by Debra Glass
“Dammit, I said put it in your mouth.” But a devilish grin dispelled the adamancy in his voice.
A laugh bubbled up inside her and she buried her head against his hip. He laughed too and took her by the shoulders to pull her up to him. “But…” she began.
He positioned her legs on either side of him. “Let’s start with the part about you riding me.” He guided her onto his arousal. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten what I told you to do first.”
Jillian sighed as he filled her to capacity but she was no longer in any mood to play. He felt good and warm and she felt so full and so, so complete. Her dark hair fanned his face as she planted her palms on his hard slab of chest muscle and leaned forward. Voicing her pleasure, she rocked her hips rhythmically.
“Do you still want me to tell you what I’d like for you to do to me?” Benton asked. He toyed with one of her nipples. Her pussy tightened instinctively around him.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to kiss me.”
He pushed back her hair as she claimed his mouth, thrusting her tongue inside, tasting, probing. And for a fleeting moment, she forgot he was a spirit and she was a living, breathing woman. She forgot he would have to soon make the transition to the Light. And she forgot a killer was still out there waiting, watching.
But she didn’t forget what he’d asked her to do to him first. With a wicked little chuckle, she dismounted and kissed her way back down his long, lean body.
She sucked his cock into her mouth, running her tongue around the head and then taking as much of him as she possibly could. Entwining her fingers around his thick penis, she used her hand in tandem with her mouth, sucking the head as she flicked her tongue over it.
He writhed beneath her. His fingers slid into her hair. She could feel him trembling, could taste the saltysweet pre-cum mingled with her own sweet pussy juice.
“Squeeze my balls, darlin’.” His voice was ragged. His whole body was taut and she could tell he was trying to hold back.
Jillian was exultant. Her fingers tightened around his sac and he gasped. She loved that she could do this to him—that she could make him come this way. She wanted to drain him, to taste him in her mouth and suck up every last drop of his cream.
He guided her head, moving her with shorter, tense strokes and suddenly he was bursting and pumping himself into her mouth, filling her with his honeysweet cum.
Jillian swallowed it all before resting her head on his hip. He lay limply back on the sheets with his fingers languidly circling in her hair.
“Damn,” he said. “Damn.”
Jillian smiled and crawled up next to him. Her gaze met his. This was so perfect. It was so easy with Benton. Why did it have to come to an end?
Panic began to well but he threaded his hand in her hair, drew her down to him and kissed her mouth, his lips chasing away her dismal thoughts.
* * * * *
Hours later, Jillian awakened to the feel of something hard and cold pressed against her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open, focusing on a tall man with a shaved head—who held a pistol aimed right between her eyes.
Chapter Eighteen
Jillian gasped. The man retreated slightly at her sudden movement but he continued to threaten her with the pistol. “Where is it?” he demanded.
Full realization set in. Her heart thudded like a drum in her chest. Jillian recognized the man from his picture. Scott Bowers.
Trembling, she moved cautiously. She sat, pulling the sheet up with her. Her pulse pounded.
“Where is it?” he asked again.
“Where is what?” Jillian asked, but she knew full well what he wanted. The button.
Jillian’s mind raced. Did this man know she’d killed his mother? Was he hell-bent on exacting revenge on her for it? Or did he just want the button? Some deep-seated knowing swelled through her that she was about to die. She swallowed. Hard.
Her gaze darted fast around the room. Where was Benton?
And then, she recalled with sickening dread that he had spent hours with her fully manifested, fully solid. His energy would be completely and utterly depleted. Horrible, awful guilt surged through her veins. Jillian felt as if she were going to vomit.
Her thoughts ran rampant. What would happen when Scott killed her? What would happen to her soul? What would happen if he took the button and Benton could never be released? Could she find him from the Other Side?
Scott wagged the gun at her. “The button. I know you have it.”
She shook her head. Her mouth was too dry to speak. She wet her lips.
Scott suddenly lunged at her. Jillian screamed. One hand yanked back her hair so her head was tilted back to an impossible, agonizing angle. The other jammed the pistol painfully under her chin. She voiced her agony.
Benton…
Jillian wanted to close her eyes but she could not. Her heart hammered. A little cry escaped her lips.
Scott was seething. His eyes glistened insanely. “Where is it?” he demanded through clenched teeth.
The stench of fear and sweat assaulted Jillian’s nostrils. She gagged. Her stomach lurched but there was nothing in it to wretch up. The button was in her robe pocket on the floor beside the bed. Would he find it there if he killed her now?
“Let her go.”
Benton! Jillian’s heart soared.
Scott jumped and released her. Startled, he fired off a deafening shot at Benton until he quickly realized the obvious futility of trying to kill a man who was already dead. The bullet whizzed through him and shattered the mirror across the room. Jillian screamed and covered her head as the shards flew to the floor.
Benton stood, legs braced, only feet from Scott. His searing gaze was leveled and intense. He looked like a panther about to pounce.
But Jillian knew better.
He was so transparent, she could see directly through him.
Scott was too quick for her to make a run for it. He hauled Jillian by the arm, pinning her to his chest as he faced Benton. She dragged the sheet with her and clung to it. Once more, the pistol was pushed against her head. Jillian shook. A tear coursed down her cheek. Why had Benton appeared when he couldn’t possibly do anything to save her? Now Scott was certain she had the button.
Scott gave her a hard shake. “I’ll kill her.”
Benton eyed him coolly. “Jillian isn’t responsible for what happened to Hattie.”
Scott was unhinged. He burst into maniacal laughter. “No, you are. You’re responsible for everything.” But his voice sounded as if he were on the verge of a tearful breakdown.
Good God, thought Jillian, he’s out of his mind.
Benton’s shoulders rose and fell with a resolute breath. He took a cautious step forward. “Put down the gun and I’ll tell you where the button is—Hattie.”
Jillian’s heart actually skipped a beat. She stared, eyes wide, at Benton. Had he just called Scott Bowers Hattie?
And had he just offered to tell this crazy man where to find the button?
Jillian struggled. “No!”
Scott’s vise grip on her tightened. She heard a sob tear from his throat. “The nightmares…oh God, the nightmares!” Scott began to tremble. “And you…you left me to marry that sadistic, murdering bastard, Bruce Bowers!”
Benton swallowed. His gaze never left Scott’s.
Scott’s voice rose in pitch until it was no longer his voice. It was Harriet Cooke’s. “Do you know what it was like for me? Do you have any idea? The whispers behind my back. Tainted. Ruined. Spoiled goods. Everyone in town knew I’d been had. Everyone knew it. Bruce knew and he hated me for it. He hated me for loving you!”
“It was your choice to marry him.”
Jillian held her breath.
Scott stiffened. “He had the pox, Benton. He gave me the damn syphilis he’d caught from some Georgia whore!”
Benton stared. Jillian thought she saw pity flash in his gray eyes but he was so transparent she couldn’t be certain.<
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“You have no idea what that was like. The madness. The darkness. The desperate days when I ran away to Shy’s Hill to search for your ghost.”
Jillian felt a strange, incongruent sense of pity for the man who would soon be her murderer. Had Scott Bowers really been Hattie Cooke in a past life? An icy shudder swept up Jillian’s spine.
“They locked me away after that. They took me to the asylum. Do you want me to tell you about it, Benton?”
“Hattie…” Pity was evident in Benton’s voice.
“The rats. The men who worked there. The filth. Do you want me to go on?”
Benton remained silent. His energy seemed to fade a little. Jillian felt a surge of panic. His presence was the only thing keeping Scott Bowers from unloading a bullet into her brain. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh. She winced.
“And all because of your sense of honor. Damn your honor, Benton Smith. And damn you!”
“What do you want from me, Hattie?”
“I want to watch you go to hell!”
Benton’s gaze flicked to Jillian’s. He inhaled and then looked back at Scott. “If I agree to give you the button, will you let Jillian go?”
“Why? You don’t want your whore in hell with you?” The pistol dug into her temple. Jillian gritted her teeth. Her whole body tightened, anticipating being shot.
“This is between us, Hattie. I have clearly wronged you and I am willing to pay for my transgressions.”
Jillian’s heart sank.
“Let her go unharmed and I will go with you.”
“No, Benton,” Jillian sobbed. Her legs felt as if they would give way any moment. This couldn’t be happening. He was offering to sacrifice himself for her life.
His gaze collided with hers and held. “Jillian, it’s the only way.”
“Where is it?” Scott demanded.
“Release her and I’ll ask her to get it for you if you give me your word you won’t harm her.”
The grip loosened and Jillian tumbled free. Scott nudged her shoulder blade with the pistol. “Get it.”
“Your word,” Benton demanded.
“Very well.”
Jillian’s heart lodged in her throat. She looked at Benton, pleading, and shook her head. She had seen what happened to Lynn Bowers. She had glimpsed hell in all its fury and the thought of Benton going to that awful place made her sick and miserable and angry. Guilt plagued her. Why had she allowed him to make love to her, to manifest to her? She felt sick and selfish and so, so stupid.
Why hadn’t she let Amy send him safely to the Light earlier? Why? Why had he insisted on coming with her to protect her from Scott when the unthinkable was happening? Jillian felt so helpless. She would never accept this. She could never accept it.
And she would never—ever—forgive herself.
“Benton, why?”
“Don’t argue with me. Get him the button, Jillian.”
Anger welled inside her. He couldn’t make her do it. She shook her head. “No. I can’t. I won’t.” She bit her own lip to keep from bursting into tears.
Benton stared for another breath. The look in his eyes spoke volumes. “Jillian, it’s in your robe pocket. Get it for me, now.”
She froze and stared. Her chin quivered. She drew in a ragged breath.
“Get it!” Scott ordered.
Benton nodded.
Still clutching the sheet, she picked up the robe, staggered to the side of the bed and sank. Benton’s confession had taken away her right to choose. Anger blazed through her veins. Her hands trembled violently as she searched the pockets. And then her fingers closed around the cold, hard bronze.
“Give it to him.”
She shot a glance at Benton and pleaded with her eyes but she could see in his gaze he had reconciled himself. This was the only way he could ensure her safety. His sense of honor required no less of him. She squeezed the button. She couldn’t give it up this easily. She just couldn’t.
She turned to Scott. Clad in fatigues and with his shaved head, he looked like a military badass. But Jillian knew inside he was a hurt, frightened woman. Somehow, his life as Hattie Cooke had an unabated hold on him.
“Hattie?” she began.
Scott eyed her.
“Jillian…” Benton’s voice was charged with warning.
But she ignored him. “Hattie, I know you loved Benton.”
A low, animal sob sounded in Scott’s chest. He was warring with the identities of both Harriet and Scott.
“If you loved him once, Hattie, I know there’s still love in your heart for him.”
Scott shot a look at Benton but then his gaze quickly returned to Jillian’s. “I hate him.”
Jillian nodded. “Of course you hate what he did. You hate that he was killed and that you couldn’t spend your lives together. But look at you, Hattie—you’re not that helpless woman anymore. And offering up Benton to the soul collectors isn’t going to ease your pain or your guilt.”
Scott’s dark eyes turned diamond hard at the word guilt. His breaths came in sharp, shallow pants. “I killed him. I killed him! I dreamed he was going to die and—”
“No, Hattie. You didn’t kill him. You had a premonition. Bruce killed him.” Jillian spoke to him as evenly and calmly as she would to one of her patients.
His thin lips quavered.
“Bruce killed him. You couldn’t have known that would happen,” she reiterated.
Scott’s eyes flashed. His hard gaze darted back and forth between them. “I warned him. I warned you, Benton.” With his gun hand trained on Jillian, he pointed at Benton with the other. His hands shook. Tears welled in his eyes. And despite his austere appearance, he seemed like a broken, helpless woman. “I warned you and you left me anyway. We could have run away together. You could have left the army, taken the oath of allegiance to the Union and we could have moved north. But you didn’t. You had to go back. You had to die—not for the cause, but for your damned honor!”
With intent, he aimed the gun more steadily at Jillian.
Jillian froze, expecting the bullet any second.
“I’m going to kill her. I’m going to make you watch while somebody you love dies and leaves you behind!” His voice rose with hysteria.
For the first time, Jillian saw Benton jolt. “No, Hattie! No. You gave me your word.” His words were quick and clipped.
Scott shook from head to toe. “Then give me the button! Give it to me now!” The room reverberated.
Jillian debated swallowing it. But with this hard knot in her throat, she knew she’d never get it down. And what would stop Scott from flaying her open the way he’d murdered Matt Gregory?
Impatient, Scott lunged across the room and charged her, his big, muscular body knocking Jillian to her back on the floor. The breath rushed out of her lungs when her head slammed against the floor. But somehow, she managed to hold tight to the button. Benton flailed at him but his energy was too weak, too spent. His fists passed through Scott unnoticed.
Scott seized Jillian’s wrist in his hand and banged her fist against the hardwood floor until it opened. And as if in slow motion, Jillian watched, heartbroken, as the button rolled from her fingertips and spun like a top on the floor.
Scott snatched it and thrust it in his pocket.
“No!” Jillian wailed as he flipped her onto her stomach. Her chin thumped the floor. Pain shot through her shoulders as a sharp knee pressed brutally into her spine and her arms were yanked up high behind her.
He pulled her wrists and ankles together and with a series of quick, jerky motions, he wound the belt of her robe so tightly around her arms and feet she thought the circulation would be cut off. She felt roped and tied like an animal ready for the slaughter.
But none of that mattered.
Scott had the button.
She, Jillian, had failed. Miserably.
She had lost Benton forever. For eternity.
A moan tore from her chest. She struggled agains
t the makeshift bonds but to no avail. Twisting her head, she looked up from the cold, hard floor to where Benton stood.
Love and compassion flooded his gaze. Tears blurred Jillian’s vision.
In the corner of the room, Scott was ripping her phone out of the jack. He dashed the cordless handset to the floor and ground it underneath his heavy army boot.
He wasn’t going to kill her. Somehow, that knowledge did little to comfort her.
Jillian heard the sound of her own voice. “Why are you so bent on revenge?”
“Revenge?” He laughed. It was a sick, angry sound. “This isn’t revenge. It’s justice,” Scott sneered as he strode toward the doorway.
Jillian’s gaze slammed into Benton’s. Regret and sorrow tinged his eyes. A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “My love for you is my courage.”
Jillian sobbed helplessly. She somehow twisted onto her side. “Benton, no! Don’t let him do this to you.”
She battled against her bonds. He was fading. Fading. Panic gushed through her veins.
“No!” she wailed until she thought her lungs would burst. “No!”
The whole house shook as the front door slammed shut.
Chapter Nineteen
Jillian’s first reaction was to lie there on the hard floor and sob. Benton was gone. Benton was lost to her forever. Scott was going to offer his spirit to the soul collectors. Benton would have the same fate as Lynn, as those revenants she had seen in the cemetery.
But then something sparked inside her.
Some glimmer of hope she couldn’t ignore.
Where had Scott taken the button? Where did he plan to do this evil, awful thing?
She was not helpless. She was not powerless. She was psychic.
And she could use her ability to find him—to stop this.
Ignoring the pain shooting through various parts of her body, she grew still and closed her eyes. She inhaled deeply and tried to draw vibrations of Scott to her.
Nothing surfaced.
“Dammit, Jillian, come on,” she said out loud. “Come on!”
Gritting her teeth, she held her breath and tried again.