Into the Light (3 page)

"I'm coming with you,” Trip said, appearing from what looked like a pantry. It was as big as my first apartment.

"Why? You can't see anything."

"I don't care. I don't want you alone with them.” His mouth was fixed in a near grimace. Trip looked mad enough to spit nails.

"You're jealous!"

"Damn skippy I'm jealous! I love you, and they're getting all the action."

I couldn't help but laugh. He had a point.

He loved me?

"That's right,” he said, reading my mind. “You heard me. I love you, Martee."

I shook my head for two reasons. I wanted to shake off the encroaching tears, and I wanted to make my stand known. No way. Don't love me.

He grabbed my wrist before I could push through the door.

"They're waiting,” I whispered.

"So am I."

He released me, and I forged ahead. I would not think about what he had said. I would not think about what had almost happened upstairs. I had to meet the master of the mansion. I was busy.

Walter McLaughlin was a tall, narrow man, handsome in a formal way. A thin moustache graced his upper lip and his chin sported a cleft. He wore his hair long but slicked back neatly. His clothes were perfectly tailored and his shoes were shined. The pipe he smoked burned fragrant cherry tobacco.

Based on their outfits, I estimated the owner moved in and started his lifestyle in the mid thirties, with a new woman coming along every few years or so. Eventually age had taken each and every one. The only exception was Sunflower, who died after a horrible bout of influenza in the late seventies. I shook my head to clear the information so I could focus on my host.

His nod was gracious but not overly friendly.

Trip stood near the door, his eyes taking in the entire room but not seeing a thing.

"Are they here?"

"They are. All eight of them."

"I can feel them” He rubbed his arms to warm them. “It's frickin’ freezing in here."

"It takes a lot of energy for them to appear like this,” I whispered. “They have to get the juice from somewhere."

I took in the five women I had yet to meet. A long-legged blonde in a mauve dress—Daisy. A stunning, curvy woman with long chestnut hair and warm brown eyes—Rose. By the door, a slim nymph with hair the color of fresh wheat—Petunia. On a lovely chaise lounge, a breathtaking woman in a black evening gown. Her black hair was twisted up in a classic chignon, her lips painted the color of a fresh wound—Dahlia. Someone twirled past me, all gossamer skirts and fawn-colored hair down to her waist. Her eyes were as clear and blue as tropical waters—Sunflower.

"Howdy, y'all,” I said with a stupid little titter. I was uncomfortable. I had never been in the presence of so many spirits presenting a united front. Usually this number meant a tragedy had occurred and they were all trapped together like survivors of a catastrophe.

This group had chosen to stay together. Upon death, not a single one had chosen to leave. I had my work cut out for me.

Trip's arms snaked around my waist and pulled me back against him. I hadn't heard him move.

"What are you doing?” I murmured, not wanting to spook the gathering.

"You're shaking like crazy. I've never seen you do this. I'm worried about you. Now shut up and let me hold you."

He pulled me flush against him, and I was suddenly grateful for the contact and the warmth. I could feel his erection hadn't abated but I couldn't let it distract me. Somehow I had to convince this group to move on. I had to get them to understand that they could go and still keep all this. That they would be welcome and could continue to live the life they cherished.

Walter finally addressed me. “We're very content here. I want that to be clear. I knew you were coming but you're wasting your time. This is our home, and we intend to stay."

He stepped to the front of the group. It wasn't an aggressive move but a protective one.

"I understand how you feel."

"No you don't,” he said with a reserved smile. “However, we do plan on helping you to understand."

Without warning, my head was flooded with memories, experiences, sensations. All of them sensual, all of them intense. My muscles tensed with the overwhelming stimuli. My legs gave out from the intensity.

I was vaguely aware of Trip cradling me as my body became boneless and over-stimulated.

One instant, the crack of a paddle and the delicious sting of rising blood on my buttocks. The whisper of a slick tongue over my clit, accompanied by the simultaneous suckling of both nipples. A cock, hard and wide, entering me with a ferocity that bordered on violence, yet containing the sweet undertone of dominance. The feel of a penis so deep in my throat I could hardly breathe while phantom hands tangled in my hair and feminine lips gathered my clit into a blissfully hot mouth.

I heard myself moan, but the images continued their barrage. Physical, emotional, mental. The play and the serious, the domination and submission, the give and the take, the love and the jealousy.

They whispered around me, crowding in with hunger. They relived every moment, every kiss, whisper, and embrace as I writhed on the floor.

"Martee ... Martee!” Trips voice came from a deep well. A million miles away. From the lengths of a long, long tunnel. “Jesus!” That I heard clearer, a sharp intake of breath, a ragged cry.

They'd gotten to him too. I tried to warn him out of the room, but the messages and sensation were too much. It was a matter of riding it out.

They subsided a little. The flood turned into a stream of images, pleasured cries, muffled sensations on my skin.

My heart beat in my crotch as my skin sang from the onslaught.

Hands gripped me firmly, and then smoothed over my hips. I jumped at their solidity. They were not phantom hands or long-remembered imprints of passion and arousal. They were Trip's hands, roving and exploring over my jeans. He sought blindly for the zipper, his eyes hooded and hungry.

"Trip, it's them,” I protested.

"It's not them,” he growled. “Don't you think I know the difference between them and me?"

The fingers found what they sought and popped it open. The zipper followed with a small metallic protest.

"They're carrying you away,” I argued, but my body didn't flinch from his touch. Instead I rose up to meet him.

His hands pushed past the denim to meet cotton already moist from the bedroom. The whisper-thin material yielded to his force.

His finger entered me. I was already willing and wet, pulsing in the expectation of his gentle invasion.

"We have an audience, don't we?"

I glanced around and saw eight self-satisfied smiles. Eight sets of eyes drinking in our essence. We were
alive
.

"Yes,” I gasped as a second finger joined the first. He applied just the right pressure, just the right motions. I tripped over the edge into an orgasm. Just like that, I was gone—riding a small wave of pleasure that teased my nipples taut and arrested the breath in my lungs.

"God."

"Do you care?” he asked, pushing at the waistband of my jeans. “Does it bother you that they're watching?"

"They always watch,” I managed “Every time. If it's not this group, it's another. I can see them, so they feel like it's okay to see me. Whenever they like."

A tear escaped despite the pleasure. That was the sad truth of my life.

"I can help you,” he said, lowering his head to my belly and resting there a moment. “I talked to someone. It can wait, though. For now I'm right here. I want to focus on us."

I pushed my hands into his hair and breathed in a moment of peace. Let them watch. It didn't matter.

Trip kissed over my hipbones and I shivered at the tenderness. His kisses grew more insistent as he descended. When he finally took my clit in his mouth I thought I would go over again. It had been too long without the feel of him. I had missed the humid caress of his breath on my cunt, his tongue probing my slit.

I became wet again. My wetness mingled with what he added. When he looked up at me, my heart seized just a little. The look was the purest thing I'd ever seen. Need.

He straddled me and stripped the tee shirt from my skin. The frigid air rushed over my breasts and the skin rose up in chill bumps. He swirled his hot tongue over my nipple. A soft cry escaped me.

Button-fly jeans—gone. Button-down shirt—gone.

The first stroke was surprising, and I yelped. I took the full length of him in one slick motion. My cunt, already hungry, became ravenous as it pulled and tightened. It quivered around him as he drove into me. I could hear his breathing, a barely controlled rasp.

My skin seemed on fire. Euphoria fluttered my stomach as if I were riding a roller coaster. I heard whispered comments from the ghosts but ignored them.

"Deeper,” I managed. “I want you deeper."

Trip pulled out, and I whimpered. He hooked one hand under me and flipped me onto my stomach. His fingers raked down my back, explored the puckered entrance of my ass. Urgent sounds flooded past my lips.

"Up on your knees,” he growled. “Hurry."

I obeyed, not caring that we could be discovered by the others. The ones who were alive.

I stuck my ass high in the air and pushed back eagerly. All I could think of was having him in me. I held my breath, waiting. I could feel his energy behind me, feel it invading my own. He was stroking himself while running his fingers over each cheek with the lightest of touches. He was making me wait. I would never take this for granted again. It was lesson time.

Trip is a good teacher.

"Please,” I sobbed.

With that one word he took me. Drove into me with a force that knocked me to my forearms. My hair brushed the floor and covered my eyes, effectively hiding the spectators from my view.

"I don't care about all the stuff you think I should,” he rasped. “I don't care that they watch us. I don't care that you can pretty much read my mind. I don't fucking care, Martee. This is what I care about. This right here. This, and all the stuff that goes along with it."

I pushed my fingers into the carpet, holding on for dear life. I slammed back against him and bucked my hips. Gently a finger was inserted into the restrictive opening of my ass. I did my best to relax as it slid home and added a new, darker feeling that invaded my cunt. I felt the friction of his cock meet the hardness of his finger and the two sensations hummed like electricity through my body. Two more strokes and I lost my tenuous grip. I spasmed, inside and out. Each muscle contracted, each muscle relaxed, so intense I bit my tongue. I pulled at him and worked him with each shudder. I deliberately clenched my cunt around him.

"Christ, Martee,” he hissed. “That's cheating."

He came with a roar that was half anger, half victory.

"White light,” he wheezed and fell atop of me.

"What?” I shifted under him until we were face-to-face and let my hands explore his back. I traced his ribs with a fingernail, and he quivered a little.

"I talked to that psychic, Margaret LeLane. She said the white light works for privacy with spirits too. You have to be firm but concentrate on blocking them out. You may have to practice a few times but it works. They can't be with you
always
, Martee."

"I've tried that. It didn't work."

"Try harder. I think it will work."

The temperature was still low and I started to shiver with cold.

"Clothes!” I moaned. “Give me my clothes."

We got dressed quickly and I turned to our spectators.

"I know you think we don't understand your fear,” I started, hurriedly stepping into my jeans. The temperature was dropping quickly. “I do. I understand your fear, and it's common. You can go over,
all of you
, and stay together.

"Judgment doesn't exist, despite what we are taught. I've talked to too many from the other side not to believe this as fact. The point is happiness. You can create the same life, the same house even, over there. All you have to do is follow the light. Find the light and cross over. It's okay."

"I don't believe you.” Walter wasn't going to buy this with ease.

"I swear. If I'm lying, come back. There aren't barriers. You can cross back into this world as easily as I can walk through that door if that's your choice."

Lily was the first to show interest. She wrapped her arm around Walter's waist and looked at him imploringly. Despite the fact that Trip was oblivious to the scene, he wrapped his arms around my waist in a similar fashion.

Dahlia surprised me by being the next to step forward. She was coldly beautiful and daunting in a sleek, fashionable way. She joined Lily in the embrace.

Next came Rose, then Daisy, followed by Sunflower. Petunia embraced Hyacinth and pulled her forward to the group. They stood huddled together, scared but united.

"We're trusting you,” Walter said with a sad smile. “I would hope for your honesty."

"And you have it,” I assured him.

"Where is it then?"

I shrugged. “You'll find it,” I said. “If you're open, it appears."

He gave me a brisk nod.

"We'll leave you,” I said, acknowledging their need for privacy.

The door swung shut behind us. Before it fully closed, I could feel they were gone.

Trip took my hand and grinned wolfishly. “This was the best assignment ever!” he taunted.

"We're okay?” I had spent so long pushing him away, I feared he would do the same.

"Better than okay.” He kissed me sweetly. His tongue tangled with mine, and I relished the heat that snaked down to my groin.

"Behave. We have to pass on the news."

"Guys, we lost all our readings,” Mikey shouted as we re-entered the dining room. Then his eyes skipped to our entwined hands, and he laughed outright.

"That's because Martee helped them over,” Trip said. “We're done. We can pack up the gear, and I'll call Mr. Richards on his cell phone."

Mikey was still grinning like an ass as he dismantled the equipment.

"What is it?” I yelled. He was annoying me and I was already exhausted.

"Nothing. Just noticing your T-shirt's on inside-out."