Fourteen
MORGAN
It's Friday night and I have nothing to do all weekend. Except probably buy some wedding favors online. Mom still hasn't decided what she wants, but she promised she'd decide before family dinner on Sunday.
I'm in my sitting room—yes, my house has both a sitting room and a living room. I'm not personally a billionaire, but I work for a multi-billion-dollar company, and Nana pays us all very well. I might as well use that for my dream home.
I have a giant navy blue leather recliner, with a heating option and massage built in. It's my weekend relaxing and reading chair. And it's my favorite place in the house. Possibly in the entire world.
After dinner, I settle in with a new cozy-horror-romance book I picked up. It sounds like a mix that shouldn’t coexist but it sounds delightful to me. It's twisted and weird, and so am I.
Maria is on the couch and has an e-reader set up on a music stand, and I've loaded up a 1920s-set mystery for her. Spirits have just enough power to manipulate electronics in the living world that she can turn the pages herself. It’s all about energy manipulation.
I can see Bowie through the window, perched on the porch railing, his favorite spot. Need anything? I ask him. Unlike some familiars, he's very low maintenance. Which is perfect for me. Bronwen's goat seems like so much work. And Honey has a bear to contend with.
I'm good , Bowie responds. Just looking for dinner .
Gross, but that's the reality of being an owl. They're predators.
Chapter one of my book flies by and I'm sinking into chapter two when Maria says, "Hey, Morgan. We have company."
I frown and look over at her. And there she is. The woman from the car. Zach's mom.
"Oh, shit. You're back," I say before I can catch myself and be more polite.
"I don't know what happened last time," Vanessa says, apology in her tone. "I had every intention of coming in and talking to you last Sunday, but just before we got here, I was suddenly back in the house I lived in when I died. And it's taken all week to figure out how to get back here."
Irritation flickers in my chest. "The deities love nothing more than to mess with spirits and witches."
"They need better hobbies," Maria says.
I'd guess Vanessa was around 40 when she died. She has long legs like her son, and the same long, nearly black hair. Her eyes are an icy blue, however, where Zach's are brown like Gary's. I can see a definite resemblance. I wouldn't have picked up on it if I didn't know they were mother and son, but it's apparent now.
With a sigh, I put a bookmark in my book and set it on the side table. I maneuver the chair so I'm sitting upright and swivel to face Vanessa. She's sitting at the opposite end of the couch from Maria.
"I'm sorry we didn't get to talk the other day," I say sincerely. I'm curious as fuck about why Zach's mom wants to talk to me.
It's tempting to tell him about her, just to piss him off. But it feels a little too cruel, since he would inevitably think I'm saying it to be mean. I may be grumpy and unsociable, but I'm not hateful.
"You mentioned last weekend that you think Zach needs to process your death. What exactly do you mean by that?" Maria asks.
For a fleeting moment, I feel a need to get a stiff drink, like whiskey straight up, to handle this conversation. But I ignore it. I also know I'll need all my senses on alert to follow what Vanessa's saying and figure out how to help her.
"Yes," Vanessa says. "He, well, what I've gathered after spending years near him is that he blames himself for my death."
"He was eight? How could it possibly have been his fault when you weren't even in the house?" It's astounding all the ways losing a parent can fuck a kid up.
"I left the house because he was being too much for me. I was so overstimulated and overwhelmed by him that evening. And I—" Her voice cracks. She takes a deep breath to continue. "I didn't hug or kiss either of them good-bye. Didn't tell them I love them. My last words to them were about how I needed to be away from them. I didn't mean it for forever, but that's how it turned out."
If spirits could cry, I'm positive Vanessa would be right now. Maria too. As it is, my unsentimental self has a lump in my throat and my eyes burn. Maria reaches over and takes Vanessa's hand.
I'm glad they have each other, since I can't give in to my urge to hug Vanessa .
I am so not a hugger.
"Are you thinking you want me to talk to Zach, tell him I'm talking to his mom, and that you don't want him to blame himself?"
My heart squeezes, aching for the little boy who blamed himself growing into the clearly hurting man he is now. And dammit, I don't want to have more positive feelings toward him. Lust is enough, thank you.
"Ideally, yes," Vanessa says.
"You know he won't believe me, right? He'd likely think I'm pulling a cruel joke. And while he's not my favorite person, I'm not sure I can do that." Even considering it leaves a sick feeling in my gut.
Vanessa raises her eyebrows and gives me a knowing-mom look. "You seem to get along just fine in some ways."
My cheeks flame as Maria cackles.
"That was... a one-time thing." Never mind how many times I've opened a text message to him and typed out you want to come over? So far, I've deleted them all, but one of these days, I know I'm going to do the unwise thing and send the text.
"If you say so." Vanessa's tone says she clearly does not believe me. "Didn't seem like you two were over it in the car."
"I've explained to her how spirits pick up on moods and energy better than living people do. And I couldn't agree with you more about the energy—or vibe as the kids say now—when they're together." Maria gives me a shit-eating grin.
Evil ghost.
"I thought this was about Zach's mental health, not his sex life," I snap.
Maria and Vanessa exchange a look that unsettles me. More than I already am.
"So we need to find a way to prove to him that spirits are real," Maria says, getting the conversation back on track.
"I could do some magic around him, but unless I do a massive spell, the kind that takes me out for a few days, he'll dismiss it as some kind of sleight of hand," I say. I've known people like him before, who think we're faking our magic. They always find a way to explain it away.
"What if you told him something only I would know," Vanessa suggests. "Like the lullaby I played when he was a baby, or the name of his teddy bear. Which, by the way, he still has in his bedroom closet."
Something goes soft and squishy at the idea of grumpy Zach keeping his childhood teddy bear.
"Its name was Bookie."
I can't hold in a laugh. "Why that name?"
"It was the first word he learned to say. Book. Except he called them Bookies. And the bear got named that too." She smiles like she's lost in a memory. "That boy loved reading. Always had a book in his hand."
"It's clearly done him well in his career," Maria says. She's moved closer to Vanessa on the couch, now sitting on the middle cushion instead of the far end.
I take a drink from my water bottle, then set it back on the nightstand. "If I told him I'm talking to his mom's spirt, and I know his teddy bear, named Bookie, is in his bedroom closet, there's a slight chance he'd believe me. But I still think he'd find a way to explain it away."
"What if you use magic to bring the bear to you as you tell him?" Maria suggests. "How can he explain that?"
I shrug. "I don't know. But I know doubters, and the more you try to convince them magic is real, the more they dig in and insist it's not."
Maria and Vanessa sigh in unison.
Surprising me, Bowie's voice pops into my head. Someone's driving up the driveway. Dark SUV.
I frown. I only know two people who drive dark SUVs, and I can't think of any reason Grant would be visiting me at eight on a Friday. I assume he's somewhere with Sirona .
Which leaves Zach. And why would he visit me? It's pouring rain out, the kind that makes driving visibility awful. The kind that makes me want to stay inside and cuddle up with a blanket and a book.
Which I had been doing quite enjoyably. Apparently one interruption leads to another.
Reluctantly, I get up. "Someone's here. And after they leave, I just want to read my book and relax. It's been a long week. Can we resume this conversation another time?"
Vanessa gets up with me. "Yes. I'll keep thinking of some way to penetrate that stubborn brain of his. Thank you."
I didn't do anything to help her, but I still say, "You're welcome."
In a blink, she disappears. Who knows where she goes.
Maria gets up too. "You get the door. I'm going to see if I can find more information to help us with Zach." I don't fully understand, but spirits have universal records that humans can't access.
"Thanks." I head for the entryway as Maria, too, poofs away.
Since I'm almost positive whose car is now parked in my driveway, I open the door before he can press the doorbell.
Proving me right, Zach is standing on my front porch, soaking wet, with a drenched white t-shirt clinging to his chest and abs.
Deities help me.
ZACH
Morgan's skeptical gaze rakes over me, making my skin tingle like she's actually touching me. A touch I desperately need.
"Why are you here? And why are you soaked. "
I don't know the answer to her questions. I just know that after I wandered the lakeshore path for more than an hour in this pounding rain, I finally got back to my car and, as if on autopilot, I drove here instead of my own place.
So I answer honestly. "I don't know." A gust of wind blows over me and I can't help shivering. I don't have a jacket, just this t-shirt and jeans that are now adhered to my body.
Morgan sighs and rolls her eyes. "Well shit, at least come in so you don't freeze."
I follow her into her foyer, glance quickly around to take in the living room to one side and what looks like a library on the other. A steep wooden staircase leads to the second floor.
She shuts the door and again takes me in. "Seriously, Zach, why didn't you just?—"
"I need you." The words come out without my permission, but as soon as they do, I realize the truth in them. I didn't go home because I don't want to be alone. I need someone. I need to get lost and forget.
I can do that with Morgan.
Which is terrifying in its implications. But I don't need to worry about that right now.
Heat flares in her shining brown eyes, her delicious lips parting in surprise.
Emboldened, I take a step toward her, then another. I'm in her space and her breathing speeds up.
I cup her cheek in one hand, gently brushing her hair out of the way. She has such a hard outer shell, but deep down, I think she wants someone to be gentle with her. Someone to worship her.
Tonight, I want to be that someone.
Her gaze locks onto mine and the air practically crackles around us from the tension. She fists my sopping shirt in one hand, pulling me closer.
"Zach," she murmurs.
And that breaks me. I can't wait any longer. My lips crash into hers as my other arm bands around her to pull her against my body.
She groans as she wraps her arms around my back, flattening even closer to me. Her tits are smashed between us and they feel incredible, heaving up and down with each staggered breath she takes.
Neither of us is patient. Her tongue is in my mouth, battling mine for control. I let her have a little, then take it back. Me dominating her mouth makes her moan, which goes straight to my straining cock.
Her body pushes into mine, guiding me backward across the room and into the living room. I don't know where I'm going so I let her steer me. Our mouths never part as we move.
My legs hit a couch, and now she does pull away to shove me down on it, soaking clothes and all. Talk about leaving a wet spot.
She stands between my parted legs, putting her glorious tits right in my face. I lean forward and bury myself in the softness, her shirt now damp from my own. One of her hands goes to my shoulder, the other the back of my head, pulling me in.
After a minute of me simply enjoying the feel and scent of her, she pulls back. "We should probably get you out of those wet clothes." Without waiting for a response, she reaches down to grip the bottom of my t-shirt, then pulls it up. I raise my arms so she can tug it off. I have no idea where she tosses it, because her hands are back on my shoulders, this time skin to skin.
She slides her hands down my chest, pausing to flick at each nipple. Another sensation that goes straight to my cock. I'm uncomfortably hard and desperate to get my jeans off. But her touch is exquisite and I don't want to stop her.
She gets to her knees between my legs, and even though I don't particularly want a blow job at the moment, having someone on their knees in front of me is arousing as hell.
Looking up at me with a wicked smile, she presses her hand over my straining zipper. She makes quick work of the button and the zipper, then slides her hand into my boxer briefs and wraps her fingers around my cock. Her finger glides over the tip, spreading the pre-cum around.
"I think you're right. I think you do need me."
Much to my dismay, she releases my cock. But it's so she can help me pull off my jeans. It's a process and things are awkward for a minute as I toe off my sopping Chuck Taylors, then peel off my socks. She goes slowly with my jeans, both out of necessity and because she's taking time to touch and kiss the recently exposed skin.
By the time she presses a kiss to the top of my foot, I'm half convinced I'm not going to last long enough for her to get naked too. I can't stop myself from wrapping my cock in my grip and slowly tugging on it.
The pleasure makes my toes curl and my back arch.
She's pulling off her own shirt when she notices what I'm doing. Another wicked smile. "Can't wait for me, huh?"
"Maybe if you hurried it up a little. My cock needs riding."
Holding my gaze, almost challenging me, she reaches behind her back to unhook her bra, and then her glorious tits spill free. My mouth waters, thinking about getting one of those erect nipples in my mouth as she rides me.
She shoves her sweatpants and underwear to the floor in one move, and since she so rarely wears shoes or socks, this leaves her naked. I have no idea where it came from, but there's a condom in her hand.
She tears it open, dropping the wrapper on the floor with our clothes, then pushes my hands out of the way so she can roll it on. Her hand feels so good, I can't hold back a moan.
"You like that?"
"I'll like it better when you get on and start riding it." Whatever it is about Morgan that brings out the dirty talker in me, I love it.
"Yes, sir." She swings her leg over me and climbs onto my thighs, kneeling on the couch on either side of me. Meanwhile, I'm taking deep breaths to calm the surge of lust that came from her calling me sir . I'm in no way a Dom, but damn is that hot.
I fist my cock again and angle it toward her. I need her pussy wrapped around me now. "Get on."
Holding my gaze, she moves over me and adjusts herself until my tip presses inside her. "Yes," she whispers.
"So good." I can't look away from her as she lowers herself onto my cock in a slow, fluid movement. I grip her hip with one hand, and the other comes up to pinch her nipple.
She yelps and arches into my hand. Another whispered yes comes from her lips as she takes me fully inside her, her clit pressed to my groin. She rolls her hips in a few small circles.
"That's right. Use me. Get yourself off just like this."
She grinds harder against me while I continue pinching and twisting her nipple. Her eyes never leave mine. Not even when she cries out and her whole body goes rigid.
"Zach!" She finally closes her eyes and throws her head back, her pussy clenching around me. Everything in me is urging me to start thrusting, but I hold still so she can continue to press against me and extract maximum pleasure from this orgasm.
Panting, she goes limp over me, bracing her hands on my pecs. My cock throbs inside her, desperate, but still I hold back.
"That was..." She huffs out another breath and doesn't finish the sentence.
"Phenomenal," I offer.
She nods, her head hanging down between her arms, hair forming a shield around her face. “Sudden. ”
I need to see her, so I tip her chin up. "Now it's time to do it again." I roll my hips under her.
Her mouth opens on a silent cry.
"Ride me." It comes out as more of a demand than I meant to, but her eyes flash with heat as she lifts herself almost off my cock, then slams back down.
"Yes, sir," she says, doing it again.
I grit my teeth at the surge of pleasure that comes from her words. I can't come yet. I'm not ready for this to be over. When it's over, I'll be able to think again. And that's no good.
To that end, I pull her down closer to me and pull a nipple into my mouth. I suck at her as she rides me and the room fills with the sounds of our moans and our bodies slapping together.
And I do it. I stop thinking about anything except the amazing pleasure coming from having my cock in her pussy. Her breast in my mouth. Her hands on my shoulders, marking me with her fingernails. My own nails marking her hip as she rides me.
She rakes her green-tipped fingers down my chest, hard enough there will be marks tomorrow. I love it.
"Fuck, Zach. I'm so close."
"That's right. You're riding me so good. You've earned your orgasm."
She arches her head back on a cry, pressing her breast deeper into my face, and comes. And this time, the sensation of her pussy spasming around my cock is too much to resist.
My orgasm tears through me and I pull her down as tight to me as we can get. The pleasure jerks my cock inside her in ecstasy that feels never-ending. I growl her name and she sobs mine back.
My cock is still pulsing with aftershocks when she collapses down onto my chest, panting. My arms go limply around her, her hair tickling my wrists. I feel boneless as I melt into her couch. I know I should make her get up so I can take care of the condom, but I can't bring myself to end this moment.
This moment that feels almost tender.
Which is abso-fucking-loutely ridiculous. Morgan and I don't do tender. We do general dislike and hot sex. The sex is probably so incredible because of the depths of our dislike.
Except I don't hate her. Which is as big a surprise to me as it probably would be to her if I told her.
I might even be starting to like her. Which is all kinds of fucked up, because I know she's a con artist who comes from a long line of them. Things just had to go and get complicated, didn't they?
I can't hold in a deep sigh.
She lifts her head, her brown hair disheveled around her face, the white streak hanging down the side of her nose. She tries to blow it out of her way but it doesn't do more than flutter.
So I do it for her. Gently, because inexplicably I'm feeling gentle and tender, I smooth it back, comb my fingers through her hair, then tuck it behind her ear. I can see she has a hole in her lobe, just a small dot, but she's not wearing earrings.
"What was the sigh for?" she asks. And in this moment, sprawled naked across my also-naked body, my soft cock still partly inside her, I want to tell her. I want to tell her everything. About how my mom died, about how it's my fault she even left the house that day, about how my dad had to be father and mother so I had to be good enough for two sons; if he had to be two people, I thought I did too.
And about how, in the end, it was Morgan’s supposed witchcraft that failed to save my mom.