The Haunted (Sleeping with Monsters Book 1) (5 page)

Daphne
woke up bleary eyed but clear headed the next morning. She showered, blow dried
her hair, and put on a cute outfit involving a short skirt, then went down for
breakfast.

Arthur
served her diligently. Did he know that she’d cheated on Richard? With a ghost,
no less? She got a sly smile at the absurdity of it all, and the space between
her legs became warm at the memory.

She
was planning her escape back up to the bedroom at the end of the meal when
Arthur announced, “Ma’am, the gardeners have arrived. Would you like to go and
meet them, and make your needs known?”

She
set her spoon down, feeling a guilty rush. “My needs?”

“In
the garden. There’s beds outside, now fallow, for herbs and vegetables – not to
mention all the topiary and trees.”

“Oh,
yes, of course.”

“I
thought you might enjoy getting out of the house some today, too,” Arthur said
with a smile. “I’ll let them know you’re on your way.”

“Thank
you.”

She
felt a little over dressed to be seeing gardeners. Still, if they were same as
Arthur, from the home’s original number, she might be meeting the elderly.

She
followed Arthur out the back door and around the first line of shrubs,
lawnmowers droning in the background. “Mr. Gale, may I present Mrs. Vance,”
Arthur said, with a bow, before dismissing himself.

And
while she’d dressed this morning to tease the ghost in particular, at seeing
Mr. Gale, she was very glad she had.

He
was muscular and tan, broad shouldered, with a wide chin. She would have never
imagined she’d find a man like him in the middle of nowhere like here.

“Please,
call me Daphne.”

“I’m
Jason,” he said, offering his hand out. She took it, and it was strong and
warm.

“So
-- you’re the gardener?” she said, unsure where to start.

“No,
I’m the landscape professional,” he corrected her. Daphne looked down, feeling
chastised, until she heard him laugh – and looked up to see his grin. “Really,
I’m the ‘you’re-paying-me-enough-to-be-whatever-you-want.’”

She
snorted softly and hoped she stopped herself from smirking in time.

“Let
me show you around,” he said, and started to walk. She trotted to catch up.

“We
come out here a lot, depending on the season -- it’s a grand estate, there’s a
lot to do to keep it as is. If you want changes though, all you have to do is
tell me.”

“I
don’t know what I want yet, honestly. I’ve been so busy inside the house I
haven’t had a chance to look around.”

“That
what I’d thought. But it’s planting season -- the family that was here before
you had a garden out back that they chose to tend on their own. It’s gone a
little wild now, but if you have a green thumb you can touch it up. Or we can
do it for you.”

“I’m
sure you all have quite enough to do with all the lawn and the trees.”

His
smile was warm. “We can always do more, if you just let us know.”

He
said it like it was an invitation. Daphne swallowed, feeling as if a lead weight
had dropped into her hips, and all the things should could ask him for help
with leapt to mind. She shook her head -- she would have never considered
anything with anyone else ever before -- had one night with the ghost changed
her mind?

“Were
you thinking of bringing horses in?” he asked, as she wrestled with her
imagination.

“No,
why?”

“I
thought that might have been why you bought the place. There’s a pasture out
back. If you were I was going to reseed it for them.”

She’d
ridden before, back before her mother’s illness and Richard. “I might – is
there a stable?”

“Sure
-- just behind that copse of trees.” He pointed along the path they walked. “It
needs some maintenance – it’s just as old as the house is, and the prior owners
let it go at the end. My men can do that too, if you want – just give me about
six weeks notice, before you go bringing in a horse.”

“Will
do.”

They
reached a clearing where the din of the lawnmowers lessened, halfway to the
stable. She was walking just to walk now, and he seemed content to walk with
her.

“Do
you know any of the history of this place?”

“Only
what I’ve heard in town – and what the old owners told me. I know it’s old, and
people in town say it’s haunted.”

“By
who?”

He
shrugged broad shoulders. “Russians? Gypsies? When I was little, people would
tell stories about the place. But honestly, you’re so far back from the road,
most people in town don’t remember it at all.”

“Russians?
Really?”

“The
old owners didn’t think that was right, either.”

“Why’d
they leave?”

He
made a pained face, as if holding truth back from her cost him. “They were
happy enough at first – had a lot of friends in from out of town, dinner
parties. But then,” he started slowing down, as if weighing the former
occupant’s right to privacy. “Well, things changed after their daughter died.”

“Oh
no – how?”

He
winced. “Horse riding accident. I – I shouldn’t have brought it up –“

“No,
I used to ride, I know how dangerous it can be.”

Her
admission relieved him somewhat. “She had this big black warmblood. Gorgeous
beast, but an animal nonetheless.”

“What
happened to it afterward?”

“They
sold it, I’m sure. And then the house was never the same after that. They
didn’t want to sell here – too many good memories, I suppose – but they moved
out soon after. Kept us on this whole time. I don’t know if they were hoping
they could come back someday, or if they just realized the home would never
sell if the grounds got too wild.”

They
were almost to the stable’s door. It was a looming barn-roofed structure, two
stories tall, and the angle of the morning light shadowed its open door,
keeping the inside cool and dark. She wanted to investigate, but knew on a
woman’s level that she shouldn’t go in there alone with this man. Not wearing
this skirt, no matter how nice he seemed. She gave him a smile and then turned
around. The house wasn’t so far behind them and the sunlight was lighting it
up. She really did need curtains, she could easily see in half the windows. If
they’d come a little earlier, or if she’d slept a little later, she would have
given all the men a free show.

But
more than that -- if she could see into the house – then
he
could see
out. She thought she could feel his eyes on her, and she realized she wanted to
be with him again.

She
turned back toward Jason. “I have to go back.”

“You
don’t want to see the workshop on the second floor?”

“Maybe
another time.”

He
looked surprised, but nodded. “Of course.”

“I
may try my hand at the herb garden before you return.”

“If
you need any seeds or starters, let me know.” He smiled warmly and she felt it
radiate through her, like the rays of the rising sun, but nowhere near as hot
as the Master’s hands.

Arthur
was there every time she turned around that day. She’d be reaching seductively
inside of a box, the door would open, and he’d be there. Now that the library
was finished, he needed a lot more guidance to help, which normally she
wouldn’t mind, only she had a ghost to seduce.

When
she thought about it that way, it became completely ludicrous and she couldn’t
help but smile and shake her head, trailing Arthur down the hall.

“I
found something I think you should see, Ma’am,” he announced on the fourth of
his interruptions.

“Really?”
She looked around the room. She hadn’t felt him watching her yet. Was he? Or
was he distracted, too?

“I
think you’ll be pleased.”

“All
right.” She dusted her hands against her skirt in an unladylike fashion. “Lead
on.”

Arthur
took her to the closet of one of the back bedrooms and opened the door up
dramatically. “See?”

There
was a large box on the ground, and in it were bolts of fabric. She knelt down
and picked one up. “Are these what I think they are?”

“I
believe so! Curtains!”

“Oh
thank god. I didn’t know how we were going to get anyone to come out here to
measure things, or how long they’d take to make.” She held the top one up. They
were a drab grey, but it didn’t matter.

“I’d
assumed they’d taken them, and were going to hem them for their new home. I had
no idea this was here.”

“Well,
this isn’t enough to do all the windows, not unless you find another box or
ten. But these will do the bedroom just fine – and we can take our time working
on the rest.”

“I’ll
start steaming the creases out this afternoon.”

Daphne
rose to standing, beaming at him. One more step in getting this house into
shape. Her house. Her wonderful, amazing house. “You were right, Arthur. These
are delightful.”

He
bowed politely with a broad grin on his face. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

She
continued to unpack for the rest of the day. Richard would have to send her
somewhere to buy more things, or they’d have to shutter half the bedrooms off.

The
feeling of being watched, that she’d had this morning while outside, was gone
now, and she didn’t know what to make of that. What if he’d gone away? Maybe he
could only appear near a full moon? She didn’t know how ghosts worked. It was
possible, wasn’t it?

And
so as dinner passed and there was still no sign of him, her anticipation
curdled into fear. What if Arthur and Mrs. Dudley left tonight, and she was in
her newly curtained room, completely alone?

Daphne
found she couldn’t bear the thought.

“Is
there anything else, Ma’am?” Arthur asked, after collecting the last of
dinner’s cutlery.

“No.
Thank you.” She didn’t know whether to plead for him to stay to keep her
company or push him out the door and pray. “I’m fine,” she said, smiling, using
the same calm voice she’d used with Richard on the phone, the one that anyone –
if they knew her very well – would know meant that she was lying.

“Glad
to hear it, Ma’am. Breakfast at eight again?”

“On
the dot. See you then.” She waved at him as he left the dining room and heard
the alarm chirp on their way out.

She
waited in the dining room after that, pensive – scared. No heat, no sensation
of being watched, just the vast presence of an empty house looming over her
like a squatting hen.

Daphne
got up, pushed her chair in, and walked out to the hall. If there was anywhere
that he was likely to be, it was her bedroom, surely. He must be waiting for
her there. He simply must.

She
walked slowly, preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously, feeling her
clit thump with each step. She needed him to take care of her, to make her feel
alive again – and she realized she didn’t know what she would do in this huge
empty house without him. Go insane, probably.

Daphne
placed her foot on the first stair up to her wing of the second floor – and was
yanked back, from behind.

Heat
covered all of her, her back, her ass, her neck. Hands molested her roughly
over her clothing, mauling her breasts, pushing through the fabric of her skirt
to grope at her crotch. She cried out in fear and relief – he was still here,
he’d been waiting for her after all – and he threw her to the cold tile.

She
caught herself only barely, on all fours -- in the morning there’d be bruises
on her knees. A hand she couldn’t see wound in her hair and pulled her head
back as another hand pushed up her skirt and yanked down her underwear, and she
knew what he had planned -- he was going to ride her like a horse, right here
in the entryway hall.

Daphne
felt the heat of him behind her, covering her ass and thighs, and then he let
go of her hair and pushed her forward, buckling her down so that her ass was
higher than the rest. She felt him pull her buttocks wide as if he were
inspecting her – and she knew she was already ready for him, hopelessly,
shamefully wet.

With
one solid plunge he pushed his hot spear of a cock inside.

She
cried out again as it rammed into her, in hunger and surprise. He started
taking her roughly, right from the start, fucking her – on the cold tile there
was no such thing as consideration, or as love. She scrabbled to hold onto
something, anything, but the tile had no give and his cock was relentless,
taking her hard and fast and deeply.

She
didn’t want to come for him like this, dirtily spread apart, given no choice in
the matter, but her body betrayed her and she felt her pussy begin to clench.
She fought to hold on, to hold off, to not give him the satisfaction while
keeping all of it in for herself, but she couldn’t – the hammering of his cock
and the titillating shame of the situation shoved her over the edge.

She
cried out again and it echoed through the house’s empty halls, making it sound
like a howl instead of a shout, and she felt her pussy lock down on him,
milking him as hard as it could in her wild orgasm. She shouted again, feeling
all of him inside of her, brilliantly hard and straight and hot, and then
sagged to the ground, barely cupping her hands in front of her face for the
fall.

He
took three more long strokes, still impossibly hard, owning her pussy just
because he could and then pulled back, freeing her from his cock. Her hips
dropped to the floor and she lay there, dizzy and gasping, her own juices
seeping wetly from her cunt – that’s what it was now, she thought, after he’d
used it like that – to stain the front of her skirt.

The
sensation of heat from behind her disappeared, and Daphne realized she could
maybe stay there all night, except that the tile was cold.

Daphne
made her way upstairs after taking off her low heels and got into her bedroom,
half expecting a repeat performance the second she walked in. But no one waited
for her there – and without his heat surrounding her, she found herself chilly.

She
got undressed and dropped her clothes to the ground and made her way into the
bathroom’s claw-footed tub and drew the shower curtain closed.

Would
he
come
for her again tonight? Would she, in turn,
come
again for him?
She should be too tired to think of such things, or too scared – or angry that
he’d had his way with her downstairs, like that, just taken her in the hall –
but as the water sluiced down her naked body it washed away her exhaustion, her
impropriety, her shame. She’d wanted someone to use her – anyone – and if she
were completely honest with herself, she’d enjoyed being used.

She
rinsed her hair off and began the work of washing off her body. Reaching down
for the soap and coming up again she paused with a gasp.

Outside
the milky white shower curtain, she could see a form. Her heart started beating
faster, fear and hope twining again. Did he know she could see him? He was
taller than her, but she couldn’t tell what he looked like. Was that for the
best? Could he see her, in here? She swallowed, picking the soap up.

She
cleaned herself off with him watching. Her boldness returned to her and it
became a game, much as unpacking had. She held one arm up just so and faced
him, while she washed off her left breast, and then repeated the show on the
other side, taking elaborate care as her hands slid down her body, putting
pointed toes up on the edge of the tub as she soaped and rinsed herself off,
until the only space left to clean was that one, the one he’d just fucked.

There
was no way to make washing her pussy off sexy, and so she didn’t try. She just
stood there, facing him, hidden by the shower curtain, reaching with soapy
fingers between her folds, and then cupping water with both hands to rinse
herself off.

She
bent over to set the soap down – and when she came up again, he was gone.

Daphne
dried herself off in the bathroom and pulled her robe on. She reached out for
the door knob and rested her hand on it without turning. She had no idea what –
if anything – would be waiting for her outside, and she found that liked not
knowing and being scared.

She
turned the handle and stepped out into her boudoir.

There
was a divot on her sheets, as though a man sat on the edge of her bed. She
walked across the room to him, discarding her robe. She felt more powerful
naked than she ever had wearing clothes.

Daphne
presented herself. Because he couldn’t speak, she couldn’t know what he wanted
– he’d have to show her with his hands. One hot hand grabbed her wrist and
pulled her closer – and a hot arm pulled her awkwardly down.

“What?”
she fought, then remembered if she pushed through him, she’d break the illusion
they shared, that he had all the power. She felt his legs beneath her stomach,
her naked breasts jiggling on the far side of his thighs as her ass – for the
second time that night – went in the air. She was like a poor 1950’s housewife
or a recalcitrant schoolgirl, about to feel a father’s wrath.

Before
she could protest further, or ask what was going on, the first blow landed. She
felt the heat of it, the weight of it, as it stung her with pain and surprise.
It reverberated through her, body and soul. Was this really happening? Was she
letting it happen to her? She had an infinity of time to contemplate exactly
how she had gotten here before she felt the next smack.

“No
–“ she protested, as the heat flooded her again. It welled up from his hands as
he hit her, from legs beneath her, and she could feel the bobbing of his hot
cock against her stomach. If she were honest with herself, she felt the heat
rising from between her own legs. “Stop –“

Another
smack. There would be no stopping, at least not on her behalf. The ghost would
continue until he saw fit, and she would just have to learn how to take it.

He
changed his hand so that his next spank was a slap, crisply echoing around the
room, and he began to speed up, striking one spot repeatedly before changing to
the other, cooler, cheek. His handprints weren’t differentiated on her anymore,
they were like an endless stream that blended together, and she was squirming,
squirming, squirming to get away from them, twisting in his lap to hide herself
from him, but unable to get away. Her body genuinely wanted flight, but her
mind needed his attention and knew – hoped, prayed – that he wouldn’t give her
more than she could take, although with each new strike she felt closer to
crying for mercy than the last and ending their game -- assuming he would stop
then.

Just
as she thought she couldn’t take anymore, that her bottom was on ruined, that
she’d never recover – he stopped.

She
tensed on his lap, unable to believe it was over, oddly missing it now that it
was gone. Her head was spinning, she didn’t know what to think, she’d used her
riding crop on horses before, but she’d never had anyone else put her through
her paces – not like that.

He
stroked a hand over her wet hair and down her back and softly, so softly, over
the ass he’d just welted. She whimpered and twitched, an animal sound, feeling
small and lost. He stroked her again, calm, and reassuring. The man whose hands
cared for her like that, who touched her so gently after bruising her – surely
there were bruises – she didn’t know what to make of him anymore.

His
hands reached down the backs of her thighs, to the back of her knees, and then
back up more slowly. She was worried that he was coming again for her ass and
she tensed – then felt him push his way between her thighs, still involuntarily
clenched to protect her pussy from his prior onslaught. Nervous yet hoping,
even if she couldn’t have put that hope into words – she opened her legs slightly
and let him in.

Hot
fingers pushed inside of her ever so easily. She was wet again, even after
having washed herself off in the shower, the rain of blows he’d landed on her
ass had turned her on in spite of herself. His fingers moved inside of her, sliding
in and out, and she moaned.

The
pain was over now. She knew somehow she’d tolerated it – ridden it, like it was
an animal – and come out the other side. Which meant now it was time for
pleasure.

He
brought his wet fingers out and circled her clit, before pushing them into her
again. He made a game of it, of teasing her like this, stirring his heat
against her pussy’s walls, until it felt maddeningly good, only to pull out and
pay attention to her clit. And then he’d rub her own wetness over her, pushing
on her slow and hard, too hard almost, until she was too sensitive to stand it
and needed things faster and more light, then plunging his fingers into her
pussy again.

She
had no idea how long they were there, the blood rushing to her breasts and
head, her slung across his lap, dizzy from the pain and hope. She reached a
hand up to pull at one of her nipples and moaned, feeling the electricity jolt
down to where his fingers were once again teasing her clit.

She
rolled her nipples between her fingers, holding the heavy weight of her
breasts, letting his lap completely support her – feeling the heat of his hard
cock stroke against her belly. She moved a hand awkwardly up, trying to reach
for him, and got one swift strike on her already raw bottom in return for it.
She whimpered and she would’ve sworn she could feel him move as though he were
chuckling.

He
wanted control – and so she let him have it. She rubbed her own breasts,
feeling the delicious softness of her own skin, as he manipulated her at his
leisure. She whined and she moaned and – over everything else – she gave in.
Her hips thrust against his lap and back into his hand and his fingers lazily
circled her clit then sped faster as she moaned anew.

She
was going to come soon and both of them knew it. Hot fingers pressed faster,
pushed deeper inside, and she panted, suspended, breasts in her hands, nipples
pinched hard.

“Oh
– oh – oh –“ she began, searching for a word to call him, to name him for what
he’d done – she lit on Arthur’s term and before she could think twice shouted,
“Master – I’m coming – I’m coming!” at the top of her lungs.

His
hand didn’t stop until she did, collapsed across his lap like a cat. He pulled
his fingers out of her, and one more time he stroked her back. Then he moved
beneath her and she slid to the ground, leaning against the bed for strength.
Heat brushed her face, her thighs, and then disappeared, leaving her alone
again.

Daphne
woke to the ringing of the house’s landline phone at five AM. She rolled back
onto the bed, stiff from sleeping on her side all night, and discovered why she
had done so – her bottom was raw.

The
phone wasn’t a figment of her imagination though. She stumbled up to standing
like a fawn, between the heat of her ass and the soreness of her pussy, and
staggered down the hall.

“Hello?”
It had to be Richard, he was the only one who had the number.

“Daphne!”

“Who
else would it be?” she said, a subtle dig.

“I’m
sorry to wake you, pet, I’ve gone and forgotten what time it is there.”

“I
think it’s five.”

“Never
too soon to let you know I’m coming home early – the cancelled the extra days.”

“Really?
Why?” She leaned carefully against the wall behind the phone. It was cold, it
felt good on her bottom.

“Because
I couldn’t stand the thought of you doing all that unpacking without me.”

Daphne
licked her lips in thought – she wished she could believe him. “Do you know
when?”

“Tomorrow.
I want to see everything you’ve done. Especially the bedroom, if you know what
I mean.”

“I
always do, Richard, don’t I?” she said.

“I
love you, pet.”

“I
love you, Richard,” she said back, out of habit, and hung up the phone.

One
more day, and he’d be home. All because she’d caught him with that woman, and
he had a guilty conscience. Guilty because it was his first time? Or guilty
because he’d finally gotten caught? Daphne supposed she’d never know – even if
he told her the truth, she’d have to assume he was lying to her.

As
for her side of things – she slunk into the nearest bathroom, which had a much
lower vanity than hers, and twisted to look at her ass in the mirror. All of
her bottom was a bright cherry red. She put an experimental hand on it, and it
stung – it was even still warm.