Chapter 3 #2
My body didn’t get hard because it couldn’t. My dick stayed limp because the only girl that could do it for me looked just like that, and it took three generations before I found another one.
Hey? Did you know you can beat your meat when you’re worm food?
Amazing how I learn something new about being a spook even after all this time.
Because, yeah, you can. It doesn’t feel like much—just like with my smoke—but the muscle memory of taking my cock in hand and working it until I’m grunting out a release…
fuck, I wasted seventy years of getting off.
It gets even worse when my irresistible arousal affects the Living woman I’m stalking.
If I’m following her home from the diner, keeping her as safe as I can, it doesn’t seem to do much for Cassidy.
Inside the apartment? The rooms are smaller.
Contained. I’m right there, either sprawled out on the couch next to her or leaning over her shoulder, burying my ghostly lips against her sweet-smelling skin, and she gets the full blast of how much I’m dying to fuck her.
Well, not dying, but you know what I mean.
Tonight was the worst. With so little time left until Halloween and Cassidy curling up on the couch in the pink waitress uniform that really does it for me, my hand was on my dick the entire night.
Just keeping my fingers tapping the bulge pushing against my jeans, I settled my other ghostly hand on Cassidy’s thigh, wishing I could touch her instead of just passing through her heat.
But then something happened. As though she couldn’t take the tension in the apartment any longer, she got up and went to her bedroom, stripping out of her uniform as she went.
My mouth watered to see her full tits without any lace covering them. The slight paunch to her belly. The trimmed curls that cover her pussy… my hunger went wild, and so did Cassidy.
Now I’m floating at the side of her bed, my cock in hand. I don’t even remember unzipping my jeans or tugging my hard-on out. It just happened, and I’m stroking mercilessly, watching her unblinkingly as she tries to find some release.
Cassidy's hips roll over her sheets like she’s dreaming some kind of phantom lover into existence, like she can sense me standing by her bedside, whacking off in time to the way she tweaks her nipples, sliding her palms down her soft belly.
I watch in amazement—in absolute predatory desire—as her fingers slip between her thighs, lush lips parted in the dark as she keens softly.
I can’t touch her. Not yet. The veil is growing thin, and there are things I can do to let her know that her Johnny is near, like using my ghostly energy to leave my mark on her mirror, but touching my girl… that will have to wait until I’m one of the Living again.
I can’t touch my sweetheart, but I can touch myself.
I tug on my dick, pulling on it, keeping in time to the rhythm as she licks a finger, then inserts it inside of herself. Groaning, I squeeze, panting out her name again.
“Cassidy…”
My Cassidy.
As if I need another reminder, I look down at her as she pants softly, rubbing that little pearl at the top of her pussy, and I think: this is Cassidy.
Not Cassie. So she shares the same face of the love that I lost, and their names are so close, but there’s something about this girl.
About Cassidy. She lures me in, with her soft gasps and her sad eyes and how she’s clearly hiding from someone, but she can still smile and laugh even after a long day at the diner.
She can still walk around without a stitch on, letting me feast on her curves, tempting me to cup a tit or run my finger over her ass before she spreads those legs and touches herself, working for her own pleasure.
Cassie… she never would’ve done anything like this.
It was a different time back then. It took months of us going steady for me to demand her kiss as my due.
Even longer before she let me touch her over her sweater or her skirt.
That was as far as she’d let me go, and even in the privacy of her bedroom, my first sweetheart never would’ve sprawled out on her back, legs spread, playing with her pretty pink skin while thinking of me.
She would’ve flushed in embarrassment, in shame if the thought even crossed her mind.
Cassie Miller was a good girl who had murmured that her lips might belong to me, but anything below the waist would only belong to her husband.
That included herself, I’d wager, and the one time I tried to slip my hand up her skirt, she slapped it, then slapped my cheek so hard, I knew she was dead serious about her chastity.
If I wanted Cassie Miller, I would have to wait, and Lord knows I wanted Cassie Miller more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
Until Cassidy Montrose.
No matter where I was allowed to touch her, Cassie always begged me to be gentle. Cassidy… I’ve watched her. Spied on her. Stalked her until I knew more about her than anyone else in the world—dead or alive. She wouldn’t shy away from my rough side. My starving side.
Johnny Gray was born on the wrong side of the tracks, but Cassidy… she wouldn’t care. I have to believe that.
Cassie kissed me like she was scared I’d leave her.
Cassidy touches herself like she can sense I’m already here—and that I won’t ever go.
The way her heartbeat stutters, her thighs trembling as she comes, how I hear that soft, almost breathless sound she makes as she finishes…
I can’t keep myself from doing the same.
One more harsh stroke before I’m spurting ghostly jizz all over my hand.
It vanishes the same way cigarette smoke does whenever I imagine that my forever cigarette is lit, but I know it was there.
Tucking myself back into my jeans, I drift away from the edge of her bed, watching her tits rise and fall, her chest heave, her fingers slick with her release resting on top of her sheet by her hip. I watch her come down from her climax while letting the shudders of my own travel down my spine.
If it feels that good when I’m dead just because it’s Cassidy, what will it be like when I’m Living and can feel flesh instead of just phantasm under my fingers?
She’ll let me. I know she will. We already have this connection between us, a tie that brought her back to Shadowvale. Back to me. She’s not the girl I left in a crumpled metal coffin on the curve that killed us both. She’s not that soft voice begging me to stay.
Cassidy is a husky laugh as she watches her shows on the boob tube while eating her dinner.
She’s the watchful look in her haunted brown eyes, and the straight back as she yanks on the window curtain, staring down at the street lamp below us after locking the door.
She’s the quiet as she sleeps and I watch because, fuck me, I’m helpless but to do anything but gaze upon my new sweetheart.
She’s the soft gasp she has for me just being this close, feeding her my need until she fucked herself on her fingers without a hint of shame.
No, Cassidy wouldn’t beg me to stay. She’d grab me by the collar of my leather jacket, drag me through the veil, and make me stay if she could.
If she wanted me to.
I want her.
I want everything she has, everything she can offer me. I know she’s being haunted by me and another guy. I don’t care. He lost her, I found her, and I’ll do everything I can to keep her.
I want Cassidy, and for the first time in seventy years, I haven’t set my sights on her because she reminds me of the girl I loved, then lost.
I want this girl because, despite her name and her appearance, she’s nothing like my Cassie.
And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let my new sweetheart escape me.