“You see a ghost and experience poltergeist type activity all in one day, for the first time ever, and all you can think about is getting into my pants?” He pressed me back against the arm of the sofa, his lithe body a warm and welcome weight against me. The fingers in my neck and in my hair moved to my throat, exerting just enough pressure to be interesting, not enough to make me nervous. “Maybe I’m the one with the magic dick then.”
“One way to find out,” I chuckled. I tipped my head back, letting him stroke my throat, feeling the heaviness of his gaze as he moved it over my face, moved down my throat and chest. He rested his thumbs just below my Adam’s apple and leaned forward, rocking his hips into mine as he kissed me again. My half-hard cock made the leap from half to wholly as his tongue traced the seam of my lips. I opened for him, my bones melting into the sofa when his tongue stroked mine. I groaned loud and wanton, remembering belatedly that there were other people in the house but deciding, as Oscar (Because who was I kidding? I couldn’t keep calling him Fellowes, not now.) drew hard on my tongue, sending a spike of electric heat straight to my cock, precum spurting from my tip and cooling uncomfortably on the cotton of my briefs. He rocked back, grinding slow and filthy against my hard-on and breathing hard. His hands trailed from my throat to my chest, resting his weight there as he caught his breath. “Fuck,” I panted. “I mean, fuck not… fuck.”
He chuckled weakly, tipping his head back to look up at the ceiling as his breathing slowed. Another rock of his hips, this time deep and slow, and he closed his eyes, leaning to rest his head against my chest. “I have a confession,” he said quietly, words tickling me as he spoke them against the skin exposed where my shirt buttons were pulling under his weight and shifting. “I looked you up after the meeting with Jacob. Before he sent his little dossier on you. I was annoyed because he’d replaced Victor Milton with some unknown guy who had zero experience in paranormal investigation. And…” he tipped his head to one side, twisting to peer up at me with one eye like an adorable little flounder. Wait… that was totally not sexy at all. Ew. “I thought you were hot. I mean, I also thought you looked like a stuck up prick, but a hot one.”
“Er, thanks?”
“And, if I’m going to be entirely honest – “
“Honesty is the best policy if you’re about to grope someone’s genitals.”
“That’s my new motto.”
“Mine is Et habere magicae coles.”
He tipped his face back up towards me. “You know, your skepticism is rubbing off on me. I demand proof.”
“Just my skepticism, hm?” I pulled him to my chest as I laid back against the arm of the sofa, our mouths crashing together once more. We were like teenagers without parents at home, groping and grinding in a dark room, the only light the soft orange glow of the battery operated lights in the foyer. He gasped when I slid my hands to his ass and ground us together, hard lengths rubbing against fabric and each other. Wordlessly, he wiggled a hand between us, both of us loathe to stop dry humping, and managed to unfasten my fly and start to work on his own. “No, let me.” I nipped his earlobe and he groaned, drawing back his hand just enough for me to get my fingers past his waistband. He was larger than I’d expected but not obscenely so. He’d feel amazing inside me, filling me, that sweet curve of his cock angled just right to hit my prostate, I was sure of it.
“Not tonight, but soon, I hope,” he breathed against my collar bone.
“I said the loud part quiet and the quiet part loud, didn’t I?”
He hummed agreement, bucking his hips against my hand. Cussing and fussing and a minute or so later, we’d both managed to push our pants and briefs down enough for me to wrap my hand around both of us. “Can I?” he moaned, his hand joining mine around our cocks. He was a bit longer than me, but I was thicker. We were both leaking, precum dripping over our fingers as we started to find our rhythm. His small, needy noises drove me to the edge faster than I wanted, but I was unable to keep from goading him further. Working my thumb free, I used it to tease the head of his cock as his foreskin slipped down, pressing my thumb against his slit with each down stroke. His cry of surprised pleasure just a few seconds later echoed off the high ceilings and, I’m sure, scared someone in the kitchens if the clatter of metal utensils on tile was anything to go by. “Weems,” He panted. “Julian, fuck!”
“Soon,” I promised, smiling against his open lips, slipping my tongue against his as he struggled to catch his breath. His spend slicked the way for me, his shaking fingers still moving with mine. It didn’t take much before I was spilling into our joined hands, the weight of Fellowes—Oscar – on my chest grounding me before I could worry about who may have overheard us, what they would think.
We lay together for a good long while, listening to someone moving in the kitchen and making a lot of noise. Finally, he shifted with a pained groan. “I hope we didn’t ruin the upholstery.”
Not exactly pillow talk, but I’d take it. “We’ll tell anyone who notices that it was a ghost.” At his confused look, I added, “Ectoplasm.”
“You are so gross.”
“Yeah but you’re laughing.” I let him roll off me and shrug out of his t-shirt.
“Must have been your magicae coles,” he teased. “It’s rendered me insensible. Here.” He passed me his shirt and I made quick work of cleaning my hand, checking for damage to the sofa. “Looks like we’ll get away with it this time,” he said, and we both paused, not quite looking at one another. “Um, I don’t mean that we’re doing this behind someone’s back or anything,” he said quickly. “I’m not seeing anyone so there’s nothing to worry about there.”
“Same here,” I admitted. “But maybe we should still be kind of quiet about this, at least till we film the first few episodes, huh? I don’t want Jacob or anyone to try and make it an angle.” It was the truth, but not all of it. I was also uncertain if we’d do this again, no matter how sexy and, yes, interesting I found him. I didn’t want to set up false expectations for either one of us.
He nodded, taking his sodden shirt with a moue of distaste. “It’s about three,” he sighed. “We should get some sleep.” A panicked look crossed his face. “I mean—”
“In our own rooms, I know,” I chuckled. “I can at least walk you upstairs. You’re literally right across the hall from me.”
We padded up the stairs, barefoot and holding our shoes. The noise in the kitchen had stopped but Oscar still tilted his head like he heard something behind us. “Sorry,” he murmured when he noticed me looking. “Professional hazard. I overhear things sometimes.”
I knew he didn’t mean people. Not like I did. I just nodded.
We reached our rooms in relative quiet, Oscar sneaking glances behind us as if he expected someone to come around the corner from the stairs. “Good night,” I finally said when we had just stood there for what felt like a really awkward amount of time.
“Oh, um. Night.” He embraced me quickly, planting a solid kiss on my cheek before darting into his room, his ears bright pink in the dim hallway light. I let myself into my own room across the hall, locking the door behind me and turning on the light to flood the space with the bright glow of the overhead lamp. A tiny little part of me unwound, relieved to find the room empty.
Who did you think you’d see? A specter demanding their diary back?
I set my shoes aside and stripped down, ducking into the small en suite to take a quick shower before flinging myself down on the pin poster bed. I could still smell Oscar on me, the pine-citrus of that cologne and the whiff of menthol, the bitter salt of his release I knew had to be sense memory and not really there, not after how I’d scrubbed my hands. We’d only been apart half an hour and I was already thinking of a way to do that again, to see what sounds I could wring from him. Better yet, which ones could he get from me? I tugged the quilt up over my bare back and closed my eyes, trying to make sleep come, but a sharp knock fell on the door, startling me out of my warm doze.
�
�Fuck,” I muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Sleep-drunk, I rolled to my feet, dragging the thin quilt with me. “Just a minute.” The twinkling little hope that it’d be Oscar, unable to wait any longer, sparked bright in my belly, waking up those butterflies that had fallen asleep before I did. I flicked open the latch and opened the door, already half smiling, only to draw up short. “Jessica. Um. Sorry.” I tugged the quilt closer over my bare chest, but her amused smirk told me she’d already had an eyeful. “Is something wrong? It’s…” I squinted, unable to make out the analog clock on the bedside table. “It’s so late it’s early,” I finished pathetically.
Her lips twisted into a frown of unease. “Something’s wrong and I can’t do anything about it. I tried. I’ve been trying. But I’m on the wrong frequency or something.” She waved her hand, clutching her phone, towards the stairs.
“Huh?” Little known fact but I am my most eloquent when I’ve had the least rest.
“Just come on,” she insisted, stepping back into the shadows of the corridor.
“Let me grab a shirt.”
“Hurry. She won’t make it if you drag your feet!”
The urgency in her tone was bone-jarringly frantic, not just the agitation of a harried PA. “Is someone hurt?”
“No. Well. Not hurt but she’s… Oh!”
I yanked a clean t-shirt over my head and grabbed the lantern, turning it to a mid-level of brightness. “Jess?” She wasn’t outside my door. The entire corridor, save for my circle of blue-white light, was deep in shadow.
“Down here,” she called softly. She was near the far end of the corridor, past the bedrooms and the old study being used as the booth room. I cautiously moved towards Jessica’s voice, the lantern catching her wide-eyed expression staring at me from the narrow door leading to the old service stairs. “Come on. This will be faster than the main stairs. It leads directly to the hall outside their room.”
“Their… CeCe. Is something wrong with CeCe?” I didn’t run but it was a near thing. Jessica stood back and let me yank on the old door, pulling hard against the time-swollen wood to make it pop open. She edged past me, dashing down the steps on light feet, barely making a sound as I followed more cautiously but quickly behind her. “Jess, talk to me, goddamn it!”
“She’s sick,” Jessica finally said. “It’s bad. I tried to stop her but…” she trailed off, moving back so I could use brute force on the door at the landing. It was easier to open, swinging out onto the thickly carpeted corridor of the second floor. At first, I didn’t hear a thing other than Jessica’s frantic muttering, something about trying to get her attention, trying to stop her. But then I heard gagging, crying. “Help her,” Jessica pleaded. I brushed past her, hoping CeCe hadn’t locked the door as I threw my shoulder against it and turned the knob.
My sister lay sprawled on the floor, half in the bathroom. No sweat-dappled notions of pale, unwell heroines here. She was covered in blood-tinged vomit, her color distinctly gray in the lantern-glow. “Jules,” she gasped. “I’m… I think I’m dying. Jules…” She shuddered, her body arching as she cried out.
“Call 911. Call them!” I shouted. Footsteps pounded away down the hall, a woman’s voice shouting for someone to get a working phone. The spotty power meant few of us had been able to recharge our phones, only those of us who had a compatible battery operated charger had managed to baby along a full charge between outages. “Cec, what happened? Talk to me. Cecily, open your eyes!” I barked.
She shook her head, lips pressed into a dry, thin line. “I thought it was my leg, infected,” she said weakly, making a flapping gesture at her wound. It looked angry, but not infected to my untrained eye. No streaks, no pus, just an ugly scar in the making. “Felt hot all over. Like a fever. Then couldn’t stop puking.” She arched again, twisting away as she heaved, flecks of blood dotting her lips when she collapsed back to the floor. Her eyes fluttered, dull and filmy with tiny pinpricks of broken vessels starting to show in the whites. “Where’s Jacob?” she asked, voice rough and thready. “I need… I need…”
“He’s coming,” I lied. He hadn’t come back from the hotel yet, as far as I knew. Charlie had returned with everyone’s dinner order and news that the roads had been reopened, the flooding greatly diminished save for a few spots where the local police department had set up road blocks and detours. “We’re getting you to the hospital, okay?”
She laughed, a weak and rattling sound. “I don’t think she’d like that at all.” Her head lolled to one side, her eyes moving listlessly like she was tracking something. Gooseflesh raced over my body, my lizard brain demanding I turn around, demanding I hide from something that wasn’t there, my fear for my sister transmuting into dread of nameless things. Cec’s eyes drifted closed but she was breathing still, her fingers plucking at my hand, my shirt where it hung away from my body. She was fretful, her lips moving on silent words as time dragged on. Deliberate footsteps dragged my attention to the door. I expected to see Jessica and was taken aback to see Oscar, sleep-mussed but alert, standing in the darkened doorway. “I told Jess to call 911 but I don’t know,” I babbled. “I don’t know what to do!”
“I called them,” he assured me, moving gingerly to my side. “CeCe, can you hear me? Ezra and Charlie have gone down to the road to wave in the ambulance, darling. No helicopters for you, I’m afraid. Better luck next time.” He lowered his voice, leaning closer to me to add, “There’s apparently a huge accident on the highway just outside of town. The helicopter is otherwise engaged.” He made it sound so formal, so polite. I’m sorry, the emergency service declines to attend this life or death situation due to previous commitments. I don’t know what my face showed—probably sheer, unadulterated panic despite my best efforts—but whatever it was made Oscar reach for me, laying his arm across my shoulders and pulling me into his side. He wasn’t looking at Cec but darting glances around the room, like she had been. A twisty little thought tried to worm it’s way into my consciousness but I tamped it down without mercy. Cec drew in a shaking, gasping breath and opened her eyes to pin Oscar. “I can see her,” she said. “Does this mean I’m dying?” She rolled her eyes and found me. “Don’t make that face, Jules,” she breathed. “Unclench.”
“You’re not dying,” I said, my voice closer to a sob than not. “Not if you’re still giving me Hell.”
Oscar tentatively reached out, uncurling his fingers to brush her sweaty, filthy hair from her face. “They’ll be here soon,” he soothed. Cec’s body twisted again, albeit weakly, and she nodded. By the time the heavy feet of the paramedics sounded from down the corridor, she was unconscious and breathing threadily. Oscar tugged me out of the way while they stabilized her as best they could and moved her onto a backboard to transport down the stairs.
“Are you her husband?” the paramedic in charge demanded, taking in Oscar’s arm around my shoulders with a raised brow. I shook my head. “Brother. Her husband’s in town at a, uh, some business thing.”
She made a face. “You guys are filming the ghost show, huh?” Her gaze landed on CeCe, being carefully and quickly carried by the other two medics out of the room. “Weird shit always happens here,” she muttered. “You can ride along,” she added to me. “We’re gonna need to ask some questions.”
Oscar dropped his arm. “We’ll hold down the fort,” he murmured. “Be careful.”
“Seriously?” I asked on a watery laugh. He offered me a small smile, standing back as I followed the lead paramedic from the room, through the knot of crew members who’d gathered outside CeCe’s door.
“Don’t touch anything,” I heard him say. “We don’t know what happened. Everyone get back to your rooms.” I glanced back to see him one more time before heading down the stairs but a bright blur obscured all by his vague shape, turning him into a phantom himself.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Oscar
There’s a peculiar sort of resonance to the quiet that comes after an emergency. The ambulance took away CeCe and
Julian, disappearing down the dark and sodden drive, the deep shadows of the trees near the road swallowing the tail lights’ glow. Everyone had been gathered on the porch in a grim going away party and trailed back inside quietly once the ambulance was gone. Stella lingered with me on the steps, staring off into the dark for several long minutes.
“She’s always been a dramatic bitch,” she finally said. “Fuck.”
Ghosts I could read. People were harder. “I’m sorry?”
“CeCe. She’s always doing shit like this. Well, maybe not this extravagant,” she added with a shrug. She gestured towards my jumper pocket. “Can I bum one of those?”
“Menthol okay?” I pulled out the soft pack, down to my last three smokes, and held it out to her. She made a face but took one anyway, plucking my lighter from the cellophane wrapper where I’d stashed it and lighting up before handing both pack and lighter back. “I don’t think this is a play for attention,” I finally said after we’d both taken a few drags off our cigarettes. “You can’t fake this sort of thing.”
“Last year,” she said on an exhale of blue-gray smoke, “she withdrew her petition for divorce when she found out Jake and I were engaged.”
Oh. Hello. “Ah.”
Stella smirked. “Yeah. Ah. They’d been separated for a while. Totally lying their asses off publicly because they’ve got this power couple image, you know? Hell, they were even lying to Julian. Though, to be honest, I don’t think he’d have even known since he had his own drama going on.”
The way she dismissed whatever had been going on with Julian as drama made my hackles rise. I only had the vaguest notion of something bad that had happened to him, or with him. Something that had cost him his job. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to wait and hear it from him whenever he’s ready to talk.”
“Y’all didn’t seem much in the talking mood earlier.”
Her sly smirk was nauseating. She was a bully, that was plain for anyone to see. The sort that took special glee not in physical harm but misery and embarrassment.
Bump in the Night Page 15