by Lena Loneson
Greg whirled at him, eyes flashing with rage. “You haven’t seen everything I have, man. Vic is real.”
“He’s like me? Sees ghosts?”
Greg laughed derisively. “Vic knows full well there’s no such thing as ghosts. He thinks your act is ridiculous. Nah, Vic’s skills are a lot more practical. He’s got a way with numbers. Alarm codes. Passcodes. I’ve seen him do magic you can’t imagine. Pull them out of thin air.”
“So why doesn’t he break into a bank?” Jose said. “Why pick this chick?”
“My husband owes him money,” Minerva realized out loud. “I suppose this is payback. Steal it from me. But then why not just be here himself, ask me for my account numbers? I have plenty to spare. I’ll transfer it now if he wants. Just let me go.”
“Ah, he doesn’t just want money.” Jose shook his head ruefully. “Sorry to say.”
That didn’t sound good. Bram? she asked the air. No response. Her teeth began to chatter in the cold. “What does he want with me?”
“Pain. Vic doesn’t get his abilities from trickery like you. Using me as your spy. Having us listen in on the audience during commercials. Making Rachel share your lies in front of the camera, whoring herself out there with you. It’s disgusting. You feed on their pain but pretend you don’t. You don’t understand them but pretend you do. Vic feeds on pain, literally. You’ll be alive when he cuts your heart from your screaming body and he’ll suck up your soul.”
Shit. Either Greg was off to crazytown, far enough gone to be extremely dangerous, or his boss really was a psychic sadist.
Which was worse?
Did it matter?
Where the fuck was Bram?
Greg continued to rant. The name Rachel stuck out to her and she wondered what her friend had to do with anything.
Greg’s cell rang again.
Minerva knew that Melody.That was it—Rachel’s favorite oldie, a Neil Diamond song. The women had sung it together at karaoke one night for Rachel’s thirtieth birthday, stumbling onto the stage drunk, caterwauling the chorus.
She had a flash in her mind, an image of Rachel riding Greg cowgirl style, pleasure visible on her face. Her breasts bounced beneath a purple bra. Her blonde hair was in disarray, falling out of her bun. They were on the chaise longue in Minerva’s dressing room. Greg grunted like a horse rolling in the dirt.
Vision or extremely vivid imagination?
Was Rachel involved? The sense of betrayal Minerva felt upon seeing Greg increased tenfold.
No. It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t believe it. She’d get out of here and ask Rachel herself what the hell was going on.
Was Victor Grayson really a psychic? She asked herself again, did it matter? Maybe not—but what mattered was that Greg believed it. And he believed Minerva was a fake. She could use that. She could get out of here.
She thought of Bram. Closed her eyes, keeping her other senses alert in case the men in front of her moved. She ignored the aching in her wrists, the cramping in her legs, the cold in the pit of her belly. She thought of Bram, his warm hands running across her skin, cupping her breasts. His mouth teasing the nipples, his curls tickling at her chin. The scent of Earl Grey. The warm chuckle building in his chest as he aroused her.
She could almost feel him.
And then she heard him again.
Nerv. I can’t reach you. I’m so close. I love you.
That was it. The more scared she was, the more distant he became. But thinking of him, loving him, lusting after him—that brought him closer.
Minerva struggled in her handcuffs, putting on a show for the goon watching her. She didn’t think of him as her assistant anymore. It hurt too deeply. She channeled that rage, letting it build inside her, throwing it into her performance as a woman in hysterics.
“Let me out of here!” She thrashed her shoulders, kicking out with her legs as if she were trying to topple the chair. She was careful not to move around too much, since she was still only wearing that pink silk robe and nothing underneath—Greg didn’t need that kind of show.
Though she might have to give it to him.
Every time she generated sexual energy with Bram, it seemed he got stronger. Or their connection got stronger—she wasn’t sure what it was. But she needed some of that now.
Not that she wanted to do it with Greg in the room but what choice did she have? All she could do was hope to bore them enough first. They couldn’t find much glee in telling a hysterical woman about their evil plan, Bond-villain style.
“Let me go!” she yelled, twisting in her chair. “You’re going to pay for this!” Ugh, how clichéd. She was an actress, surely she could come up with something better than that. Funny how the improvisational skills take a hike when you’re tied to a chair and your life is threatened. Still, she didn’t have to come up with stunning dialogue, simply convince them that she was scared.
Which she was.
She thrashed. She pulled at the handcuffs, feeling droplets of blood on her hands. She screamed. She shook the chair back and forth. She wailed herself hoarse, letting her cries devolve into random grunts and huffs as she contorted her body, keeping her legs firmly closed. No need for the full show yet, at least not until she knew Bram was there.
“Bram?” she whispered into her shoulder.
Here, luv. His voice in her head was faint but present. Good.
“Argh! Get me out of here!” she screamed at Greg. Then, muffling her voice again, “I need you to turn me on.”
She expected him to argue, but either he didn’t have enough power to continue to speak at the moment or he understood. She felt a warm hand on her thigh. It moved over her skin in a familiar pattern. She let a small smile form on her lips. She thought about how much she missed wrapping her lips around his cock, sucking it in deep, nearly choking on the length of it pressing down into her throat. She thought of them wrapped around each other in sixty-nine position, his face buried beneath her legs, his tongue teasing her to completion.
The hairs on her arms were standing at attention.
Bram’s hand on her leg felt firmer, warmer. He was getting stronger. There was no coldness to his touch now and his skin felt more as it used to. When he’d been alive and still hers.
Mmm, I’ve missed you, luv. When this is over I want a night with you all to myself.
Her robe was growing damp underneath her with the juices leaking from her pussy. She could smell her own sex mixing with static in the air as the connection between them grew stronger.
She let the rage over his death power her performance.
“I’m famous—you know that better than anyone! My agent is going to kill you. Rachel is going to kill you. Not to mention the honchos at the network!” She kept her voice high and whiny, the perfect starlet rant. Here was hoping Greg wouldn’t realize she wasn’t exactly the right age for a starlet hissy fit anymore. “You suck!” Okay, that was a little uninspired. She spat in their general direction. Jose rolled his eyes. That seemed to be his signature move.
Greg pulled out his cell phone again. This time there was no Cherry Cherry. He began to text aimlessly. Then his eyes grew brighter and his thumbs quickened as he texted faster. He snickered and nudged Jose. Jose didn’t bother to look.
Minerva wondered who he was texting.
Let me see.
She felt the air shift and knew Bram was moving to read the screen. Was he able to read her thoughts now? Or just anticipating her next move?
One of her best tricks as a fake psychic was to use pre-learned knowledge about an audience member to prove her veracity. Tell them something only they could know, and she couldn’t—in their shock, they’d forget whispering it to their seatmate during the commercial break or telling a friend in the washroom before the show, where her assistants could hear and pass it on. They’d think she plucked the thought from their mind or learned it from the ghost of a departed family member.
At first it scared the crap out of some people as much as it awed t
hem. But soon they saw she used her powers for good—or for ratings, Minerva thought cynically to herself—and began to trust her. This time she was going to stop right at scaring the crap out of them—she hoped.
And this time her assistant actually was a ghost.
Bram’s voice brushed by her ear. Writing to his girlfriend. He read the text to her.
The phone played that Neil Diamond song again.
Greg was fucking Rachel.
Minerva gasped, almost losing hold of her tenuous moment of self-control. This didn’t mean Rachel was involved with Victor. It couldn’t.
If it did she would be here, right? Here to taunt Minerva with the knowledge?
Maybe that was coming next.
A tear trickled down her left cheek.
The warm wind of Bram’s presence moved beside her again. She filed away the information in the text—Greg’s graphic description of what he wanted to do to his lover, apparently Minerva’s producer and best friend Rachel. He was absorbed in the texting now, with Jose watching, apparently having overcome his boredom.
Now it was time to get stronger.
Minerva concentrated on Bram’s hand on her thigh, in between the folds of her silk robe. She wore nothing underneath. He tickled the skin of her thigh lightly with his ghostly fingers, being careful not to part the fabric and expose any more of her than necessary.
I want to see you.
Her lips pulled involuntarily into a smile.
I can’t wait to see you.
She sank back into the chair. The handcuffs dug into her wrists and she shifted. She had to get comfortable. This would only work if they could both channel the sexual energy.
That’s it.
The sound of his voice calmed her. His fingers danced on her thighs, massaging her, relaxing her. She slowed her breathing. If she were a cat, the sound of his voice and the way he rubbed her legs would make her purr. As it was she had to keep from speaking out loud, telling him how good he made her feel.
She let her eyes partly close, aiming to forget her surroundings but still be able to notice if the kid holding her captive had moved. She focused on physical sensation. She could feel the cool wood of the chair through the thin fabric covering her ass and against the bare skin on the underside of her knees. Her hair tickled the back of her neck and the skin of her shoulder where one side of the robe had fallen down. Her chest rose rapidly in anticipation.
She could sense Bram above her. Though he wasn’t touching her with his body yet, the weight of him and the warmth of him was palpable. She inhaled deeply, that delicious Earl Grey citrus of him filling her. A small whimper escaped her, almost inaudible, as his fingers massaged her legs, running from her thighs down across her knees to her ankles and back up again. The calluses on his thumbs rubbed against her skin.
You’re so soft, luv.
Minerva wished she could see him. It had been seven years. Did she remember him correctly? She had loved the way his short, dark hair seemed to suck in light. There were seven freckles on his left shoulder that looked like the Big Dipper and a burn on the opposite thigh from an accident with a Bunsen burner in a class he taught. His muscles rippled when they fucked, the movement radiating out from his shoulders like the water of a lake from a dropped stone. His lips were full and almost always smiling during sex as they teased each other, only growing still and serious as he neared orgasm.
The heat of his mouth pressed a kiss against her knee. She leaned back in the chair and stopped thinking about what she couldn’t see, focusing instead on what she could feel.
Your skin tastes amazing. His voice was stronger now, fuller, and husky with desire.
He planted small, slow kisses up the length of her thigh, starting at her knee and moving higher. Minerva’s fingers gripped each of the chair arms, unable to move beyond where her wrists were cuffed. She spread her legs wider, making sure the robe still covered the view, letting her husband’s mouth get closer to her center.
His warm breath tickled the hair between her legs. The room was quiet aside from the soft clicking of Greg’s texting and Minerva’s own breaths coming faster and faster. Bram exhaled between her legs and moisture seeped out of her.
The air felt electric. The more turned-on she got, the stronger she felt.
Whoever said sex is power wasn’t kidding.
When his tongue began to trace her folds, gently at first, the hairs on her arms rose to attention. Static crackled over her skin. She could feel it in the hair on her head, in the curls around her cunt and even in her eyelashes.
She could feel him sucking the juice out of her pussy, his tongue lapping it faster into his mouth.
He said something she could barely hear—not because of weakness now, but because he was muffled by the folds of her skin and the insulation of her pubic hair. She thought it might have been, You taste delicious. That was something he would say.
She let the electricity press her eyes open and looked down. Was it her imagination or could she see the faint outline of Bram’s head moving between her legs?
She squeezed her thighs closer together and felt his strong jaw between them, working his tongue, flicking it against her clit. He licked and sucked faster and her breathing quickened in time with it. When he sucked her labia into his mouth again, this time so hard it almost hurt, she gasped, spreading her legs wide, the silk of the robe falling open around her.
She heard a clatter as something fell to the floor. Minerva looked up and saw Greg staring at her, wide-eyed.
Oops. She’d meant to go there but not just yet.
The men had their eyes focused on her now. Greg tapped his partner and gestured at her. He made a jerking-off motion. They both stared, transfixed. She ignored them.
You okay, luv?
“I’m fine,” she said beneath her breath, her lips barely moving. “Let them watch. All the better to catch them off guard when we move. Right now it’s just me and you, Bram.”
She closed her eyes again, leaving them slits to watch the men by. She had to make sure they didn’t try anything while she was enjoying herself—uh, she meant while powering up. Just like Mario eating the mushroom, Nerv,she told herself.
She thrust her hips, pressing her pussy against Bram’s mouth. His tongue plunged into her and she cried out with pleasure. An orgasm built within her, starting at her clit and fluttering outward, up her canal, around Bram’s tongue and filling her stomach with warmth. Her nipples, hard and peaked, felt as if they shuddered in sympathetic joy.
But she couldn’t savor it for long.
“You want something from us, fortune teller?” Jose grabbed at his crotch.
Uh-oh.
Greg stepped in front of him. “Jose, you know the boss is saving her.”
Saving you? That was Bram’s outraged voice echoing in her mind. He pulled his tongue from within her and she missed it immediately.
“Hang on, sweetheart,” she whispered. “We need your energy focused.” She jerked her chin, gesturing impatiently at her hands cuffed behind her back.
No problem, luv, I’m on it.
The rush of air was cold as he moved from between her legs.
“Like what you see, boys?” Minerva put on her best flirtatious voice. Ugh. It disgusted her.
Jose grinned but Greg slapped him. “It’s one of her tricks.”
“Tricks? Don’t be silly. I was just so turned-on by your message.”
Greg looked confused. “My…message?”
“To Rachel.”
His eyes widened. “How the hell—she told you?”
Minerva shook her head. “I saw it.”
“Bullshit. “
What was it the text had said?
‘I want 2 fuck ur tits.’ Classy chap.
“You want to rub your tiny cock in between those heaving breasts of hers, don’t you? Jet your cum across her chest like a pearl necklace. Shoot across her face, a stream of white into her golden hair like the big man you think you are.”
&
nbsp; Jose slapped Greg on the shoulder. “Tiny cock, huh? Guess she is psychic.”
Greg didn’t even glare at him. He was staring at Minerva. His lips were white with tension. “This is bullshit. I know your tricks.”
“You think someone’s speaking in my ear, Greg? Please come check me for an earpiece. But there’s no one else here to have seen your texts. Unless it was a ghost, of course.”
“Come on,” Jose’s voice was annoyed now. “Ghosts? Don’t listen to her.”
“It’s stupid, yeah man. But how did she know that?”
“All guys wanna fuck a girl’s tits.”
“You saw the last text.” Greg held his cell up again for Jose to read. Jose’s face paled distinctly now.
“Nah. Nah, you said it, tricks.”
The lights flickered. Seeing the men jump nervously brought Minerva far too much satisfaction.
She laughed.
First mission accomplished. Bram’s voice was proud and teasing. How would she do this without him? He was keeping her grounded, keeping her from collapsing in fear.
Stealing the handcuff key for her.
She felt his ghost fingers fumbling at her wrists. Did he have enough dexterity to unlock the cuffs?
They popped open. Of course he did. He’d proven that most acutely with his tongue. Holy hell, did he have dexterity.
She started in again on Greg.
“I hope you didn’t get any splooge on my chaise. Probably not though. Did she tell you she had to keep quiet backstage in case anyone was around?” Minerva forced her mouth into a mocking grin though she felt disgusted by talking about her friend that way. Rachel couldn’t be involved. “Is that why she’s not a screamer? Or was it your performance? She didn’t even let you take off that beautiful, lacy purple bra.”
Jose was frowning now. “What’s she talking about?”
Greg shook his head. “Nothing. She couldn’t know. It happened after she left tonight. She couldn’t know that. Maybe she bugs her dressing room. TV stars are paranoid.”
“Yeah.” Jose nodded. “Yeah, they are.”
Minerva massaged her freed hands, working feeling back into her fingers. She felt Bram’s hands on her own, pressing into her palms. Her wrists screamed in agony but she was free.