Page 24 of The House on Haven Way

“Sure. Tired of being lonely. Tired of questions. That sort of tired.”

“What about sleepy?”

“Sometimes.”

“I don’t want to tire you out.”

“You’re not, sweetie. You feeling any better?”

“I feel amazingly better. It’s so good. I don’t want it to end. But don’t worry, I’m not selfish. You don’t want to sit here all night, rubbing my broken back.”

“On the contrary, I think I’m an asset to your recovery. I could go a while longer.”

“Yes, please,” I moan shamelessly, and Johnny chuckles.

“Your wish is my command, princess.”

“If that’s true, be my partner in science for a minute—if it’s not too weird.”

“Weirder than a ghost giving the woman investigating his murder and living in his house a back massage? Nahhh.”

“You know how earlier I patted your shoulder, but I went through it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can that happen again?”

Johnny’s still for a second, and then—the pressure is lighter, and then deeper, sinking into me. For a moment, we’re both silent, locked together, his hands inside my skin, like he’s passing through walls, only I’m the wall.

A broken, panting, squirming wall.

“Too much?” Johnny asks, and his voice is panting, too.

He doesn’t even need to breathe. “Is it hard?” I whisper. I don’t know how much effort it must take to change states of solidness, to hover in this odd limbo of passing through someone’s body but not.

More silence. “You want the truth?”

“Absolutely.” Poor guy. Gosh, I wonder if he’s really afraid I’d exorcise him, or that I won’t help him “cross over,” and he’s doing everything I ask, even if it is painful. “I want you to be totally honest.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m trying to be hard, or anything, but this tingling sensation is spreading beyond my hands. Everywhere. And it’s very... stimulating. Pain-relieving and then some, you might say,” he says in a careful voice.

Oh. Hard.

Hard like that, Amber.

I’d be offended or grossed out, except that every time he presses towards my hips, my pussy practically purrs out loud. I’ve already been plotting to make myself come in the shower once we’re done.

And for the first time in a long time, I’m not going to fantasize about my tall, dark, and delicious version of Devon, the Devon I shape with my imagination. I was planning to think about some old Hollywood heartthrobs.

“I didn’t mean to put you in a difficult position,” he murmurs.

“I’m not complaining. But, uh... But you can stop now. I should hit the shower. My back feels amazing. My head is pain-free. Thank you. So much.”

“Good. Say, uh... You eat yet?”

“No.”

“I noticed you have some pasta and things in the house. You want baked ziti?”