She washed up, peed, and headed back to bed. It wasn't until she left the bathroom and her eye caught the red light in the corner of the bedroom that she remembered the cameras. She sighed as she slid into the other side of the bed, the one without the wet spot. That was more interesting footage for them to view. She regretted leaving a small lamp on while she slept, though at the time she'd still been unnerved by the kitchen experience and had wanted its comfort.
She was kind of curious to see what the cameras picked up, though. That was one way to know if it had been entirely a dream, she supposed.
There were a lot of thoughts racing around in her head, too many mysteries that wanted answers, and every clue seemed to bring more questions. These thoughts kept her awake later than usual, and when sleep did come, it was wasn't as restful as she would have liked. She was still tired when her alarm went off in the morning, and she was reluctant to get out of bed.
But this was a job, she told herself. Despite the weird skill set, she was required to cooperate with the investigation team, and that meant she had to get out of bed. She sighed and climbed out of her warm nest. A shower and a cup of coffee put her in a moderately better mood to face the team when they arrived.
That time, no one ignored her. The three of them crowded around her eagerly, peppering her with questions about her night. Had she seen anything unusual? Had a ghost touched her again?
Jerome, it seemed, was actually able to gather some data remotely. It wasn’t the full video footage—something about not having the proper equipment for that—but he'd used a simple app to keep track of temperature fluctuations throughout the old manor and was certain before he arrived that there had been activity. He seemed disappointed when she told them that she hadn't seen or felt anything unusual, then she reluctantly mentioned the dream.
So she found herself back in the video room as they forwarded through the footage of the night before. To her disappointment, there were no ghostly emanations, nothing except her writhing in the bed and making embarrassing noises. There were a couple of smirks in the room as she assured them that there was more to it than that, but there was no proof of anything other than her having some really pleasant dreams.
The professor, however, did comment. "I believe you. If you look here—" He tapped a readout with the back of a pen. "You'll see the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees over the course of your dream. That's quite common with supernatural phenomenon."
She nodded; she'd known that, and was relieved to have some confirmation that it wasn't just a kinky sex dream.
"It's not unheard of for ghosts to invade dreams and affect the course of them. Actually, there have been a number of reports of this. Often they involved people with mediumistic skills. My understanding is— Well, I was given to understand that you were chosen for this job because of such gifts. Would this be accurate?" the professor asked. His blue eyes regarded her with the deep calmness of a still lake, showing no hints of what he felt.
She sensed no judgment from him, so, after a hesitation, she slowly nodded. "The women in my family have always been able to sense the dead. We have true dreams, flashes of precognition, things like that."
"Interesting. Your mother's side or father's?"
He looked down to quickly scribble some notes as she admitted it was her maternal family. He seemed interested in her abilities, and she could see he was fighting the urge to interrogate her about them further, but finally he sighed and changed the subject back to her dream.
They took plenty of notes on her report, but she was extremely circumspect about what she gave them. There was no mention of her being a virgin or anything related. She also left out the spanking, since nothing on the camera made it obvious. She'd probably have told them nothing at all, except she didn't want them to think she was masturbating under the covers on camera. That was probably the only thing that would have been more embarrassing than being fingered by a ghost.
There was an air of expectation the moment they left that afternoon, like the very building was holding its breath in anticipation. She felt it as a prickling across her skin and her hair standing up on the back of her neck. She thought, for a second, about going to the bathroom and hiding there for the night. They said there was never any activity in there, but even as she thought it, she knew she wouldn't. She wanted to pursue this mystery, to follow it to the end.
Going to the bedroom would look too easy, like she was just hoping for the ghost to come and fuck her. Instead, she went to the library and sat down at the desk to read. She felt overwhelmed and small sitting behind the massive piece of furniture. It looked like something out of a CEO's office, a glorious piece of hand-carved workmanship that was more for show than for actual work. She gave the smudges her fingerprints left on the glossy surface a guilty look as she picked up the files.
She leaned back in the chair and began to read through the information the attorney had left for her. It was fat with typed pages, photos, and Xeroxes of old newspaper articles. She had plenty of time to fill and a vested interest in the research. But there was a lot of material to absorb, and she hadn't made it through the whole folder yet.
She had just begun to skim the last page when the sound of someone’s throat clearing interrupted her, and she looked up, startled.
"This house has many interesting stories," he said quietly. It was him, of course, the ghost who was haunting her dreams and waking hours.
"Y-yes, I see that. Which one— Which story was yours?" she asked carefully.
"My apologies for the lack of manners. It escaped my attention that we hadn't been properly introduced. My name is John Binder, and I doubt there's much in there about me, miss."
"A-April. My name is April," she corrected him. Since they'd had some kind of dream sex twice, she figured he should at least call her by her first name.
He moved around the desk and tugged her up out of the seat and into his arms where she was kissed so thoroughly that she melted against him as all the strength went out of her body.
"April," he said finally when she came up for air; he didn't need any; ghosts didn't breathe. "How would you like to live here with me?" he asked.
"Y-you don't mean—as a ghost?" She gave him a nervous look. Was this some kind of a join me on the other side thing? Because as much chemistry as there was between them, she wasn't ready for that yet.
He snorted, shaking his head. "Of course not. I've no wish for you to die any time soon. But you know the terms of the agreement. Should you remain here a month, the house will be yours," he reminded her.
She gaped at him. He'd already surpassed everything she thought she knew about ghosts. That he could touch and hold her was nearly unheard of, but the self-awareness was something else. He actually knew he was dead, and he'd made it clear that he'd noted the passage of time. This was no lost spirit trapped in the moment of his death to repeat the circumstance for eternity. This was a person, dead, yes, but somehow fully awake to his circumstances.
Did he learn? Was he able to process new information? He'd given several hints that it was so. His comments led her to believe he'd noticed the world changing around him. She recalled that he'd said something about women no longer waiting for marriage. How was this even possible?
As for the house, she hadn't really dared to hope that would happen. It was a nice fantasy to think she could earn the mansion, but reality was rarely that easy. And what if she did get the house? It would be impossible to keep up with the taxes on what must be a very valuable property.
"I'd like to own the house, but the money—there's no way I could afford it. The twenty-five thousand a week would barely cover the taxes for a year, I think, and—"
He gave her a sly look and smirked as he pulled her up tight, gripping her ass through the tight jeans she wore.
"Don't worry about that. The house will provide. Do you think you're here by accident? The silly wench who bought my house and thought to make it her own soon found otherwise, but you— You may
stay. If you choose."
The house contained many more secrets than she'd expected. Maybe one of them was a fountain of money that would cover the taxes so she could keep the property.
"I don't actually know how I ended up here," she said, a look of confusion crossing her face. "I mean why me?" It was something that had bothered her since the lawyer first called.
"You're a medium. You see spirits," he said simply.
There was more to it, she knew there was. There had to be. How had they even found out about her? She'd always downplayed or hidden her abilities. She avoided telling people whenever possible, and while anyone who got too close to her generally began to sense the weird, she certainly didn't advertise it.
Maybe it was the fact that her parents were from such drastically different worlds that she'd always felt like an odd duckling no matter where she was. That could have been part of it—too white, not white enough, never feeling like she fit in anywhere. It was bad enough without adding her freakish quirks. And then, of course, there were the insensitive questions that just reminded her that she wasn't a pure-bred anything.
"Do you have powers because you're an Indian? I heard you guys are really close to nature and stuff!"
The truth was, she didn't know why she had powers, just that she did. Her mother had them, and her grandmother, too, but was it because they were Native American? No. She'd asked her grandmother that once, and the older woman had laughed, black eyes glittering with amusement.
"No, darling. I think there are always a few in every culture who are born with certain gifts. Our tribe respected people who could see beyond this world and those who showed signs were honored but, no. Anyone could be born this way."
It didn't make her feel any more comfortable about walking through a room and knowing someone had died there and that the spirit still lingered. If those powers were going to be useful at that point, it would be the first time in her life that she'd found them so. But that still didn't explain how anyone had known enough about her to track her down and hire her, and she pointed that out.
He gave her a reflective look and then shook his head. "I'll tell you what I know about that another time; it isn't much, I'll be honest. It wasn't I who chose you, though I did know you were coming. Just believe that if you want to remain here, I can make it happen. Do you want to stay here in this house with me?" His eyes held hers with an intensity that made her shiver.
She hesitated. Whatever this was between them, she wanted it more than she'd ever wanted anything before in her life. The feelings he'd evoked in her body and mind—she didn't have words to describe them, but that wasn't enough to agree to be the— What? Girlfriend of a ghost? What did that even mean? A ghost marriage? Ghost children? Ridiculous. Those things weren't possible, but what was possible, she'd like time to discover.
"Maybe. I'm not sure," she said finally.
"Then I'll have to convince you. In the meantime, Miss April, I've decided that those breeches you wear are acceptable only when you wish to feel my hand on your backside, because the sight of you cupped tight inside them is irresistible." She squeaked but offered no protest as he turned her around and bent her over the desk. He leaned over her, pressing her down and whispering into her ear, "You want this, don't you?"
Her response was a soft moan, and she buried her face in her arms. There was no whisper of warm breath across her ear as he spoke, but the words sent chills down her spine, just the same. His hand slid down her back to cup her ass cheek and then suddenly it cracked down hard across the seat of her pants, shoving her forward against the desk with a yelp.
"Answer me," he demanded.
She swallowed to wet her suddenly dry mouth and nodded slowly. His hand snapped down again, just as hard, and she could feel the blazing heat it left trapped under the denim.
"Yes, yes, I want this," she blurted, belatedly realizing that he was waiting for more than a nod from her.
"Good girl."
His hand fisted in the hair at the nape of her neck, and he tugged her face up so he could see her eyes. He held her like that, just looking at her, and then he claimed her lips for a savage kiss that left her legs trembling. He let her hair slide from his hand as he straightened. He planted his right hand in the center of her back to hold her still while he caressed her ass with his free hand. His fingers traced along the seam of the jeans, following it down the center of her ass and between her thighs. She made a soft sound of need and quickly clamped her legs together. She forgot all about the cameras watching the show, completely lost in the moment.
He tired of teasing her and instead shifted to the spanking he'd promised, the second that she had received from him outside of her dreams. It was becoming a habit, but one she found she didn't mind, at least not this time. His hand fell firmly and didn't stop falling until the seat of her jeans was hot and the skin under it sizzling, but it was no punishment. Between slaps, he would pause to vigorously rub the denim seat, and it was so much more erotic than she'd have thought possible. She could feel her panties soaking through.
Part of her, a big part, wanted him to take her right there over the desk. Imagining the smudges that would make on the polished surface of the desk made her groan and push her ass out for his hand. She was disappointed when all she got was more spanking, but she still enjoyed the heat as it sank into her flesh. The tight denim seemed to muffle the stinging, while at the same time holding the warmth against her skin, an odd combination, but one that she enjoyed.
He could have taken her virginity without any protest from her at that point, though maybe later she'd have regretted it when she had to watch her first time occur on tape. Maybe he felt their first time should be a little less public, because while he did mix in plenty of teasing touches, her pants stayed firmly in place throughout the experience. When he was done, he pulled her up and whispered in her ear, "Take that clock from the mantel and place it in your washroom. I can enter if there is something of mine in the room and there are no small eyes there to watch us."
She looked confused, then the light dawned, and her face flooded with heat. They could be alone without cameras in that one room. She understood immediately and, shaking with nervous excitement, she retrieved the elegant timepiece and hurried upstairs. She had so many questions, but there would be time for answers later.
Chapter 3
She settled the clock carefully on the counter, away from the edge. It was probably worth more than everything she owned, and she didn't want any accidents to befall it. Maybe in a month, all that would be hers, but until then, she was living in someone else's house, surrounded by property she couldn't afford to replace.
She fussed with its positioning for several minutes until she realized it was just her nerves focusing on an inanimate object. She was nervous. Actually, that didn't really cover what she was feeling, but she wasn't sure she could accurately describe it any other way. Her emotions were a turbulent mess of chaos at the moment, with lust and fear topping the list.
She looked into the mirror and saw him appear behind her. Their eyes met in the glass and held for an endless moment. She broke the contact only so she could turn around and see him directly. That would be the first time they'd be able to talk without her side on camera. Even while dreaming, she had been filmed, and she wasn't sure what the others would see or hear. She had so many questions she wanted to ask him, deep, probing questions about his existence and the afterlife and how she was able to feel him as a solid physical presence.
She settled for a slightly lighter topic. "Why did I need to bring the clock up here for you to be able to enter the bathroom?"
He pulled her closer and wrapped a hand in her dark hair, tugging it so that her head tipped back and exposed the smooth line of her neck. There was a small darker patch of skin at the base of her throat, a birthmark, and his mouth seemed to go right to it, teasing with his teeth.
She wrapped her arms around him, clinging with a low whimper. He'd somehow known it was one of the places
on her body that just made her melt, and he abused that knowledge to distract her from questions. Experiencing this, feeling his hands on her body, she could see how much more vivid it was than in the dream.
As erotic as the dream had been, this was so much more. It was different, too, than she'd expected. While she'd never actually had sex, she'd gone through most of the foreplay options with boys and men she'd dated. She'd held a man in her hand and mouth. She'd even had one boyfriend who loved going down on her, so she wasn't entirely inexperienced, but nothing had prepared her for paranormal sex.
Every sense told her he was a living, breathing, solid man. She could feel his skin and the slight jumping of his heart when she pressed her head to his chest. He was real, but— But there was something— As his hand moved over her body, her skin tightened with a tingling sensation. It was like a low level of electricity was running over her. The nearly invisible hairs on her arms stood up as his hand passed over them, and he began to undress her.
First the shirt he pulled over her head and discarded, and then the bra. It seemed to confound him for a minute as he tugged and pulled at it. Finally, she guided his hands around to the closures in back, and he took it from there. The cups dropped as the straps slid down her arms, and she let it fall to the floor. His fingertips grazed each nipple, and they tightened into little peaks so quickly that she gasped.
It felt like— Well, she couldn't describe what it felt like because she'd never experienced anything similar in her life. How much was because he was a ghost and how much was because of the deep sexual attraction? There was no way of telling, because she couldn't separate the two. She would have spread her legs for him then, even if they were being filmed, even if the whole research team were standing in the doorway, because what she'd been waiting for her whole life—was this.
She knew it with the same absolute certainty she'd known, when she'd woken sweaty and trembling in her apartment, that something was about to change. It was that other sense in the back of her head that told her, as odd as the situation was, it was meant to happen. She'd learned to depend on that feeling to guide her away from bad situations, but even if it had been warning her to leave the house immediately, she wasn't sure she could have done it. That it was agreeing with what she wanted so badly just made it easier for her to submit to the situation, to him.
A Haunting Experience Page 5