Sensitive (3 page)

“Right. Are you sure I’m not taking advantage?” He was already half way to me, his finger parting my pussy lips to reveal the flushed, swollen nub of my clit.

I stopped breathing but managed a breathy, “I’m sure.”

He set his tongue to me, licking me gently at first like he feared hurting me. I pushed my hands into his hair, tugging him just hard enough to spur him on. I wanted him to know how good it felt and that he was doing well. It seemed important. “You sure you’ve never done this before?” I gasped when he flattened his tongue and broadly stroked it over my pussy lips and then my clitoris.

Alex laughed and the laughter rumbled up through my pelvis, setting me a bit closer to a release I could barely fathom. My body was loose and warm and tingling like I was being electrocuted by this wonderful, beautiful man. For all I knew, I was.

He draped my leg over his shoulder and pushed my hips to the wall to hold me steady. The stance opened me wide and instinctively or through divine guidance, Alex pushed his fingers into my wetness, testing my pussy, brushing my G-spot and other magical bundles of nerves with his long fingers. Piano player fingers.
Harp
-er playing fingers, I thought and then snorted.

He froze.

“Carry on!” I said. “Don’t mind me.”

“Is it okay?” he asked, gazing up at me. His plump lips were wet with my nectar, his teeth flashed in the darkening air. If he had sprouted wings in that moment, I would not have been shocked.

He was that stunning to look at.

“You passed okay when you kissed me. It’s…heavenly.”

He grinned and put his mouth back to my pussy. The break had done strange things to me and when he restarted his wet ministrations, everything was more sensitive, more intense. I came, my cunt milking his fingers so hard that he stopped to simply watch my face. I curled my fingers on his warm skin and held on for dear life as the orgasm rolled through me, my nipples hard in the cool air of my new home.

“Wowza,” I said.

“Is that good?”

“No. Good is good. Wowza is…” I held my hand high above my head. “This far above good.”

He did look proud and that made me laugh. I patted him down like a prisoner.

“What are you looking for?”

“Wallet? Condom in the wallet? Are you packing. We have to hurry.” The tinkling in my head had increased and my skin was crawling with psychic energy. Something was going to happen and it wasn’t an orgasm.

“Hurry, why?”

I made a rolling motion with my hands like
never mind
. “Condom?”

He shrugged, “I don’t need one. And I don’t have a wallet. I am an angel. I can’t—”

“I totally believe you about being an angel and all—” And I pretty much did, believe it or not,

“but I don’t mess with that stuff. So we really,
really
need a condom.” I wildly surveyed my wreck of a house. Taped up boxes as far as the eye could see. What a fucking mess. How? How was I going to find a teeny tiny condom in this train wreck?

Alex had his eyes closed, his dark hair tousled around his face from going down on me. He looked so sexy and sweet I could only stare before barking, “What are you doing?”

He held up a finger, eyes still closed. Then he bent to his discarded jeans and rifled the pockets.

He pulled a green foil wrapper free and said, “Is this right?”

I snatched it from him, flabbergasted, “Yes, how—”

“Manifested it. Now what do I do with it?” he asked, taking it from me.

I grabbed it back. I was so out of my mind hot and bothered I had no time for this.

“Let me. I’ll show you later.” I had him sheathed and ready in seconds and then, thank god for foyer tables, Alex laid me back on my distressed, barn-red table and spread my legs for me. He took his time, staring at me, touching me.

“You’re very pretty. Beautiful. You look like the dark-haired girls in the paintings.

Long locks, rosy nipples,” he said, stroking my nipples so that they rose up, delicately hard under his fingertips. “Gorgeous curves and perfect skin.” He petted my hips and laid a kiss on my belly and I just watched.

My throat felt too small, my heart too big, my pussy so, so wet. I finally, took his hand and put it between my thighs for him to feel how much I wanted him. “Please, Alex,” I said. “We can be slow and sure and lazy next time.”

He smiled at me and pushed himself between my legs. Angling himself just so with great concentration, Alex rubbed the sheathed head of his cock against me. I twisted on the table, trying to touch him and trying to still myself all at once. My body ate up the rumbling electric sensation of him, absorbing it and wanting more. It was reminiscent of what I felt in the vicinity of a spirit but times ten.

The tingling power was augmented with an intense kind of joy. Between the cemetery and the angel I was a puppet on a string. Or more like it, a naked puppet on the table.

“You’re very pretty. You blossom like a rose when you want sex,” he said. He rubbed more firmly, the head of him slipping into my wet pussy and his voice slipped from awed to overwhelmed.

“Oh,” he said.

“Yes, oh,” I said, managing to snag his big forearms in my hands. I tugged, settling Alex the angel over me in the good old missionary position. “Sorry, but I think missionary gets a bad rap. It gets all the right spots hit—and hit hard—for me. I would personally like to thank the missionaries one day for their sexual position.”

I grabbed his very hard, very divine ass and tugged him so that he instinctively moved against me. Alex caught on, his hands tangled in my hair and he stroked my throat with his thumbs as he kissed me. He moved slowly, He moved slowly, taking it all in at once and bringing pleasure with each thrust.

His tongue was sweet on mine and his fingers gave off mild blips and shocks that coursed through my body.

“That is just going to make me come harder,” I sighed as if admitting defeat.

“What?”

“Your natural juice. Your charge,” I tried to explain.

He looked so baffled that I laughed.

“Forgive me if I’m rude but this body is telling me…” Alex hung his head, jaw tight with tension.

“Telling me that I need…”

“Need?”

Alex shook his head. “Forgive me, Harper,” he said and grabbed my ankles. There was that feel of sliding along wood for an instant and my stomach bottomed out like I was on an amusement park ride. Then he my ankles were at his shoulders and his gas-flame blue eyes were pinned to the sight of his cock slamming into me over and over again. Alex was out of words. Alex was all action.

I gave myself over to the sensation of him. He was big and hard and he filled me perfectly, the tip of him nudging my G-spot over and over so that the long, slow build to orgasm was exquisite. I gripped the edge of my vintage table and bit my lip, my heart jumping as my body grew wetter and slicker and closer to coming.

“Forgive me,” he said again and crushed down on me. His lips desperate and hot on mine, he kissed me, pinning me under himself and my own legs, bent impossibly high. But it opened me wide as he drove into me, the friction of his urgent pounding rubbing my clit until I was grasping at his skin like it could save me from my own pleasure. Alex came with very little sound at all. The intensity of it seemed to steal his very voice, but my orgasm was loud enough for both of us.

When he kissed me, I explained, “You don’t need to ask forgiveness. That huge, big, all encompassing good feeling you just had…”

“Yes?” he asked, brushing my damp hair off my forehead and touching my face like a man reading Braille.

“That was an orgasm and a good, good thing and you don’t need forgiveness.”

He grinned. “I want to do it again,” he said.

“You and me, both,” I laughed. Then my head was full of bells and I was struggling to sit up and pushing him out of my way.

Alex turned, maybe not hearing my bells but hearing something. “What?”

“I think it will have to wait, the doing it again,” I said, pulling on my jeans fast, barefoot and suddenly chilled I searched the mess of a foyer for my top.

And then there she was. Our first ghost. Tall and pale, impossibly thin the way only young girls can be. Like some awkward bird who hasn’t quite figured out its wings yet.

Eighteen? Nineteen? Young. A young, young, hesitant soul. “Hi,” she said.

I gave her a finger wave, the cold and the tingling overtaking me. I wanted food, then, massive amounts of greasy fast food. I wanted wine. I wanted Alex to fuck me again. My body revved like an engine, trying to process all that was now required of it.

It takes a lot of energy to communicate with the other side. “Hi,” I managed.

“Hello,” Alex said, buttoning his button fly and finding his navy blue pullover.

“How—”

She cut him off. “So, am I like…interrupting?”

I could only laugh.

“Of course not,” Alex the angel said. “This is Harper Brown. She owns the house.”

I gave her a nod and sat with my ass on the edge of the table. Was he going to invite her for tea next? I waited without speaking as Alex found his shoes.

“You’re the one,” she said to me. “But he—”

“He’s a whole other issue,” I said. “He’s not human. He’s…” Alex shook his head, barely visible, but I stopped. I guess I wasn’t supposed to say. “Just visiting,” I finished.

“I need my dad to know that Johnny had nothing to do with my death,” she said.

Her dress was white and not something a young woman would pick out to spend her eternity in.

It was basically a horrible mix of an oversized pinafore and a wedding gown.

“You know you can change that,” I said, nodding at her dress.

She looked down as if she’d never seen the dress before. Maybe she hadn’t. “I…”

“Just focus on what you’d like it to be and think hard until it shifts. Manifest your mental reality,” I said. Then I waited.

It didn’t take long and my new ghost seemed to marvel at that. There she stood in her skinny jeans and a yellow V-neck Forenza sweater. She wore it backward in classic eighties fashion. Her feet were in silver flats and huge chandelier earrings swung from her lobes. Her hair was teased high and sprayed out. Big hair, indeed. An eighties girl.

So, what? She’d been dead for a few decades. “Wow,” she said, looking at what I can only imagine had been her favorite outfit in life.

“Now that you’re more comfortable. What’s your name?”

“Molly,” she said.

I smacked my forehead before realizing it was rude. Molly? What next? Farmer Ted the ghost? I shook my head. Was this an eighties movie or a nightmare? But then Alex put his arm around me, reading my frustration like a book and I sighed. So it was real.

And the attraction that slammed me in the solar plexus was very real too. We had to deal with Molly because I wanted Alex all over again. I knew it was hormones mixed with supernatural emissions. I knew that I was an ethereal tuning fork, basically. But it did not stop or even dampen my want of him.

“Right. I’m Harper as you know, this is Alex. Lead the way. Where is your dad?

We’ll tell him Johnny’s in the clear.”

“I only live up the road. And I’ve been waiting such a long time…” she trailed off and my heart broke a little bit.

Rules to being a successful sensitive include not getting emotionally involved with your ghosts if you can help it. In the end, they are still dead and you cannot change the past. Also, it’s sort of like breaking up over and over and over if you grieve when they finally move on for good or just up and go
poof
as ghosts are prone to doing.

“I hear you. Come on, then, Molly. Let’s get your dad straight.”

Alex took my hand and beamed at me as if I had done the most wonderful magical thing ever.

“What?” I whispered. I don’t know why, Molly could still hear me if she wished. “It’s what I do. It’s how I’m programmed.”

“Yeah, but nowhere in the rules does it say you have to be compassionate. Or nice.

Or patient.” He leaned in and kissed me right on the collarbone and all of me turned to one giant nerve ending, wanting Alex. Craving him the way I used to crave a cigarette after a long flight when I still smoked. I curled my fingers in his shirt and tugged him in for a hard kiss.

“Ahem,” said Molly.

“Of course! Let’s go! Lead the way,” I said on a sigh and she disappeared through the wall.

“Well, we can’t follow you that way!” I yelled.

I heard
Oops
in my head and then she was waiting for us outside the front door. She gave us the follow me hand gesture and off we went. A sensitive, an angel and a ghost.

Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke told in a bar by old drunk men.

I was starving, but the food urges would have to wait. I tried to distract myself by grilling Alex.

“So you chose me, eh? Was it because of my fabulous beauty?” I teased.

Come to think of it, I wasn’t even made up today. Beat up jeans, beat up boots, moving clothes. I hadn’t even put on makeup. Just big sunglasses on my head to pull over my naked eyes if need be.

“Oh, I can’t see you up there,” he said, swinging my hand like a young boy. He seemed to be fascinated with my skin, repeatedly rubbing it with his fingertips like a good luck charm.

“You can’t?” I was shocked.

“Well, we can. But not the way you see. It’s a whole other kind of perception.” Alex leaned in and smelled my hair, touched my eyelashes. It made me laugh, and truth be told, blush.

Molly looked back, her face caught somewhere between a frown and a smile. She seemed a bit sad, a bit jealous and a bit amused. But who could blame her. Being dead wasn’t easy.

“So what can you see up there?” I reached out and stroked his forearms—the warm skin, hard muscles, the freckles and a scar. I wondered how he got a scar. Was it already on the body he chose?

Like distressed jeans are already worn and broken in.

“Came with the body,” he said, in my head again. “Up there—” He looked over instead of up.

Then he shrugged. “It’s really all around us, not really up.”

“Oh,” I said. “That makes my head hurt a bit.”

“Anyway, I could see your soul.”