Ghost Hunter

by Serena Akeroyd

  I can’t deal with the cop’s curiosity. Not when I feel like I’m under attack. This isn’t just about me anymore. This is about Drake, too.

  I refuse to put him in danger.

  Why should he suffer for loving me?

  Because he does.

  I know it.

  And I love him. Too much to put him in danger. I just need to figure out how to make this work, because what’s going down just rubs me the wrong way.

  The manner in which Red Bull had his hand on Dietrick’s shoulder creeped me out. It wasn’t like when Kenna’s hand waves toward me. It was solid. Like his hand had matter.

  What concerned me even more is the fact that Dietrick was aware of him.

  Don’t tell me how I knew that. Not by one blink or faint turn of his head did he indicate he knew there was a Choctaw Warrior Chief at his back, but I know it like I know Kenna’s looking at me with concern

  “We need to get out of here,” she tells me.

  No shit, Sherlock. I gulp as a flood of questions overwhelm me.

  He knew he was there, Kenna. How the fuck did he? Did he know you were there as well?

  Kenna shakes her head. “No. But if Red Bull can use his powers to manipulate your plane of existence, maybe he can do that, too.”

  Where’s Casper?

  “He’s back at the apartment. He didn’t want to come.”

  Still sulking, I guess. I let out a long breath. I can’t blame him. It was a stupid idea coming here.

  “You have many stupid ideas, Jayce, but your sense of right and wrong is one thing about you that isn’t, and never has been, stupid.”

  That’s kind of a backhanded compliment, K, but I’ll take it. I shoot her a sheepish glance, then realize Drake and Arroyo are talking.

  About me.

  “...don’t worry about it. She does this sometimes.”

  “She’s talking to a ghost?” Drake nods and Arroyo blows out a sharp breath. “If anyone knew that I was listening to this shit and believing it, I’d never live it down at the precinct.”

  Drake shrugs. “Jayce told me that your grandmother follows you around. The geisha?”

  Arroyo’s unease is palpable. “Yeah.”

  “You looked into that yet?”

  “Not had time. But I will. What she said about my boyfriend was true, so I can’t see that other stuff being false.”

  Drake hunches his shoulders. “If you believe that, then just go with the flow where this shit is concerned. It’s the best way. It all works out right in the end.”

  Does it though? That’s what concerns me.

  I usually get myself into scrapes. Have been beaten up by angry clients a time or two, have even been thrown in jail… but this, with Red Bull, I feel like I’m getting over my head here.

  Like I’m in deep shinola.

  “Detective,” I start, breaking into their conversation to ask, “if I told you that ghosts can’t harm people, would you believe me?”

  She purses her lips. “I guess. I have no reason to believe otherwise. I mean, I know shit’s different in the films but this ain’t a film, is it?”

  I shake my head. “No, but sometimes, I wish it was.” Huffing out a breath, I admit, “Until I met Francis O’Hara, I truly believed what I just told you. That ghosts couldn’t harm us. As far as I was aware, ghosts could only touch someone on this plane if they were newly dead and they really loved someone enough to touch them.”

  “Trust me, I can attest to that.” Drake grimaces. “A few months after my nephew died, he found me and touched me soon after. He literally fried my brain.”

  Arroyo touches her throat, then fiddles with a small cross pendant she’s wearing. “That’s possible?”

  “Yeah. But only because David—that’s Drake’s nephew—had died recently.” Starting to gnaw at the inside of my cheek, I slowly add, “But that’s just it. I’ve come to learn that there are different kinds of spirits.”

  “And this Red Bull is that?” Arroyo surmises.

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re scared of him?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her jaw flexes. “I get that. Does that mean you can’t tell me what you think happened here?”

  “Not without raining a whole load of shit down on me and mine. I can’t do that, Arroyo. I want to help. You know from my record, I’ve always wanted to help. But in this, if I do, I’m putting myself in a danger that no one can save me from.”

  Arroyo studies me a second, obviously judging whether I’m bullshitting or not. She lets out a sharp sigh—one that’s more irritated than angry. “Okay. I won’t ask any questions.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her, hating the quiver in my voice. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my fucking life. But, the truth is, it kills me to withhold information when I know something is going down here. Something funky. I clench my eyes closed, trying to fight the temptation.

  “Don’t do it, Jayce,” Kenna warns, making me jerk my head to the side, telling her silently to shut up.

  “I will say this,” I whisper. “Francis O’Hara didn’t kill Paula Dietrick.”

  And like that, my house of cards starts to tumble, because though there’s no evidence to back up my statement, I don’t know whether Red Bull will take that comment of mine as fighting talk.

  Arroyo nods at me. “I’ll see what I can figure out. This room is of interest to you, huh?” She looks around the bedroom. “We had forensics dust for prints in here. Maybe we should look for blood?”

  “I can’t say. I’ve already said too much.”

  I think Arroyo sees that I’m not full of shit, but she’s no dummy either. She can read between the lines. What else would hold my interest in this room when the crime scene is so obviously in the lounge?

  “Thanks for your help, Jayce. I appreciate it.”

  My voice is hoarse as I tell her, “I wish I could do more.”

  Jayce

  The minute the door closes, I fall into Drake’s arms. “Kiss me,” I tell him, wanting nothing more than for him to wipe out the nightmare that today has become.

  He tightens his hold on me, letting me cling to him. Pressing his lips to the top of my head, he murmurs, “You don’t want sex, Jayce.”

  I grit my teeth. “I do. I want you.”

  He loosens one arm from the hold he has around me, and uses his hand to prop my chin up.

  Staring me square in the eye, he drops his head and connects our mouths.

  When I try to swipe my tongue between his lips, he takes it slow. He sups from me, samples me. Trailing the line of my Cupid’s bow, flicking his tongue against mine when it peeps out to meet his.

  The gentleness isn’t what I expect, nor do I particularly want it. I want him to make me forget, but he’s making sure this is about us. Not about what’s going on in our crazy life together.

  A shudder rushes through me as his hands drop down to my ass. He squeezes me there, uses his handhold to grab me and bring me closer.

  The sensation of his shaft against my belly sends shots of awareness bursting down my nerve endings. I moan into his mouth, incapable of doing anything else.

  His tongue finally penetrates my mouth and I let him. It tangles with mine, not stopping until I’m breathless, as he explores me like this is the first time we’ve ever kissed.

  Small flutters, short thrusts. He robs me of more air, has me falling into him harder until everything tastes of him.

  With a whimper, I set my hands on his waist and run my fingers along his back. When he shudders, I moan again, loving his reaction, loving that he’s as primed as I am. Such simple touches shouldn’t cause such complex reactions, and yet they do.

  They always will.

  Because I’m his, and he’s mine.

  I’ve never known that as much as I do at this moment.

  It resonates so deeply inside me that it’s as resolute as the fact I’m American, or that I was born in Georgia. That my name is Jayce, and that I see ghosts. />
  I pull my mouth away from his, not letting him recapture my lips until he looks deep into my eyes. It’s only then that I whisper, “I love you, Drake.”

  He presses his forehead against mine. “I love you too, Jayce.”

  For however long, time stands still. I breathe his air, he breathes mine. My senses drown in him, and I revel in it. Revel in the moment.

  I nuzzle my forehead against his shirt. “I need you, Drake,” I tell him, unashamed of that need.

  He nods, once more chucks his hand under my chin and lifts my mouth to his.

  This time, the tenderness has gone. There’s the soft touch of love, true, but he claims me hard. Fast. This time, he shows me he loves me rather than imbuing each touch with tenderness.

  He lifts me high against him and my body flows against his. Thighs latched around his hips, I cling to him as he strides through the penthouse, taking me to the bedroom. It’s instinctive to roll my hips, to rock them against his pelvis, to feel his hardness and to play with it.

  I moan, breathlessness plaguing me once more as he fucks my mouth like he’ll fuck my pussy soon.

  We stumble into the bedroom, and the minute he can, he drops me onto the bed. Before he can do a damn thing, I scramble down, falling onto my knees with a whoosh and grab a hold of his zipper as soon as my hands steady.

  He freezes, then lets out a long breath when I open up his fly and pull out his cock. The instant he’s free, I fall on him. My mouth drinking the beads of pre-cum gathered there, before I swirl my tongue around his long shaft.

  I love doing this when he’s fully clothed. His cock peeping out of his trousers, so the man is in the veneer of elegance, ready to leave the house, but I drag him back to his Neanderthal roots, where all that matters is getting his seed inside me. One way or another.

  With a moan, I suck him, wetting him with the saliva that floods my mouth. I feel it seep from the corners of my lips, but I don’t care. I just want to pleasure him, to taste him. To let him know that, at this moment, there is nothing and no one else in my world.

  I worship his cock, not even wrapping my hands around it to steady his thrusts. I let him fuck my mouth, loving when he feeds his fingers through my hair and uses the grip to rock my mouth onto him. He groans as he moves, and I place my hands on either side of his shaft for balance as, propped up on my heels, I could fall over.

  I don’t mind gagging, but gagging on his cock as I fall on my ass? Yeah, that’s not my idea of sexy.

  His hips rock faster, faster, and I can’t help it. I drop a hand and immediately delve under my skirt. Not stopping until my fingers are under my panties, I start to touch my clit. Whimpers escape me as the gentle caress sets quickfire tumbling through my veins.

  I’m so wet. So impossibly wet. I can hear it. My mouth is sloppy from his shaft and the saliva, while my pussy is juicy from my touch. The sounds are obscene and all the more thrilling for it. It’s a bit like sensory overload, though the stimuli are so basic it’s a joke. Still, it hits me right between the legs, and when I thrust my pointer finger inside, using my thumb to nudge my clit, I go off like a rocket into outer space.

  The moans trigger a vibration that rocks onto his cock. One he can’t avoid. He lets loose a shout and I feel the sluggish pelt of his seed on my tongue, sliding down my throat.

  I love blowjobs. Even if I’m not in charge of them, not technically. Is there anything better than having the power to bite a man’s cock off?

  A bit of a sick thought, I know, but it’s like by allowing him to fuck my mouth, I’m giving him more leeway than with my pussy.

  Well, that’s how my brain works, anyway.

  I am choosing not to gnaw off his family jewels. That makes it pretty damn special in my eyes.

  His roar is still buzzing in my head as his panting breaths do the same in the bedroom. I can tell, I sucked him dry.

  Momentarily, anyway.

  His hands stroke through my hair, and I realize then I must look like a hot mess because strands stick to the spit that has slid down onto my cheeks and jaw.

  Ew.

  Still, it’s worth it when I see how he looks at me.

  Like I’m a porn star or something.

  Which, if I do say so myself, is pretty damn cool.

  With a shuddery breath, I let him heft me up and back onto the bed. Now that the adrenaline has gone, I feel the ache in my knees from where I just threw myself onto the floor.

  Not that it wasn’t worth it, but ouch.

  I flop back against the sheets, and smile when he props himself up beside me.

  “That was insane,” he whispers.

  I can’t deny he’s right. I came harder than a recently exploded geyser.

  Although, maybe I could only use that metaphor if he made me squirt.

  The quandary has me pursing my lips.

  “I can feel you thinking.”

  His grumble has me snorting. “How can you feel it? You can’t feel thoughts.”

  “I can feel yours. What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?”

  “I was thinking that I came like a geyser but technically, I didn’t squirt, so I wasn’t sure if that was the right analogy.”

  He hums at that, but I can tell from his flared nostrils and wide eyes he’s trying not to laugh.

  He shocks the shit out of me by sliding his hand up my thigh, sampling the juicy wetness of my pussy. “No, not a geyser. Juicy like a watermelon?” he offers, making me wrinkle my nose.

  “That’s gross. I’ll never look at watermelon again.”

  He laughs, then fondles my clit, making me shudder and whimper, “No more.”

  “Sensitive, baby?” he whispers against my chin, biting the fleshy mound as he waits for my answer.

  I nod. Because I am. I so, so, so am.

  But he doesn’t stop. His fingers delve down to my gate and he thrusts inside. His four fingers are a fuckload bigger than my one, and I yelp the minute they’re inside me.

  He does that thing he does, that thing no other lover has ever done for me… curves his fingers up and rakes against the front of my pussy. And he’s rough too. Tomorrow, I’ll ache down there, but for the moment, he’s sending more of those electrical shots surging through my nervous system.

  His finger-fucking has my muscles shuddering and my abs clenching tight as I hover just off the bed in reaction.

  “Jesus Christ,” I wail as he frigs me toward completion. Touching that bundle of nerves that until him, were virginal nerves. And oh, so lonely, too.

  Now, they’re on the receiving end of such attention, they perk up when his fingers get close.

  But not like this.

  Never like this.

  A loud scream bellows from me as an agonizing kind of delight flushes from my core straight to my brain. “Drake,” I cry, and feel a release. A little flush of liquid that has my eyes opening in both mortification and glee.

  It wasn’t like in a porn flick. Maybe nothing more than a friggin’ teaspoon, but Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the boy got me to squirt.

  “How?” I demand when he pats my pussy with a fond touch then collapses at my side.

  Panting, shuddering, quaking against the mussed sheets, I bleat, “I thought it took practice or something for that to happen.”

  He shrugs and kisses the top of my head as I clamber over him, pressing my face into the crook of his neck and cocking a leg over his hips. “Long, flexible fingers.”

  I pick up the hand, still slick from me. “You have a pianist’s hands.”

  “I certainly do,” he says around a yawn. “Ten goddamn years of enforced torture with Mrs. Ginevra next door.” He shudders. “That woman was a pervert.”

  I sit up with a shriek. “What?”

  “She used to touch my leg, rub it whenever I played a bad note. Go higher if I played well.”

  “That’s a weird reverse psychology.”

  He grimaces.

  “Did she touch your cock?”

  He turns h
is head to the side. “Sometimes.” When I narrow my eyes at him, he sighs. “She did it when I was older, to be fair.”

  “Doesn’t make her any less of a perv.”

  “Most other guys my age would have loved it, I guess. Just used to make me feel dirty.”

  I frown at him. “Why didn’t you tell your dad?”

  “He’d have probably told me I was the apple of his eye for a having a woman like her come onto me.”

  This time, I don’t squeal, I growl. “Is it wrong to be glad your dad’s dead?”

  He stares at me a second then snickers. “You have absolutely no filter, do you?”

  “Not where you’re concerned. No.”

  “Thank you for being protective, sweetheart, but it’s not necessary.”

  I flop back down at his side, cuddling into him a little harder.

  It’s so easy to think it’s just women and girls who are preyed upon by predators… but that’s not the case.

  I let my hand fall against his chest, and push between the buttons to prop three fingers against his skin.

  He’s warm, so fucking warm, and mine.

  All mine.

  The thought has me nuzzling into him, and he cuddles into me. My position lets me see his cock has shriveled back into softness, and it’s amusing to see it resting against his fly. With a smile on my lips, his cock in my line of sight, his woodsy, musky scent in my nostrils, and the taste of him on my tongue, I let out a sigh of contentment.

  Whatever the hell else is going on in my life, this is one aspect that’s right as rain.

  Chapter Nine

  Jayce

  “It’s about time we talked, you and I.”

  Casper folds his arms across his chest and sinks back into the tub.

  If it wasn’t for the lack of water, he’d totally look like he was having a goddamn bath. As it stands, this is his go-to hidey-hole for the minute.

  Kenna had to find him for me. I never use this bathroom, because I hate baths, so it was a good place for him to hide without having to go far.

  “What if I don’t have anything to say?”

  “You know that’s not going to work. I have questions. Questions I need you to answer.”