His skin, where she touched it, was warm, but not quite as warm as it should be. It was like touching someone who had just come in from a cold day. There would obviously be life pulsing through the veins, but the skin would be pale and cool to the touch, until they'd been inside long enough for the warmth to come back.
She'd thought he'd be cold at first; corpses were cold. But then he'd looked so alive that she'd forgotten and expected normal hot flesh under her hand. Instead, it was something in between, and the difference in body heat was distracting, at least at first. She was intently focused on his touch, his cool hands roving over her body, tucking into the waist of her jeans and pushing them down over her hips.
She noticed, distantly, that the more he touched her, the warmer his skin became. It was like he was drawing the heat from her body, though she wasn't feeling a loss as a result. On the contrary, a flush of excitement rose under her skin, suffusing it with a rosy warmth. His hands moved to encircle her waist, holding her still while he bent his head and kissed. His lips, which had been cool before, now seemed to blaze as they devoured her mouth.
His large hands slid behind her to cup her ass, reminding her of the sting that was still centered there. He gripped and kneaded the plump bottom cheeks as his tongue pressed in to explore her mouth, and she lost track of time. Arms wrapped around his neck, she clung to him, letting him do what he wanted with her as the world disappeared around them.
Kissing had always been an intermediary step for the men she'd dated. A little kissing led to a little groping, which led to insistence on sex. No one had ever treated it like an end-game before. Maybe that was why she'd always thought she didn't like kissing, because as soon as it started, she knew it would begin the rush for sex. This—this was a whole new experience.
It felt like he was trying to taste her soul, and she began to react with an aggression that was out of character for her and would have shocked her if she'd been thinking clearly. One hand slid into his hair, gripping it and tugging to hold his head in place. The other rested lightly on his cheek as her brain filed away the sensations of stubble on warm skin for later; she was too focused on the feeling of her tongue gliding over his. The ways in which the kiss was different from others she'd had were too numerous to list.
Some of it was just him and the way he focused all his attention on her, like she was the most important thing in his world. The magnetic attraction she felt for him and the need that pulsed deep in her body as a result were affecting everything. But there were other things, differences that she couldn't quite explain. The taste of his mouth; everyone's mouth tasted of something when you kissed, maybe what he'd last eaten, maybe sweet, if he'd recently brushed his teeth, or sour if he hadn't, but there was always some taste.
Not so with him. As their open mouths pressed togetherm she could feel his tongue, a solid presence in her mouth as it stroked across her tongue and teeth, delving into the interior of her mouth as he coaxed her to respond. The wet heat of it was right, but the complete lack of flavor wasn't. She realized she didn't mind, especially as there was no bad breath to deal with, either.
And it was odd because his body did have a smell; it was faint, but there was a strongly masculine mix of musk, sweat, and wood smoke. She noticed when she slowly and reluctantly broke the kiss. Her mouth trailed across his, lips tingling as they brushed. She laid a series of light kisses down to his neck and inhaled deeply. That scent; if she had to choose the best smell in the world at the moment, she'd have chosen that one. It was intoxicating.
"How can this be happening?" She breathed against his ear. "I can feel you. Your skin is getting warmer under my touch; you were so cool before."
His hands tightened on her ass, and he lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her to the counter and set her down on it so he could stand between her spread legs. She inhaled sharply as her weight settled onto the chilled marble, but it soothed the warmth and sting left from the spanking he'd given her in the library earlier.
"Your life feeds me," he replied, staring deep into her eyes. "Your heat and passion make me stronger. I don't know why, but when the house is empty, most of us go dormant." He stroked her head, smoothing it at the crown and down her back.
"M-most of— How many—" She stopped to clear her throat and try to form a coherent thought; it got harder when he began to kiss her neck. "How many spirits are trapped in this house?" she forced out, finally.
"Many. More than I know or care to associate with." He dragged his tongue up the side of her neck, and then he blew an icy breath across the wet swathe he'd left on her skin.
She shivered; her nipples tightened again, abruptly, and areolae crinkled almost painfully from the sudden chill.
"Cold, so cold," she whispered.
His skin might have felt the normal temperature, but the air from his lungs had a cold tinge that was otherworldly, and she whimpered as he found her breasts and sucked first one taut nipple and then the other into his mouth.
His hand was at her back, tilting her, arranging her the way he wanted her, and her head tipped to lean against the mirror as her back arched. He moved back and forth between her breasts, sucking and biting until her fingers were curling and moans were trickling out of her mouth in a steady flow. The conversation was over for the moment; there was no place left for words.
He lavished attention on her body. His hands moved down to hold her at the hips as she writhed under his mouth's caresses. He kissed his way down the center of her chest to swirl his tongue lightly around her belly button. She laughed as the scruff on his jaw tickled the flat expanse of her abdomen, and he looked up long enough to flash her a wide grin before he went back to exploring her body, inch by inch.
With most men, it was mouth, neck, breasts, and then straight to the vagina, like an arrow shot from a bow. This experience was unsettling her because it seemed like he was in no hurry to get to the good part. Or maybe, for him, the journey was more important than the destination. If so, it made him a rare gem and her the lucky recipient of all his attention.
She slumped back against the mirror with a low moan as he nuzzled the soft skin of her belly, nibbling and licking the tan skin as he worked his way lower. The crimson panties, the only clothing she still wore, were in the way of progress and he tugged playfully at the elastic with his teeth. She laughed and placed her hands flat on the counter top, pressing down and lifting her hips so he could drag them easily off of her body.
"I have a distinct preference for these modern undergarments," he said as he examined them, pinching each side between finger and thumb and holding them up, stretched between his hands. They were thin enough that the light shone through the nearly transparent satin and made them glow like the sunset.
"Oh? And why is that?" she asked, a teasing tone in her voice.
"Easier to remove. Also, when you're wearing them they—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "In my time, these things were not made to accentuate a woman's body. They were meant to hide her shape from men's eyes. These, they mold to your flesh and cup your—"
He trailed off. There was a slight flush to his cheeks. Was it excitement or embarrassment? Either way, it was a surprise, since he had no blood to rush to his face.
"You'd think the world was insane if I told you how much money and research businesses put into making clothing that do exactly that," she said with the slightest smirk on her lips. The most amusing thing was that these were nothing special. If she'd known what she was getting into when she packed, she'd have brought some of her really nice lingerie. "I saw a panty and bra set on sale for three hundred dollars once."
He shook his head, laughing. "So much effort for something men will just want to remove. Women should save their money; any man who cares more about the garments than the woman in them isn't worth her time."
One eyebrow lifted, and she stared down at him, smirking more obviously now. "These days, women don't just buy their clothes to please men, you know. Somet
imes they like to feel pretty for themselves." Educating a man born a hundred years before her wasn't going to be an easy task, she realized.
"Women buy clothing that squeeze their breasts and—honeypot—for their own pleasure?" His voice was skeptical, clearly scoffing at the idea.
She had to restrain herself from laughing out loud at the term honeypot. She'd never heard it used outside of a romance novel.
"Well, some do, yes. I-I've never really—"
She trailed off. Some women did, she knew that. They just liked to feel pretty under their clothes, but she also knew there was no way to explain that to him, not in a way he'd believe or understand. He'd come from a time when women existed solely for a man's pleasure.
And though she'd never have admitted it before, there was something about this man that made her yearn for that time, the dominant aura he exuded, the way he controlled her without even trying. She'd always thought submitting to a man was ridiculously old-fashioned, but then it felt right. It felt—good.
"At times, I've been able to keep track of the world as it passed us by here in this house—not often, but from time to time—and I know that people live differently now, but I've seen your advertisements on the box, on the television," he corrected himself, "and believe me, women still dress for men," he assured her.
"But not—oooh!"
He'd interrupted her argument in the most efficient way he knew how, by dropping to his knees and pushing her legs farther apart. He began to kiss his way up her inner thigh. Things were moving faster, though he paused frequently to suck the tender flesh at the inside of her leg into his mouth and graze his teeth across it, leaving love marks that no one else would see.
Each one was a mark of ownership that seemed to pull at her core, making her clit throb and pulse with need. Drops of arousal beaded in the short curls that covered her mound and glistened there. He could smell the musk of her desire, and it was tantalizing. He had to force himself to continue the slow pace. She was wet for him, but he wanted her soaked when he finally took her.
Eventually, he reached his goal, and he stopped to look up at her. His dark blue eyes were full of passion and desire. They caught and held her gaze for a long moment, and her heart sped up, racing in her chest as his hands slid under her ass, lifting and holding her right where he wanted her. He used his grip to spread her wider, opening the pink flower of her womanhood and exposing the swollen bud of pleasure to his eyes.
He slowly lowered his head and blew softly. The chill of his otherworldly breath made her whimper, and her hips rocked in his grip.
"Oh, god, it feels like ice," she stammered.
He chuckled and did it again. She squirmed, trying to close her legs against the cold, but it wasn't painful. If anything, the sensation was making her even more desperate for some friction.
And he gave it to her. He growled a low and dangerous sound as he plunged his face between her thighs with a ravenous hunger, burrowing between the spread lips to use his tongue in a way that made her cry out immediately. She threaded her hands into his long, dark curls, tugging at them without noticing.
"John!" she blurted, almost panicked at the intensity of the sensation.
His name sounded so sweet on her tongue. It pleased him, and he rewarded her by stroking his tongue across her clit in long slow movements that had her ass tensing in his hands. The drops of arousal became a torrent, and his face was slick with it. He had no need to breathe, and his tongue didn't tire or cramp. There was no reason for him to stop, and when she came, suddenly and with a scream that embarrassed her, he merely switched tactics.
It wasn't the first time a man had done that to her. The boyfriend who'd loved oral had pleaded and nagged at her until she let him try. She hadn't regretted giving in, and after that, she'd always enjoyed the pleasurable sensations he gave her; she'd even come a few time under his ministrations, though more often, she simply pretended when he seemed to be getting tired. There was no pretending that time. His skill or her desire, she didn't know which, or whether both had conspired to bring her to her peak so quickly, but as she slumped back against the cold glass, shuddering, she became aware of the sounds trickling out of her mouth.
Embarrassed, she quickly stopped the breathy whimpering noises and tried to settle her breathing so she wasn't panting. "That was— That—"
"That was just the beginning," he assured her with a wink.
He delved back between her thighs, avoiding her overly-sensitized clit, and, instead, lapping along her folds to taste the sweet honey of her orgasm. He probed her entrance, twisting his tongue and pressing it inside.
Her hips bucked up with a pitiful whimper, pressing into his tongue with a feeling of wanting more, of wanting something inside of her.
"Please, please," she begged without knowing what she was begging for.
There was just an aching need to be filled, and she knew that for the first time she wasn't going to put a stop to things before they went too far.
He chuckled at her whine as he pulled his head back.
"Greedy girl, don't worry. You'll get what you need," he said.
He got to his feet, lifting her up off the counter and carrying her over to the wide marble steps that led up to the Jacuzzi tub. A stack of thick, fluffy bath sheets provided a softer resting place to lay her down, and he settled her comfortably on her back.
She sprawled there, her sun-kissed skin glowing against the white towels. Her hair spread out like an ebony halo around her head as she stared back at him. She covered her breasts with one arm, suddenly self conscious about being completely naked while he was still dressed. It hadn't occurred to her to wonder how a ghost was able to change clothes or get undressed, until suddenly the dark trousers and shirt vanished, and he stood there on display.
His body was a feast for her eyes, and she took in the sight hungrily. This was not a man who sat behind a desk; this was a man whose body was taut and lean from working hard. Every muscle was clearly defined under his pale skin. He was beautiful, and the only flaw that she could see was a large jagged scar that started just below his ribcage and ran down across his belly, bisecting his navel and ending some place that was hidden by his pubic hair.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask about the vicious injury that had caused it, but he distracted her with other things. He knelt on the step and pulled her close. One hand pressed between her thighs, parting her lower lips, and then the pad of his thumb found her clit and began to roll it. The short break had let her body ease down from the brink of painful stimulation, and she didn't pull away; instead, her hips lifted, and she ground against the touch.
Her ass lifted off the towels as he brought her to the edge again. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she bit down on her bottom lip; low animalistic sounds were barely heard, muffled by her closed mouth. He slipped a finger inside of her, curving it to brush over the spongy pad that would increase her pleasure.
She arched up with a cry. Her hands fisted in the towels, dragging them into a pile as her eyes shot open; she'd never felt anything so intense before. He slowly stroked that spot until his hand was coated with her fluids and she was writhing, and then he stopped and slid his finger out of her needy quim.
Her legs slammed shut, trapping his hand as she desperately tried to keep the pleasure going. For the first time ever, she thought she might have a second orgasm, maybe even a third. She'd thought multiple orgasms were just a romance novel cliché, but she was so hot, so needy, she knew she could achieve that state but only if he didn't stop.
"Don't stop! Please don't stop!"
"Shhh, don't worry, girl. I've no intention of stopping anytime soon. I only intend to give you something bigger to ride," he said, a sly grin curving his lips as he reached down and stroked his erection, drawing her eyes down to it.
His shaft pulsed large and thick in his hand, and she swallowed hard. It looked so big; how was that going to fit inside of her, she wondered. Logically, she knew, of course, that it had to, but l
ooking at it, she felt a thrill of panic in her chest. An irrational fear that he'd break her if he tried to push all of that length inside her warred with the pulsing neediness that wanted to be filled with his shaft.
She tensed, and he leaned forward, stroking her hair with her free hand.
"It will only hurt for a moment, April. I promise you're more than ready for me."
She was tight, yes, and a virgin, but she was soaked and swollen with desire for him. Her body would accommodate the intrusion and take pleasure from it, not pain. He was sure of that.
Her fear was normal, and he'd expected it. And though he believed her, that she hadn't been taken by a man before, he'd felt no block to break through. It happened sometimes, when a girl was active, even in his own time. But it had been no lie that he knew a bit of the current day, and women no longer sat inside and practiced their embroidery. They were active, played games and sports like boys did, and he'd learned this could remove that proof of virginity long before they were even old enough to copulate with a man.
He stole a kiss from her, calming her by doing so, and slowly eased her back down onto the make-shift bed of towels.
"Relax, love, relax, and it will be easier," he said gently.
She nodded and tried to make her muscles go limp as he pushed her legs apart and knelt between them. He held his shaft in one hand, gently stroking up and down and letting her watch before he began to nudge her entrance with the tip, slowly, gently, circling it to stimulate her, letting her feel that the hard length was nothing to be afraid of.
A Haunting Experience Page 6