he was an angel? And this djinniya ghost considered that a bad thing? Why wouldn’t an angel speak to her? Weren’t all his brethren as loving as he was? How did Najat know and not-know Georgie? What on earth was happening?
Stop, he thought, forcing his mind to still.
Knowledge teased him, just out of reach. He was meant to remember something. He’d traveled somewhere while he slept tonight. He’d spoken to someone large and bright whose face he couldn’t see. Whoever it was had advised him how to respond. When the words came to him, he spoke them unquestioningly.
“I’m just a small angel. I don’t get involved in politics.”
“Politics?” Georgie asked at the same time Najat scoffed, “Hah!”
“After He created humans, a disagreement broke out between God and djinn.” The explanatio
n came to Connor as automatically as his previous response. Until that moment he hadn’t been familiar with the account.
“God made us before you,” Najat elaborated to Georgie. “Out of smokeless fire. His angels were our friends. Then, when He made humans out of clay and decided you were better, He ordered everyone to bow down to His new favorites. Angels obeyed. Djinn refused. For our pride, God cast us out of His good graces. From that day to this, our power to hear the voice of angels was revoked—a change not a single one of you protested.”
She waved toward Connor peevishly.
“I wasn’t there when that occurred,” he said. “Or not that I’m aware. I’ve only been an individual consciousness for a handful of years.”
Georgie slid her palm up his back, rubbing his spine warmly. She continued speaking to Najat. “You make it sound as if you hate humans. If that’s the case, how did you and the me-you-remember become friends?”
“We don’t hate you,” Najat denied, her angry tone moderating. “Resent you, perhaps. Anyway, spirit twins always fascinate each other. We both faced challenging circumstances. And we were lonely. We couldn’t help drawing together.”
“Tell us,” Connor said. “If you share your story, maybe we’ll understand how to help.”
Najat looked at him unsurely.
“You can trust him,” Georgie said.
“You can,” he agreed. “You came all this way. We would like to listen. Shouldn’t you give us a chance?” He removed his zip-up hoodie with the Black Cat logo and spread it on the floor. Though a ghost wouldn’t need the padding, he thought the gesture might comfort her. “Sit, Najat. Unburden yourself to us.”
This offer was too much to resist. The ghost was a slender woman, not as strong of build as Georgie. She sat gracefully and with endearing dignity—despite the slightly prim thinning of her lips.
Georgie and Connor sat as well. Maybe because Najat glowed, Connor felt as if they’d gathered at a campfire. Georgie rested her hand and chin on his shoulder to listen more comfortably. Najat appeared disconcerted by this sign of their closeness.
