Raven Chapter 6 Sex, Sage, and Spectral Problems 60
Raven
"Oh my gods," I mutter, tilting my head in impressed astonishment at the woman in front of me. "You sure are bendy, aren't you?" My eyes are locked on the woman who is getting some absolutely top tier morning sex. Or at least, I’m assuming it’s top tier based on the sounds happening.
How did I end up here? Well, Anik wasn't having any more nightmares, and I got bored watching him sleep. So I drifted over to the next building for a little light entertainment. I needed to know what came of all that relationship drama I skipped out on to keep an eye on the guys. So sue me.
Relationships fascinate me too much not to creep on them. Human, paranormal—doesn't matter. The whole messy business is as fascinating as it is infuriating. I've watched people burn love to the ground out of fear or malice. Watched others starve it through silence and laziness.
Which is baffling. They have this gift—real, corporeal bodies they can actually use—and they choose to fuck it up so completely. Like, seriously, the very least you could do is live wholeheartedly. Take chances. Do shit that scares you. Because, as the young humans say: YOLO.
I swear, when I become corporeal, I will do whatever it takes to make them love me back.
I haven't gone forty-plus years of this half-existence without any contact from another being just to settle for watching from the sidelines.
I will have their love, and I will fucking cherish it.
The same goes for orgasms. Ideally, both at the same time.
Love is amazing. Beautiful. And trust me, I've witnessed a lot of stupidity, but I've also seen some pretty breathtaking love stories unfold over the years.
I want something that sweeps me off my feet.
Until that happens, though, I'd gladly settle for an orgasm.
Or twenty. I just want to dip my toes into the wondrous sea that is sex.
I've seen it all: bad sex, good sex, angry sex, celebratory sex, group sex—any kind you can think of. Remember when I said I make my own rules? Yeah, this is one of those situations. Forrest would probably say I'm morally in the wrong, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him.
It's fascinating to watch when no one knows you're there. It's beautiful. Raw. And I want it. The only reason I don't watch the guys is because—not gonna lie—it would hurt too much. Not to mention those pesky boundaries I need to keep for the sake of future endeavors.
These men have kept me alive—and if my recent upgrades are anything to go by, thriving—for five years now. You could say I've grown attached. Or obsessed. However you want to look at it, I just want to be the woman they give their love and time to.
Which is why it hurts so much to watch them flirt with other women. I can't even imagine the agony of seeing them be physically intimate with someone else. The worst part is, I don't even have the right to be jealous. To them, I don't exist.
And even if I wanted to stop them, I couldn't. And I wouldn't. If they needed someone else to be happy, I'd force myself to look the other way. Because their happiness means more to me than anything. After all, they saved me from a complete fade.
"Hey there!" I wave at the ghost in the group's apartment.
He's watching them go at it, fury practically radiating off him.
Wow, someone must have pissed in his Cheerios this morning.
This dude was definitely part of that relationship drama.
I don't know his whole story, but I'm guessing he's the mysterious "Josh" they kept mentioning.
Apparently, he died while cheating on the woman, Ashley, and the guy she's banging, Connor, is his best friend.
The other two dudes occupying her other orifices are his brothers? Stepbrothers? I can't remember.
I keep my smile plastered on, but like usual, the ghost doesn't answer. Like I said, I'm not truly in the Veil or the living world. I'm a spectator. I get to watch ghosts talk and mingle with each other, but none of them can see or hear me—just like the living can't.
I give up on the ghost pretty quickly, my attention snapping back to the couple just as they reach their most frenzied state.
When the two on the business end have climaxed, the one in her mouth maneuvers her out from between them, positions her on her hands and knees in front of him, grabs a fistful of her hair, and starts pounding into her from behind while she screams in pleasure.
Suddenly, I'm empty in a whole new way. Not the usual hollow.
This is specific. Focused. Want with nowhere to land on this incorporeal body.
Quite the opposite to the couple going at it in front of me.
It's like neither of them has a single thought left—they're just following primal instinct, chasing that blinding, mysterious high.
It's utterly riveting to watch. Even if it is in a totally creepy, stalker kind of way.
I've heard women talk about sex to each other a lot. Women tend to be more informative in this area than men. There are a lot of disappointed women on the human side, by the way. Apparently, not a lot of human men are good at helping women achieve a climax, but they're great at getting their own.
I roll my eyes. No sex with human men for me when I get to be corporeal; ain't nobody got time for that.
Supernatural men are the way to go. There's a whole vibe with supes about being a generous partner.
It's like the baseline expectation is higher, and if your partner's female, the effort dial gets cranked to eleven due to scarcity.
All of this just reinforces my goals: become a real girl, find some chocolate, and make the men I've been following fall in love with me.
I also wouldn't say no to a giant sex puddle with all of their hands and mouths on me at once, but I'll keep that as a bonus objective next to world domination.
The first three are ambitious enough as it is.
I've even put chocolate before orgasms and securing the guys' devotion because it's the goal I'm most likely to achieve first.
Priorities. I have them. This is what growth looks like.
The guys are currently training, and while I should be attempting to train with Emerson on the bo staff, I decide against it.
There's only so long I can spend twirling an imaginary piece of wood.
Sometimes I can convince myself I'm training hard; other times—like a lot of times recently—it's just a painful reminder of a life un-lived.
So instead, I'm avoiding it like the professional I am and watching this group bang each other's brains out.
When they're finally done, and I've tucked away all the notes for later study, I pause.
I'd never watch my guys like this. The thought makes something in my chest go tight — not a feeling, exactly, but the closest thing I've got to one. These people? They're not mine. And I'm curious. Sue me.
Growth is a process, okay?
I float aimlessly until I reach my favorite gossiping duo.
And people say I don't have range. By "people" I mean the unhinged bitch who lives in my head uninvited. She's got opinions.
"That's right, ladies, no one is safe from my voyeurism," I announce, pointing my finger guns at them and firing. "Marlene, Janice, what are we complaining about today?"
They don't answer me, because the gods are assholes and sadists.
"Did you hear Lisa's great-grandson is on the way? That's the only thing she was sticking around for," Marlene sighs, a tinge of jealousy in her voice. "I hope she enjoys watching that little soul come into this world… and the beyond after that."
Janice gives a little clap. "Oh, good for her!
I'm still waiting on my Patty. I'd take a serious relationship at this point.
" She looks around as if other ghosts might be listening.
"Speaking of which… did you hear Margie phased in on her daughter in the middle of her cheating?
With her son's math tutor!" She shudders, as though the shame has reached her even in the afterlife.
I just roll my eyes. "I'd be okay with someone walking in on me getting railed, as long as I’m getting railed," I grumble. "Jeez, you ladies are uptight."
I choose to ignore the whole cheating debacle. Honestly? That woman's husband is a royal asshole—the raging, emotionally abusive type. I'm glad she's getting some healthy sex for once.
I look at the clock and realize it's time to get back to the guys. The training session is probably just wrapping up, and I want to at least peek at some sweaty, bare chests before they're put away for the day.
I drift through the wall just as everyone's reaching for their water bottles, shirts firmly in place.
Dammit, I’ve missed all the glistening man meat.
Forrest's phone rings. He steps out of the room to answer, and my fingers instinctively find the crystal pendant around my neck. It's the only thing that's been constant in this existence.
When I first materialized, it was already there—hanging from a delicate little chain. No matter what I "wear," the pendant stays. Most of the time, I forget it's even there, resting quietly between my breasts and out of sight. But sometimes, it's just the right thing to fidget with.
"Like a little incorporeal fidget spinner," I mumble, then gasp. "Does this mean I'm one of the cool kids? Or—wait—aren't they all into bottle-flipping or something now? Ugh, I can't keep up."
Forrest walks back in and approaches the group. "Whatever you've got on the agenda today—cancel it. We need to update the Council."
Emerson raises an eyebrow, his tone flat and filled with disdain. "The Council's access to our data is contractually bound to case resolution or termination. We are at neither juncture."
Forrest nods. "I'm aware. But I think it would be beneficial to feed them a little information and gauge their reactions."