Ghost Writer (Raven Maxim Book 1) (31 page)

“You’re so deep inside of me.” Her breathing was harsh and erratic. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.” She gritted her teeth and held on to him so tight, there was no way he could remove her even if he tried.

He rocked into her, immersing himself in the experience as the core of her intimate heat surrounded his dick and gave a hearty squeeze. Burying his face in her cleavage, he sucked and kissed her sweet, salty skin as his sensual shoves became more and more demanding. The headboard banged against the wall, crashing with each thrust. Just then, Looking Glass’ ‘Brandi, You’re a Fine Girl’ began to play, rolling on as an accompaniment to the sweat pouring down his face. He pushed upward, swinging his hips, deliberately brushing into her clit at each turn, trying to make the woman fall apart into a mind-bending climax as she thrashed below him. He got his wish…

Teeth sank deep into his shoulder, nails dragged across his back and neck, thighs tightened impossibly around his waist, and a raspy, feminine moan played in stereo as he brought her to orgasm, over and over again. Wrapping his ankles around hers, he braced himself to push faster inside of her, making her yell and scream obscenely beautiful things as his balls slapped loud and hard against her dripping pussy. Her bite soon broke his flesh but he didn’t care when he felt the tiny trickle of blood meander down his arm… He kept driving deep and hard inside of her until they were both screaming, shaking and sweating.

Trails of pussy tears ran down her inner thighs and onto him and the sheets as she christened him in her indebtedness. He gripped the sides of her face so hard, her lips looked squishy. When he kissed them, they tasted supremely juicy.

Running their fingers through each other’s hair, they relished each other, their bodies now one entity. The woman’s pussy kept squeezing and hugging his cock; frantic spasms ensued even as her orgasm subsided, but his had just begun. His eyes rolled back, and he simply couldn’t hold out any longer.

“You’re making me cum!” he hissed as his essence shot inside of her. “Mmmm!” His body seized up, then rocked against her as they passionately kissed one another while he continued his rhythm. She swallowed his moans, but his body shuddered, telling on him, making his secrets known as the last of him departed his body and entered hers.

He slumped against her, then sluggishly reached a few inches to the left to grab the remote control for the ceiling fan and turned it on before the remnants of energy he had left were gone, leaving him no choice but to rest.

“Your dick is throbbing inside of me.” She lovingly kissed the top of his head and ran her fingers through his hair, while he caressed her arm and used her breasts as a pillow. “I love that… Sloan, you are damn good in bed.”

“I know.”

She playfully slapped his shoulder, causing him to laugh, a sleepy sound.

“Seriously though, you make me feel sexy without even touching me.”

“I can’t make you feel sexy. You already are… with or without me.” His voice was gruff with exhaustion as he slowly closed his eyes and gave her a warm squeeze.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, I feel youthful with you, like we’re seeing the world for the first time… only, this time, we’re doing it together. Like we’re kids discovering new things.”

“Without worries about teenage pregnancy or being caught by the cops making out in the car this time around, though.” They both chuckled at his statement. “Seriously though, Emerald, I feel the same way. I’m glad we talked about sex a while back, too. Sexual health, our histories, things like that.”

He closed his eyes, then heard her yawn. On an exhausted sigh, he rose on his palms and began to get up, but she grabbed his arm. “No.” She shook her head, a serious expression on her face. “I want you to just stay here, inside me, for a little longer…”

With a nod, he rested his head back onto her breasts. Before long, he was falling asleep. He didn’t want to do that though; he wanted to think about the love they shared, the bond they had, but his body wouldn’t have it. He fought, and found it much harder to give in to falling asleep than giving in to falling in love with her…

Fetch a Pail of Water

T
he faint beat
of a digital clock with glowing, green numbers caught her attention from Sloan’s nightstand. Every time the minutes rolled around and gave birth to another sixty seconds, a turning grind could be heard if one was quiet enough. The man lay there, his soft mouth partially ajar as the ceiling fan lightly blew strands of his hair about.

Two strands, one silver, the other a brown so dark it looked black, clapped against one another across his broad forehead as if giving a much deserved applause for his all-star performance. A low, murmuring snore emitted from his lips every now and again; the lower one quivered as if frightened. She stifled a laugh as he noisily smacked his lips, then soon returned to his coma-like state. Taking a light grasp of the cream sheets, she flung them from her naked body and immediately caught the chill in the place. It was a rather strange sensation—the type of coolness not indicative of a faulty temperature dial, a forgotten window left ajar, or a frigid January weekend in Alaska. No, this was an atypical frigidity, the kind that grabbed a hold of your organs and bones, sinking its teeth with an icy bite that would leave you almost paralyzed. It was just like the one she’d experienced hours earlier when she’d pressed her hands against his office door… and just as unnerving.

I bet if I opened my mouth, I’d see my own breath…

On a self-dare, she did just that. Emerald inhaled deeply and exhaled as if doing Lamaze; only, much to her surprise, there was no fog. Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she rushed to pick the over-sized Yankees T-shirt he’d set out for her from the floor, where it had ended up during their intense romp, and slipped it on as quickly as she could muster without suffocating herself. The thick, good quality cotton provided a barrier between her and the odd chill, but her feet were still exposed as whispers of coolness danced across her, covering her flesh in goosebumps.

I better make this fast so I can get back under the covers…

She tiptoed across the creaky floorboards, wincing when a few sang out beneath her weight. Not only that, she was caught off guard by the dull ache between her thighs.

Damn, I had no idea Sloan was packin’ like that! Scared the hell out of me.
She paused and placed her fist up to her mouth, stifling another stint of laughter as she recalled her reaction upon seeing it for the first time.
He knows how to use it, too!

Reaching for the brass doorknob, she tugged at the thing and gave it a spin, then slipped out into the hall. While a few well-placed nightlights shined from the baseboards, visibility was still quite compromised. Running her hand along the wall, she made her way to the staircase and flipped the switch.

Ahhh, that’s better.

Though it wasn’t exactly the infamous Maxim Christmas Lightshow Festival, the foyer chandelier sparked up, and after a few blinking bulbs in the thing seemed to wake from some long, Snow White like slumber, they finally settled and remained lit. She took each step down the winding staircase with care, all the while gripping the golden banister in which she could see her reflection. She could see other things in it, too… subtle motion, shadows, flickers of light that seemed to have no source.

A sense of dread draped over her and the heaviness of it all slowed her gait. On a swallow, she pushed herself forward.

Emerald, it’s all right… You’re thirsty; get yourself some water and then run like hell back up the steps…

Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she sighed in relief to finally be on solid ground. Practically running, she made a mad dash past the dining room, and turned on the kitchen light, which reflected on all the stainless steel appliances, mismatched with an old, sky blue gas stove that looked as if it belonged in a 1962 Sears catalog.

She opened the refrigerator door, trying desperately to ignore a slight electrical buzzing sound that had suddenly begun. Reaching for a bottle of water, she snatched the thing, slammed the refrigerator door shut, and didn’t bother turning the light off as she practically flew back out the kitchen. She now regretted not just drinking the glass of wine that had been sitting in his bedroom for hours, and caving in to her need for something cold and nonalcoholic. Visions of lying next to Sloan, warm and curled up against him, was the only thing that kept her nerves from becoming any worse.

But, as she reached the bottom of the staircase, the cold bottle of water tight in her grip, she thought she heard what sounded like an album needle skating across an old LP.

…And then she was certain she had.

‘Only You’ by the Platters played ever so softly, as if there was a party going on a couple of houses down. Not only was the chill in the place all around her, it swelled and dwelled within her now, impregnating her with insurmountable fear as the double office doors suddenly opened all on their own, slowly revealing a pitch black room that reeked of the things shadowy nightmares were made of…

I’m fifty-four and
thought I’d fucked before…

I’ve had my share. Katie and I had a good sex life for the most part, but that’s not enough to keep two people together. Regardless—and this isn’t because of my drought, being picky, and all the other reasons I avoided dating as of late—I’ve never, in my history of making love, enjoyed sex like this before. I love her body, her smile, her scent, her laugh, her voice, and Jesus… the way she moves her hips!

Sloan smiled gratefully up at the ceiling, stretching his arms and yawning big and bold, like some lion awakening from his eighth afternoon nap of the day. The sun had begun to peek into the room, a welcoming kiss he graciously accepted. He yearned for a cigarette and a couple of cups of coffee, figuring perhaps he’d whip up some pancakes and bacon, too. He looked over to his left, expecting to see some warm, swarthy woman who looked like a love he could call his own, but all he found were cold sheets, empty and barren… devoid of any human body heat whatsoever.

“Emerald?” he called out, staggering to his feet, his muscles still not in agreement with being up and at ’em. “Emerald?” He called out again while taking note that her clothing, panties, and shoes were still in the restroom, folded neatly on the side of his bathtub.

He clumsily searched about for his robe and his bare hipbone brushed against a chair as he navigated his master suite, delivering a sharp pain. He ignored that dull ache for a bit of panic now set in. Snatching the robe off the back of the chaise, he wrapped it around himself and tied it at the waist as he hightailed it to the bedroom door. “Emerald!” He swung the damn thing open and stormed down the hall, a sense of urgency grabbing a hold of him that wouldn’t shake him loose.

The house had an odd feeling to it at that moment, one he couldn’t ignore as he made his way down the spiral staircase. It was cold, yet also warm at the same time. As he neared the bottom of the railing, he slowed down. The office doors were closed, yet light shone through from beneath the threshold. A full bottle of water lay on its side in plain view on the ground beside the door, as if it had been dropped or placed down and forgotten. Light music filled the air, a song he recalled his father enjoying when he was a child: ‘Put Your Head on My Shoulder’ by Paul Anka.

“Emerald!” He burst through the damn doors, his chest filled with the fuel of a tornado, only to see the woman perched behind his desk, looking disturbingly comfortable with her thin, yet shapely legs propped up and clutching a leather bound book. She didn’t even seem to notice him enter as she had her attention riveted to the page before her. Two desk lamps glowed, giving her an odd orange radiance. The room smelled of cigars, though he knew Emerald didn’t smoke. Oddly enough, this was the first time it didn’t feel inhumanly cold inside the place. He realized the customary dank odor in the room was completely gone, replaced with the scent of cologne instead…

She still ignored his presence. How perplexing, yet he found it imperative to simply keep observing her for just a few moments longer. She slowly turned another page, and then another, as if she were in some strange, hallucinogenic trance. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and his T-shirt hung seductively off one of her shoulders, exposing her toasty flesh, kissed with a natural sheen. His chest warmed, and he suddenly felt pangs of jealousy and possessiveness, as if another man were looming over her, running his hands up and down her thigh, seducing her right before his eyes.