Chapter 4
I woke already hard, the sheet tented over my hips, the dull throb in my cock familiar now in a way that made my stomach turn.
Elena was still asleep on her side, facing away from me, one hand tucked under the pillow.
The room was gray with early light. For a few seconds I lay perfectly still and tried the same lie I’d used the morning before, that it had only been a dream, vivid and filthy and meaningless. The lie lasted less time this time.
I remembered the exact heat of her cunt around my tongue.
The way her thighs had trembled against my ears.
The broken, needy sounds she made when she came the first time.
The way her body had taken every thrust like it had been waiting for it.
And underneath all of it, the thing the female ghost had said while using Maya’s mouth-
She’s been dreaming about your cock for years.
The words sat in my chest like a stone. I tried to push them away.
Tried to tell myself it was only the dead woman talking, only the ghost’s private history projected onto us.
But the memory of Maya’s eyes when she was still herself—the way she had looked at me in the parlor, the way she had kissed me back—kept bleeding into the claim.
Years. The idea that she had wanted this, wanted me, long before any spirit ever touched either of us, made the air feel thinner.
I eased out of bed carefully so Elena wouldn’t wake.
In the bathroom I washed the dried come from my stomach and the base of my cock with cold water, jaw locked, eyes on the chipped porcelain instead of my own reflection.
The water didn’t help. My body still remembered the tight clutch of her, the way she had pushed back against every stroke, the filthy encouragement the ghost had poured into her voice.
Downstairs the kitchen was empty when I reached it.
I started the coffee and stood at the counter with both hands braced on the edge, staring at nothing.
The house was quiet except for the usual small settling sounds.
I told myself I would keep my distance today.
That I would treat her like the twenty-two-year-old stepdaughter she was.
That whatever the ghosts were doing to us at night did not have to follow us into the daylight.
The stairs creaked.
Maya walked into the kitchen in the same oversized sweater as the day before, hair loose around her shoulders.
She moved carefully, like her body was still carrying the memory of the night.
When her eyes met mine across the room the contact lasted a fraction too long.
A faint flush rose along her throat. She looked away first and reached for a mug.
“Morning,” she said, voice soft and rough around the edges.
“Morning.”
I poured coffee for both of us because it was the only ordinary thing I could think to do. When I held her mug out, our fingers brushed. The touch was brief. It still sent a clean jolt straight down my spine. She didn’t pull away as quickly as she had yesterday. Neither did I.
Elena’s footsteps sounded on the stairs a minute later. Maya stepped back, cradling her coffee, and the careful mask of normalcy settled over both of us again. But the words the ghost had spoken kept turning over in my head, quiet and relentless.
Dreaming about your cock for years.
I drank my coffee and tried not to look at the way Maya’s mouth shaped itself around the rim of her mug, tried not to remember how that same mouth had sounded when she came apart under me. It was getting harder to pretend the nights belonged only to the dead.
Elena’s phone rang while she was still stirring sugar into her coffee. She glanced at the screen, frowned, and answered it on her way out of the kitchen.
“I’ll take this in the other room,” she said, already walking. Her voice faded down the hall as she stepped into the parlor and pulled the pocket door mostly shut behind her.
The kitchen went quiet except for the soft tick of the old wall clock.
Maya stood at the counter with both hands wrapped around her mug, shoulders slightly hunched.
I should have looked away. I didn’t. My eyes dragged over the line of her neck, the way the sweater hung off one shoulder, the soft press of her thighs under the sleep shorts.
Every detail from the night before sat right behind my eyes—the taste of her, the way she had shaken, the claim the ghost had made about years of wanting.
Something in me simply gave out.
I set my own mug down hard enough that coffee sloshed over the rim.
Two steps closed the distance. My hand locked around her hip and turned her, pushing her forward until her stomach met the edge of the counter.
She made a small, startled sound that turned into a broken inhale when I yanked the sleep shorts and her underwear down in one rough motion.
The cool air of the kitchen hit the bare skin of her ass and the backs of her thighs.
“Cole-”
I shoved my own sweatpants down just far enough, lined up, and drove into her in one hard stroke.
She was already soaked. Her cunt took me with a wet, greedy sound, clenching hard around the sudden stretch. A sharp, helpless cry left her throat. I covered her mouth with my hand and leaned over her back, mouth against her ear.
“Quiet,” I growled. “She’s right in the other room.”
Maya nodded frantically, eyes wide, breath hot against my palm. I pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. The counter creaked. Her fingers scrabbled against the worn wood for purchase.
“Fuck, look at you,” I muttered, keeping my voice low and rough. “Still dripping from last night and already this wet for me again. You’ve been aching for it, haven’t you? Walking around this house with my come still inside you, pretending you’re not thinking about my cock every second.”
She whimpered against my hand. I felt the sound vibrate through my palm. I fucked her in deep, heavy strokes, each one forcing her hips into the counter edge. The wet slap of it was soft but unmistakable in the quiet kitchen.
“Years,” I said against her ear, the word bitter and hungry at once. “You’ve been dreaming about this cock for years. Is that true? Touching yourself at night thinking about your mother’s husband burying himself in this tight little cunt?”
Maya’s answer came out muffled and desperate against my fingers.
“Yes! Fuck, yes! Please-”
I dropped my hand from her mouth to her hip so I could pull her back harder onto every thrust. She bit her own lip hard enough to turn it white, trying to stay quiet. Soft, broken noises still slipped out of her with every impact.
“That’s it,” I rasped. “Take it. Take every fucking inch like you’ve been wanting to. This cunt was made to get ruined by me. Listen to how wet you are. Listen to how easy you’re letting me use you.”
I reached around and found her clit, rubbing tight, mean circles in time with my hips. Her whole body jerked. Her forehead dropped to the counter. One of her hands flew back to grip my thigh, nails digging in like she was afraid I might stop.
“Please,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Please don’t stop. Oh..fuck me, I need it. I’ve needed it so long.”
“I know you have.” I drove in harder, the angle deep enough that she had to rise onto her toes. “Going to fill you up again right here in the kitchen. Going to make you walk around the rest of the day with my come running down your thighs while you smile at your mother like nothing happened.”
Her cunt fluttered hard around me. She was already close.
I kept the pressure on her clit and the relentless pace of my hips until she shattered with a choked, almost silent cry, walls clamping down in rhythmic pulses that tried to milk me.
I fucked her through it without slowing, chasing my own release, and when it hit I buried myself to the hilt and came in thick, heavy spurts, flooding her while she was still shaking.
I stayed locked inside her for several long seconds, both of us breathing hard, the only other sound Elena’s distant, muffled voice on the phone in the parlor.
Then I pulled out. Come immediately spilled down the inside of one of Maya’s thighs.
She made a small, wrecked sound at the loss.
I tugged her underwear and shorts back into place with deliberate care, smoothed the sweater down over her hips, and stepped back just far enough to right my own clothes.
Maya stayed bent over the counter a moment longer, forehead still resting on the wood, shoulders rising and falling. When she finally pushed herself upright her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, eyes dark and dazed.
Neither of us spoke.
From the parlor, Elena’s voice rose slightly as she wrapped up the call.