She didn’t feel his presence at all that day. It was like she was listening for a sound once familiar but now forgotten, a half-remembered song. She unpacked the den and half of the office, turning around any time she thought she might have heard something, always finding nothing there.
But she knew he wasn’t gone – and she had no doubt that he was watching her. Not after this morning, when he’d been beside her in an instant. He was just waiting, biding his time, until he could have her again, alone.
He wanted her. He was waiting for her. Instead of thinking about Richard off with that other woman – and how many other women there might be -- Daphne chose to concentrate on him instead.
Everything she did she did as though she might be watched. When she bent over to put low objects away, she made sure to keep her ass up high. And when she reached for things, she did so with her breasts up, all the better to show them off to apparently thin air. The game made her feel alive, and she found to her surprise that that that was even more important than being distracted from Richard’s betrayal.
She ate dinner that night with impeccable manners, pretending that she had a dinner guest at the opposite end of the table. Once, when Arthur wasn’t looking, she raised her wine glass in a subtle toast to where she thought he sat. And afterwards, when she heard the alarm chirp and knew they’d locked the door, she rose up and walked slowly, majestically, out to the entry hall and up to the stairs, her clit thumping with every step.
Chapter Five
When she reached the bedroom, she closed the door behind herself so that they would feel alone.
“Are you here?”
She knew he was, she knew that she could feel him, everywhere and nowhere both at once.
“Don’t taunt me,” she pleaded.
Hot hands cupped her ass, and she felt a wall of heat behind her. She moaned and leaned back, felt the pressure of his presence and then – she tumbled to the ground, skirt and ankles in the air. The sensation of heat evaporated.
She laughed at her own foolishness from the ground. “It’s not you. It’s me. I’m sorry.”
She stood up, shaking her head at herself, walking over to the bed to sit down.
Her closet door opened then, fully, showing her the mirror hidden inside. She was sitting in the exact right place for it, she could see all of herself in its length.
She didn’t know what to do next. Stretch her hands out to him, as if asking him to join her on the bed? That seemed too forward, and yet – she took the hem of her skirt between her hands and pulled it up, and then quickly pulled her underwear down. He had to know what she wanted – but would he be willing to give it to her again?
She felt a spot of heat on the inside of her left ankle. She thought it was a hand at first, then decided it was a kiss, as it lifted higher, drawing a line up the inside of her calf and then her thigh. She got an idea and let the fabric of her skirt float down, so that she could see the outline of his head as he rose up between her legs again. Daphne watched, distracted from his kisses, trying to envision the man underneath, and he reached up to push the fabric back.
“You’re no fun,” she said with a tease.
He pinched her inner thigh in complaint. She yelped, but then he kissed the spot he’d hurt – and he was a ghost besides, she’d fallen through him earlier, he couldn’t really hurt her, right?
Both his hands pushed her thighs open for his tongue. She purred as he started sucking at her again, skirt forgotten – and then she felt one of the hands on her thighs slide up and hot fingers creep up to the entrance of her pussy.
“I’m –“ she protested, and he stopped. What? She wasn’t a virgin. And Richard was off with some ‘secretary’ halfway across the world. “Do it,” she breathed, and fingers pushed in.
She moaned as lonely nerves lit up. His hot fingers probed into her as his mouth sucked on her clit and every time she looked up she saw herself in the mirror, eyes heavy, eager legs spread wide. It embarrassed her to see herself like this, but she found she couldn’t look away – and when his other hand snaked up underneath her shirt and bra to cup her breast and pinch her nipple, she found she couldn’t lean back even if she wanted to.
There was no need for conversation since he couldn’t talk, and since she couldn’t see his face, there was no need to be ashamed. Everything his hands or tongue did said he wanted her, he wanted to service her, he wanted her to be happy. She wasn’t twelfth or twentieth on his list, behind a job and a mysterious secretary. He hadn’t bought her a house to buy off his guilt. No -- his thumb rolled over her nipple just like his tongue covered her clit and his fingers inside of her moved faster, stretching against the walls of her pussy in increasingly delicious ways. She saw herself in the mirror, panting, crouched over him on the edge of the bed, like some sort of needy beast, wanting more –
And that was why he’d opened the door with the mirror, she realized. Because while she couldn’t lean back into him – he wanted her to know that he could do this to her – make her feel like this, take her from being the mistress of the house to a beggar in a day.
Forced to watch herself being turned on, being used – she was flooded with shame which, oddly, made everything more hot. Her pussy began to quiver around his fingers and his mouth redoubled its efforts on her clit and a moan began to build in the back of her throat and she saw herself tilt her head back to scream it out – she shouted and she writhed, hips bucking against the bed and the heat of his hands, forced to watch herself ride him, thrashing like a mermaid pulled onto a rocky shore.
Moments later, the sensation of his presence stopped, and the heat of her body was hers alone. Daphne staggered to standing and closed the closet door.
After a moment’s thought she took off all her clothing with purposeful nonchalance and slid into bed.
She stayed up as long as she could without saying a word.
Daphne didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to have to. She’d spent so many nights asking Richard that – her face twisted into her pillow and she sighed. Was it any wonder she wasn’t pregnant yet when she had to beg him to fuck her? Was it any wonder that he wasn’t interested, when he was getting serviced around the globe?
When she’d abandoned hope of more, sleep came to her slowly, unfurling like a night-blooming flower -- which was why she didn’t believe it when it began, because it could have been a dream.
Daphne felt a weight in the bed behind her, moving in, and then a wall of heat against her exposed back, spooning her as she lay on her side.
He was here for her. He still wanted her – and from the tension and pressure and heat folded up against the cleft of her ass, she knew he wanted more of her than he had had so far.
A hot arm draped over her and reached for her breast. He thrust slowly behind her, rubbing himself against her, letting her know he was there and what he sought out –
And, half-asleep, half-awake, she knew she was going to give it to him. It’d been so long since Richard had turned to her like this, had needed her as badly as she felt like she needed him. She lifted her upper leg up and felt him move down her body until his hot cock was aligned and then slowly, slowly, he thrust up.
The head of his cock pushed into her, hot and hard. She wasn’t ready for him, but she didn’t want to be. She whined, an animal sound, lifting her leg higher as he pushed more in, somehow sensing that she needed this strange roughness to feel right. And the sudden sweetness of his cock shoving deep inside her, when they were matched, mated, like a key to a lock -- relief flooded her as wetness did and he started to stroke.
She threw her head back into his chest and felt it solidly there. She was pinned on him now, and even though she knew she could get free, she didn’t want to break the illusion of that. His hips rocked against hers and she moved in time, feeling his heat slide in and out, the head of him almost emerging, teasing the entrance of her pussy, before being rammed back inside.
She was content to be taken, pleased to be used – but a
hand dove over her hips and went between her thighs and started to rub. She moved to push it away, she didn’t deserve to pleased again so soon – but then thought better of it in time and instead held his hand steady with her own, forcing him to rub at her clit the way her pussy was rubbing his cock.
If he’d been a man really in bed with her – if he’d been Richard – he already would have come by now.
But by virtue of who and what he was – the only name she had to give him, Master, apt – she knew she was going to get to come again, first.
She pressed his hand tighter to her clit, felt his other hand grab roughly at her breast, felt the friction between them speed up as he rode her so thoroughly, held tight and being helplessly fucked – she screamed for the second time that night, with the abandon of those who know that no one else will hear, until her throat was hoarse. She spasmed on the bed and his cock kept riding her until the very end when it, still stiff, pulled out.
Daphne turned back in bed as the sensation of heat faded. “Don’t go –“ she said, but she knew she was alone.
Chapter Six
Daphne woke up bleary eyed but clear headed the next morning. She showered, blow dried her hair, and put on a cute outfit involving a short skirt, then went down for breakfast.
Arthur served her diligently. Did he know that she’d cheated on Richard? With a ghost, no less? She got a sly smile at the absurdity of it all, and the space between her legs became warm at the memory.
She was planning her escape back up to the bedroom at the end of the meal when Arthur announced, “Ma’am, the gardeners have arrived. Would you like to go and meet them, and make your needs known?”
She set her spoon down, feeling a guilty rush. “My needs?”
“In the garden. There’s beds outside, now fallow, for herbs and vegetables – not to mention all the topiary and trees.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“I thought you might enjoy getting out of the house some today, too,” Arthur said with a smile. “I’ll let them know you’re on your way.”
“Thank you.”
She felt a little over dressed to be seeing gardeners. Still, if they were same as Arthur, from the home’s original number, she might be meeting the elderly.
She followed Arthur out the back door and around the first line of shrubs, lawnmowers droning in the background. “Mr. Gale, may I present Mrs. Vance,” Arthur said, with a bow, before dismissing himself.
And while she’d dressed this morning to tease the ghost in particular, at seeing Mr. Gale, she was very glad she had.
He was muscular and tan, broad shouldered, with a wide chin. She would have never imagined she’d find a man like him in the middle of nowhere like here.
“Please, call me Daphne.”
“I’m Jason,” he said, offering his hand out. She took it, and it was strong and warm.
“So -- you’re the gardener?” she said, unsure where to start.
“No, I’m the landscape professional,” he corrected her. Daphne looked down, feeling chastised, until she heard him laugh – and looked up to see his grin. “Really, I’m the ‘you’re-paying-me-enough-to-be-whatever-you-want.’”
She snorted softly and hoped she stopped herself from smirking in time.
“Let me show you around,” he said, and started to walk. She trotted to catch up.
“We come out here a lot, depending on the season -- it’s a grand estate, there’s a lot to do to keep it as is. If you want changes though, all you have to do is tell me.”
“I don’t know what I want yet, honestly. I’ve been so busy inside the house I haven’t had a chance to look around.”
“That what I’d thought. But it’s planting season -- the family that was here before you had a garden out back that they chose to tend on their own. It’s gone a little wild now, but if you have a green thumb you can touch it up. Or we can do it for you.”
“I’m sure you all have quite enough to do with all the lawn and the trees.”
His smile was warm. “We can always do more, if you just let us know.”
He said it like it was an invitation. Daphne swallowed, feeling as if a lead weight had dropped into her hips, and all the things should could ask him for help with leapt to mind. She shook her head -- she would have never considered anything with anyone else ever before -- had one night with the ghost changed her mind?
“Were you thinking of bringing horses in?” he asked, as she wrestled with her imagination.
“No, why?”
“I thought that might have been why you bought the place. There’s a pasture out back. If you were I was going to reseed it for them.”
She’d ridden before, back before her mother’s illness and Richard. “I might – is there a stable?”
“Sure -- just behind that copse of trees.” He pointed along the path they walked. “It needs some maintenance – it’s just as old as the house is, and the prior owners let it go at the end. My men can do that too, if you want – just give me about six weeks notice, before you go bringing in a horse.”
“Will do.”
They reached a clearing where the din of the lawnmowers lessened, halfway to the stable. She was walking just to walk now, and he seemed content to walk with her.
“Do you know any of the history of this place?”
“Only what I’ve heard in town – and what the old owners told me. I know it’s old, and people in town say it’s haunted.”
“By who?”
He shrugged broad shoulders. “Russians? Gypsies? When I was little, people would tell stories about the place. But honestly, you’re so far back from the road, most people in town don’t remember it at all.”
“Russians? Really?”
“The old owners didn’t think that was right, either.”
“Why’d they leave?”
He made a pained face, as if holding truth back from her cost him. “They were happy enough at first – had a lot of friends in from out of town, dinner parties. But then,” he started slowing down, as if weighing the former occupant’s right to privacy. “Well, things changed after their daughter died.”
“Oh no – how?”
He winced. “Horse riding accident. I – I shouldn’t have brought it up –“
“No, I used to ride, I know how dangerous it can be.”
Her admission relieved him somewhat. “She had this big black warmblood. Gorgeous beast, but an animal nonetheless.”
“What happened to it afterward?”
“They sold it, I’m sure. And then the house was never the same after that. They didn’t want to sell here – too many good memories, I suppose – but they moved out soon after. Kept us on this whole time. I don’t know if they were hoping they could come back someday, or if they just realized the home would never sell if the grounds got too wild.”
They were almost to the stable’s door. It was a looming barn-roofed structure, two stories tall, and the angle of the morning light shadowed its open door, keeping the inside cool and dark. She wanted to investigate, but knew on a woman’s level that she shouldn’t go in there alone with this man. Not wearing this skirt, no matter how nice he seemed. She gave him a smile and then turned around. The house wasn’t so far behind them and the sunlight was lighting it up. She really did need curtains, she could easily see in half the windows. If they’d come a little earlier, or if she’d slept a little later, she would have given all the men a free show.
But more than that -- if she could see into the house – then he could see out. She thought she could feel his eyes on her, and she realized she wanted to be with him again.
She turned back toward Jason. “I have to go back.”
“You don’t want to see the workshop on the second floor?”
“Maybe another time.”
He looked surprised, but nodded. “Of course.”
“I may try my hand at the herb garden before you return.”
“If you need any seeds or starters, let me know.” He
smiled warmly and she felt it radiate through her, like the rays of the rising sun, but nowhere near as hot as the Master’s hands.
Arthur was there every time she turned around that day. She’d be reaching seductively inside of a box, the door would open, and he’d be there. Now that the library was finished, he needed a lot more guidance to help, which normally she wouldn’t mind, only she had a ghost to seduce.
When she thought about it that way, it became completely ludicrous and she couldn’t help but smile and shake her head, trailing Arthur down the hall.
“I found something I think you should see, Ma’am,” he announced on the fourth of his interruptions.
“Really?” She looked around the room. She hadn’t felt him watching her yet. Was he? Or was he distracted, too?
“I think you’ll be pleased.”
“All right.” She dusted her hands against her skirt in an unladylike fashion. “Lead on.”
Arthur took her to the closet of one of the back bedrooms and opened the door up dramatically. “See?”
There was a large box on the ground, and in it were bolts of fabric. She knelt down and picked one up. “Are these what I think they are?”
“I believe so! Curtains!”
“Oh thank god. I didn’t know how we were going to get anyone to come out here to measure things, or how long they’d take to make.” She held the top one up. They were a drab grey, but it didn’t matter.
“I’d assumed they’d taken them, and were going to hem them for their new home. I had no idea this was here.”
“Well, this isn’t enough to do all the windows, not unless you find another box or ten. But these will do the bedroom just fine – and we can take our time working on the rest.”
“I’ll start steaming the creases out this afternoon.”
Daphne rose to standing, beaming at him. One more step in getting this house into shape. Her house. Her wonderful, amazing house. “You were right, Arthur. These are delightful.”
The Haunted (Sleeping with Monsters Book 1) Page 4