The Haunted (Sleeping with Monsters Book 1) (4 page)

Another
hand joined the first one, pushing her knees apart. Daphne inhaled to scream,
then realized the futility of it, as they were completely alone. She squirmed,
but his hands held her in place, opening her thighs wide on the edge of the
bed, her skirt edging ever higher.

She
gasped – she’d been a fool to invite this, to think she could handle this alone
when – she felt the pressure of a tongue, as hot as the rest of him, lapping at
her clit through her underwear.

The
sound she was about to make, shouting stop, no, go away, changed to panting
disbelief as she stared down. There was nothing to see, she could only feel
what was going on, but it was…incredible. She moaned without thinking and the tongue
below sped up. Even through her underwear, the friction was intense.

She
bent over, looking down, imagining the man there looking up. “How? Why?”

He
didn’t stop to answer her. His tongue just kept pressing, stroking, circling
and pushing at her clit through the thin piece of fabric. Her hips began to
rise and her legs spread of their own accord to offer more of herself to him.
But if she were going to come -- she needed more. If she was going to do this,
then let it be done right.

She
reached down. She didn’t want to reach through him, that would be rude at best,
at worst it would banish him, so she carefully slid her hand down and – nervous
again – pulled the crotch of her underwear aside, exposing herself to him.

He
paused, and for a moment she thought he’d disappeared, that she’d scared him
off – and then his tongue regained her and she could feel the heat of him
directly on her clit, now with lips too, him kissing her there, hard, and then
feel him slide his tongue between her labia to press in-in-in.

She
moaned long and low. She rocked back on the bed, falling onto it, giving
herself over to his mouth. She never felt the pressure or strength of a finger,
only his tongue, lips, and the outline of a chin, all hot, licking and sucking,
as though they might never get to taste a woman again.

Her
hips rose even higher as she went on her tip-toes and her free hand wound in
the sheet beside her ass. She could feel her orgasm building, stoking like a
volcano, and everything he was doing was going to make her explode – his chin
pushing in, his lips sucking hard and his hot tongue dancing across her clit,
writing in letters of flame.

She
shuddered, hips bobbing, and she screamed as she came. His mouth followed her,
sucking her last juices out as her orgasm flowed through her, leaving her
moaning on the bed.

Time
stopped, or felt like it did. Daphne let go of the sheets slowly, feeling as
wrung out as she had made them.

“Ghost?”
she tried out the unfamiliar term. Was ghost really what you called someone
who’d just given you what you’d wanted so thoroughly?

There
was no response. No feeling of heat, no sensation of otherness. The space between
her legs was cooling now without his presence there.

Daphne
sat up, supporting herself on both arms and looked down. Her skirt was as
disheveled as she was. Was that – had that – been real? How could it have been?
But – it was. She’d felt it. She’d felt
him
.

She
pulled her legs up on the bed with her and curled up. The philosophical
questions she could ask herself took second place to the fact that she was
completely satisfied now, in a way she hadn’t been since Richard’d left, and
without undressing she slept.

Daphne
woke at six AM the next morning. All that’d come before felt like a dream – but
she was still in this house, and still in her clothes. And the memory of last
night rushed back – her inviting the ghost in, and then letting him have his
way with her – she shook her head. It hadn’t felt like cheating at the time,
and there was no proof it’d even happened, yet it left a bitter residue.

She
stumbled through the empty house to the landline phone downstairs and dialed
Richard’s cell. She’d tell him what’d happened and he wouldn’t believe her,
he’d tell her she’d been dreaming, and that would be that. Her conscience
wouldn’t be completely clean, but it would be freshly laundered.

She
picked up the old fashioned phone and dialed and sank down to sit with her back
against the wall, waiting for her long distance call to go through.

“Hello?”
answered a woman on the far end of the line.

“Hello?”
Daphne said, much more sharply. “Who is this?”

A
moment of hesitation, and then, “This is Richard’s secretary.”

After
last night, Daphne was sure of very little in this world – other than the fact
that that woman was not her husband’s secretary.

“Who
is this?” the other woman asked her.

“This
is Richard’s wife. Put him on the phone. Immediately.”

There
was a pause and she heard voices in the background, before Richard picked up.
“Pet – how are you? What time is it there? Is everything okay?”

Daphne
licked her lips in thought. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to hear your
voice was all. What time is it there? Where is there?”

“Tokyo.
It’s 3 PM. You managed to catch me in between meetings.”

“You
and your secretary,” she said, clinically.

“The
banks here always provide you with clerical staff, yes. Never know when you’re
going to need to write an urgent memo.”

“Of
course.”
Sound reasonable, Daphne. Don’t let anything on.

“So
–“ She could hear the hesitance in Richard’s voice, not wanting to own up to
being caught if he didn’t have to. “Everything is fine?”

She
swallowed. “Yes. I just thought you should know how much I love our new house.”

“I’m
so glad. I can’t wait to see what you’ve done to the bedroom,” he said in a
voice that sounded like he thought he was off the hook.

He
was – but only for now. “I can’t wait to show you. When are you coming home?”

“Business
is taking longer than usual – I’m afraid I won’t be home from a week from today.”

Daphne
frowned. Gone for longer, and with that woman -- “But you’ll be home then?” she
asked, her voice small.

“Most
certainly.”

“Good.
I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me
either, pet. Love you.”

“Love
you too,” she said, and heard him hang up.

Daphne
hung up the phone more slowly on her end. It was the first name that did it.
She could have convinced herself otherwise, if the woman hadn’t used his first
name. Secretaries – especially assigned ones – were not that familiar.

How
long had it been going on? Did he have a woman in every port? Or was it just
this one time? How would she know? How could she ever, ever, trust him again?

Daphne
wandered through the downstairs halls, herself like a ghost, crying bitter
tears, until she wound up in the library. Dawn was peeking over the edge of the
world and the books Arthur had already put up were basking in a warm light.

She
stood in front of the portrait of the Master, looking up into his piercing
eyes.

“I
-- I don’t want to be alone.” She whispered the words, to herself first, and to
him second.

Then
she felt him in the room, like a rush of warm rain, and she found herself
pushed bodily against the nearest shelf, his heat all over the front of her
body, him kissing the tears off of her face and his hands racing down her
sides. She gasped at the onslaught, fighting, not-fighting, relenting, basking
in the heat of his raw desire.

And
then the alarm chirped as Arthur and Mrs. Dudley arrived, and the ghost
instantly departed. Daphne almost fell to the ground, cold without his warmth –
and then she gathered herself, running upstairs up to her bedroom to hide.

She
didn’t feel his presence at all that day. It was like she was listening for a sound
once familiar but now forgotten, a half-remembered song. She unpacked the den
and half of the office, turning around any time she thought she might have
heard something, always finding nothing there.

But
she knew he wasn’t gone – and she had no doubt that he was watching her. Not
after this morning, when he’d been beside her in an instant. He was just
waiting, biding his time, until he could have her again, alone.

He
wanted her.
He
was waiting for her. Instead of thinking about Richard off with that other
woman – and how many other women there might be -- Daphne chose to concentrate
on
him
instead.

Everything
she did she did as though she might be watched. When she bent over to put low
objects away, she made sure to keep her ass up high. And when she reached for
things, she did so with her breasts up, all the better to show them off to
apparently thin air. The game made her feel alive, and she found to her
surprise that that that was even more important than being distracted from Richard’s
betrayal.

She
ate dinner that night with impeccable manners, pretending that she had a dinner
guest at the opposite end of the table. Once, when Arthur wasn’t looking, she
raised her wine glass in a subtle toast to where she thought he sat. And afterwards,
when she heard the alarm chirp and knew they’d locked the door, she rose up and
walked slowly, majestically, out to the entry hall and up to the stairs, her
clit thumping with every step.

When
she reached the bedroom, she closed the door behind herself so that they would
feel alone.

“Are
you here?”

She
knew he was, she knew that she could feel him, everywhere and nowhere both at
once.

“Don’t
taunt me,” she pleaded.

Hot
hands cupped her ass, and she felt a wall of heat behind her. She moaned and leaned
back, felt the pressure of his presence and then – she tumbled to the ground,
skirt and ankles in the air. The sensation of heat evaporated.

She
laughed at her own foolishness from the ground. “It’s not you. It’s me. I’m
sorry.”

She
stood up, shaking her head at herself, walking over to the bed to sit down.

Her
closet door opened then, fully, showing her the mirror hidden inside. She was
sitting in the exact right place for it, she could see all of herself in its
length.

She
didn’t know what to do next. Stretch her hands out to him, as if asking him to
join her on the bed? That seemed too forward, and yet – she took the hem of her
skirt between her hands and pulled it up, and then quickly pulled her underwear
down. He had to know what she wanted – but would he be willing to give it to
her again?

She
felt a spot of heat on the inside of her left ankle. She thought it was a hand
at first, then decided it was a kiss, as it lifted higher, drawing a line up
the inside of her calf and then her thigh. She got an idea and let the fabric
of her skirt float down, so that she could see the outline of his head as he
rose up between her legs again. Daphne watched, distracted from his kisses,
trying to envision the man underneath, and he reached up to push the fabric
back.

“You’re
no fun,” she said with a tease.

He
pinched her inner thigh in complaint. She yelped, but then he kissed the spot
he’d hurt – and he was a ghost besides, she’d fallen through him earlier, he
couldn’t really hurt her, right?

Both
his hands pushed her thighs open for his tongue. She purred as he started
sucking at her again, skirt forgotten – and then she felt one of the hands on
her thighs slide up and hot fingers creep up to the entrance of her pussy.

“I’m
–“ she protested, and he stopped. What? She wasn’t a virgin. And Richard was
off with some ‘secretary’ halfway across the world. “Do it,” she breathed, and
fingers pushed in.

She
moaned as lonely nerves lit up. His hot fingers probed into her as his mouth
sucked on her clit and every time she looked up she saw herself in the mirror,
eyes heavy, eager legs spread wide. It embarrassed her to see herself like
this, but she found she couldn’t look away – and when his other hand snaked up
underneath her shirt and bra to cup her breast and pinch her nipple, she found
she couldn’t lean back even if she wanted to.

There
was no need for conversation since he couldn’t talk, and since she couldn’t see
his face, there was no need to be ashamed. Everything his hands or tongue did
said he wanted her, he wanted to service her, he wanted her to be happy. She
wasn’t twelfth or twentieth on his list, behind a job and a mysterious
secretary. He hadn’t bought her a house to buy off his guilt. No -- his thumb
rolled over her nipple just like his tongue covered her clit and his fingers
inside of her moved faster, stretching against the walls of her pussy in
increasingly delicious ways. She saw herself in the mirror, panting, crouched
over him on the edge of the bed, like some sort of needy beast, wanting more –

And
that was why he’d opened the door with the mirror, she realized. Because while
she couldn’t lean back into him – he wanted her to know that he could do
this
to her – make her feel like this, take her from being the mistress of the house
to a beggar in a day.

Forced
to watch herself being turned on, being used – she was flooded with shame which,
oddly, made everything more hot. Her pussy began to quiver around his fingers
and his mouth redoubled its efforts on her clit and a moan began to build in
the back of her throat and she saw herself tilt her head back to scream it out
– she shouted and she writhed, hips bucking against the bed and the heat of his
hands, forced to watch herself ride him, thrashing like a mermaid pulled onto a
rocky shore.

Moments
later, the sensation of his presence stopped, and the heat of her body was hers
alone. Daphne staggered to standing and closed the closet door.

After
a moment’s thought she took off all her clothing with purposeful nonchalance
and slid into bed.

She
stayed up as long as she could without saying a word.

Daphne
didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to have to. She’d spent so many nights
asking Richard that – her face twisted into her pillow and she sighed. Was it
any wonder she wasn’t pregnant yet when she had to beg him to fuck her? Was it
any wonder that he wasn’t interested, when he was getting serviced around the
globe?

When
she’d abandoned hope of more, sleep came to her slowly, unfurling like a
night-blooming flower -- which was why she didn’t believe it when it began, because
it could have been a dream.

Daphne
felt a weight in the bed behind her, moving in, and then a wall of heat against
her exposed back, spooning her as she lay on her side.

He
was here for
her. He still wanted her – and from the tension and pressure and heat folded up
against the cleft of her ass, she knew he wanted more of her than he had had so
far.

A
hot arm draped over her and reached for her breast. He thrust slowly behind
her, rubbing himself against her, letting her know he was there and what he
sought out –

And,
half-asleep, half-awake, she knew she was going to give it to him. It’d been so
long since Richard had turned to her like this, had needed her as badly as she
felt like she needed him. She lifted her upper leg up and felt him move down
her body until his hot cock was aligned and then slowly, slowly, he thrust up.

The
head of his cock pushed into her, hot and hard. She wasn’t ready for him, but
she didn’t want to be. She whined, an animal sound, lifting her leg higher as
he pushed more in, somehow sensing that she needed this strange roughness to
feel right. And the sudden sweetness of his cock shoving deep inside her, when they
were matched, mated, like a key to a lock -- relief flooded her as wetness did
and he started to stroke.

She
threw her head back into his chest and felt it solidly there. She was pinned on
him now, and even though she knew she could get free, she didn’t want to break
the illusion of that. His hips rocked against hers and she moved in time,
feeling his heat slide in and out, the head of him almost emerging, teasing the
entrance of her pussy, before being rammed back inside.

She
was content to be taken, pleased to be used – but a hand dove over her hips and
went between her thighs and started to rub. She moved to push it away, she
didn’t deserve to pleased again so soon – but then thought better of it in time
and instead held his hand steady with her own, forcing him to rub at her clit
the way her pussy was rubbing his cock.

If
he’d been a man really in bed with her – if he’d been Richard – he already
would have come by now.

But
by virtue of who and what he was – the only name she had to give him, Master,
apt – she knew she was going to get to come again, first.

She
pressed his hand tighter to her clit, felt his other hand grab roughly at her
breast, felt the friction between them speed up as he rode her so thoroughly,
held tight and being helplessly fucked – she screamed for the second time that
night, with the abandon of those who know that no one else will hear, until her
throat was hoarse. She spasmed on the bed and his cock kept riding her until
the very end when it, still stiff, pulled out.

Daphne
turned back in bed as the sensation of heat faded. “Don’t go –“ she said, but
she knew she was alone.