Page 33 of The House on Haven Way

Johnny eases down next to me, ghostly gray, but solid. His hand stays on my pussy, just massaging. Slow. Unhurried.

Turning me into a puddle.

“You’re supposed to get all relaxed and sleepy,” he whispers reproachfully. His tone is still playful, though. “Am I messing this up?”

“I can’t get sleepy when it feels so good,” I confess. “But you are very overdressed. Sometimes I see you go outside and you have a Hellcats jacket on. Mostly it’s just jeans and a T-shirt. Can ghosts ever undress?” I ask.

“If we think hard enough about it.”

I roll to my side and kiss him greedily. “Let me encourage your thinking,” I murmur.

The next thing I know, I have a smoky quartz boy toy in my bed. Lean. Muscles. A T of chest hair and a tattooed heart on one shoulder with a ring of flame around it. “You have a tattoo?”

“Don’t tell my Ma. She’ll kill me. My dad knows. I got it when I was seventeen and running with the Hellcats. We all got them. Mine was tame.”

“I still like it. I think I might like a tattooed bad boy ghost boyfriend,” I moan before I can stop to think what it means if I call the live-in ghost a “boyfriend.”

“I hear they call us ‘greasers.’ Because we like our hair to stay in place and because we’re always working on our engines. A beautiful woman is like an engine. A lot of parts that purr if you treat ‘em right.”

“That’s either the corniest thing or the best thing I’ve ever heard,” I giggle.

“Well, let’s see if I can deliver, and then you can decide which.”

Johnny’s magical, ethereal, wired-as-fuck fingers slide across my clit—and press past the surface of my skin. He lets his hand go non-corporeal, keeping its shape, but moving through me easily, like that warm, liquid rush that makes me feel like I’m going to come on the spot.

He does it slowly, over and over, moving in a steady stroke as we both fight not to moan too loud in the other’s face, but God, I want to scream. It’s so good. So much. It’s like he’s touching all the nerves from the inside, with the perfect pressure, the tingling, licking sensation that makes my head spin and my thighs clench.

“You’re so warm here. Warm and wet. And when I brush through you, my whole body vibrates.”

“Mine, too,” I admit, done trying to hold it. “I’m going to come soon,” I admit.

“I’m not done yet, babe,” he protests softly, kissing my neck and letting his fingers turn solid. He presses them slowly, gently inside of me and starts massaging with those same deep, pulling strokes he used on my other muscles. “I don’t want you to rush, Amber. You gotta let out all the stress. That’s what the video said.”

“I just wanted you to watch the video so the nice, polite massages would turn into sexy massages,” I confess, holding his wrist. “Whenever you touch me, it’s not like a human touching me. It’s like... It’s like everything massages and vibrates, my nerves on fire in the best way, and I want you. I just... I want you.”

Johnny nods, and doesn’t have to be told twice. “I want you, sweetheart. I want you like I never wanted anything. Touching you does the same thing for me. But it’s not just that you set me on fire, baby. You wake me up. Make me feel alive again. And I know one day you’re gonna need the real thing—”

“Who gets to decide what’s real?” I hiss, pulling him tight to my chest, letting out a cry of ecstasy when his chest presses mine, and my whole body seems to ignite.

“I know you’re my dream girl, Amber. But here you are. Does that count?” he pants, kissing my neck. His fingers speed up inside of me, unspooling nerves and tension and fear.

Sex isn’t hurting my back. My head feels brand new. My legs... My legs feel like I could run a mile.

And let’s talk about the erogenous zones.

“I want you inside me, Johnny. I didn’t know what I was looking for, or dreaming of, but I think it’s you.” My hand works down to a thick, ghostly gray cock. It’s not huge, not intimidating.

But when I wrap my hand around it, it throbs and sends waves of warm, gooey bliss through my skin on contact. “This is fucking incredible,” I whisper.

“Aw, now, Amber. I’m gonna think you only want me for my body, kid,” he teases.

“Don’t call me kid. It’s sweetheart,” I pout.

“Mm. My sweetheart. If I can find a ghostly tattoo artist around here, I’m gonna have ‘em put your name in the heart,” Johnny chuckles.

“You’re the guy in charge of your appearance. Add it in there yourself,” I tease back.

“Maybe I will. If you want that.”