Spirit (19 page)

“I know,” I said soothingly, pulling Sam back to me, bringing his body snug against my own where it had been before. “I guess I never really believed it either. When you find out you’re wrong about Sally, though, I’d like to hear you say the words. Okay?”

Sam nodded. “Yes. I’ll be more than happy to.”

“Good, then.”

We let the silence move in. Pushing thoughts of evil away, I savored once again the astonishing feel of Sam’s body pressed to mine. Our cocks lay rigid, side by side. His hard knees were pressed tight against my own. Our thighs lay snug, warm, the hair on our legs scraping together, feeling both crisp and soft at the same time. And sexy. Sexy as hell. While I closed my eyes to concentrate on just how wonderful it felt to hold Sam in my arms, his lips alit on mine, his eyelashes brushed my face. The tip of his tongue slid over my mouth, and I parted my lips to let him in.

As if he couldn’t bear not to, Sam arched his back, pressing his cock more firmly against my own. I shivered at the feel of it, at the urgency of his need to be closer. The heel of his hand dipped between my ass cheeks. I folded my leg up to open myself wider, and Sam slid his fingertip over my opening. He immediately withdrew his finger and slipped it into his mouth to apply moisture.

Wet now, his finger returned to where it was before, and with the saliva as a lubricant, he stroked my anus ever so gently, circling the opening, teasing me, smiling at my shudders of delight. I slipped my hand down between us and cradled his cock with my fingers. It was engorged and hungry. At my touch, he drove it harder into my fist.

I brushed his slit with my thumb and spread the drop of moisture I found there across the head of his dick. Now it was his turn to shudder.

He pushed his finger more urgently against my opening, and I sucked in a little breath of air. “Yes,” I whispered.

Again, Sam pulled his finger away and dipped it into his mouth. Wetter now, he reapplied it to my opening, and almost immediately, it wormed its way inside. I gasped at the heavenly sensation. He laid his lips over my mouth while sliding his finger deeper into me. Gently, oh so gently, he eased it all the way inside. Slowly, almost languorously, he began to move his finger. In and out. I arched my back and opened my mouth against Sam’s kiss, pushing my own tongue into him now. Tasting him. Drinking him in as his finger brought me ever closer to that place where I knew only one thing could make me happier.

“Fuck me, Sam,” I muttered against his mouth. “Fuck me. Please.”

I opened my eyes to look at him. His face was red, he was so turned on. His mouth was moist where our lips had fed from each other. He slid his other arm out from under me and coaxed me down onto the bed beside him, face down. Rising to his knees, and with his finger still deep inside me, he brushed his lips along my spine, working his way down while his finger once again began to move.

I buried my face in the pillow and surrendered completely to the feelings rushing through me. I was so hungry for him to be inside me,
all
of him inside me, that I let out a tiny sob before I even knew it was coming.

When he pressed his lips to the little patch of hair at the base of my spine, I smiled. When his tongue slid through the hair in my ass crack, I raised my hips just enough to let him know he was welcome there.

When he eased his finger from my opening and replaced it with his hot, eager tongue, I cried out and clutched the sheets in my hand as I opened my legs wider.

His mouth on my ass was the most incredible sensation I had ever felt. He licked and kissed and slurped his way around my opening until I was about to fly off the bed. Then, when he inserted
two
fingers into me and slowly buried them to the hilt, I could stand it no more.

Without turning my head, I fumbled my hand into the nightstand drawer beside me, fished a fistful of condoms out of the mess, and tossed them over my shoulder at him.

Sam laughed. “I’m not Superman, you know. One is sufficient. Got any lubricant?”

I found that and threw it over my shoulder too. “Oh God, Sam. Hurry.” I had my ass in the air now, waiting for what I knew was coming, so turned on I had to grip my own cock in my fist as I waited.

Apparently, Sam wasn’t in the mood for wasting time either. I heard foil tear, followed by a tense moment of silence while, I assumed, he was rolling the condom down over his cock, and then came the cool feel of lubricant pouring across my hole. He spread it around with his thumb, then once again dipped his fingers inside me until I gasped. I felt the bed move as Sam placed himself on his knees behind me, right where he wanted to be. His strong hands gripped my legs and spread them wider. I heard him mutter “Beautiful,” just as he positioned his hairy legs more solidly between my own.

Once there, he bent over me and pressed his mouth to the nape of my neck. With his lips on my skin, he whispered, “Are you ready, baby?”

I couldn’t speak; I could only nod. I reached around behind me and grabbed his hip, pulling him close. Begging.

Immediately, I felt the firm head of his cock pressed to my opening, and as his lips found my ear and began licking at it like a kid with a lollipop, I relaxed my sphincter and welcomed Sam’s dick inside me. Well lubricated, he slid into me with one fluid motion, and before I could even cry out, his cock was buried to the hilt.

Motionless, he hovered over me,
into
me. He waited as I grew accustomed to his length, his girth. His cock remained as still and hard as stone until I made the first move. When I began to rock my hips against him, dragging myself away, then swallowing him up again as I pushed myself back, he slowly began to respond with movements of his own.

“Oh, yeah, Sam. Fuck me.”

“I love you,” he whispered in my ear. “Your ass feels amazing.”

I nodded, again speechless. His cock filled me to the brim. I felt impaled. My legs trembled around his and his mouth continued to tease my ear as I moved my hips faster, pulling away from the piercing, then pushing my ass back to slip it over his cock like a sheath until he was once again buried inside me as deep as he could go.

Sam’s movements grew more frantic as his cock plowed into me over and over and over again. Still on his knees, he was upright behind me now, his hands at my hips holding me in place, my ass slapping against his crotch. The bed was squeaking. I was on my knees before him with my head against the wall as he plowed into me with his cock.

My own dick was hot and hard and dripping like a leaky faucet. I didn’t want to come yet, but I didn’t have the willpower to stop pumping it as Sam fucked me harder and harder.

Suddenly he froze, motionless, with his cock buried all the way inside me. He ever so slowly eased it out until only his glans remained inside me, then he lazily slid back through the ring of muscle that guarded my core until I felt his pubic hair pressed against my ass. Slowly, he repeated the movement. In and out. Over and over and over again.

He whispered in my ear. “Come for me. Come for me while I’m inside you. Stroke yourself, Jason. Come for me.” He slid his hand beneath me and cupped my balls as his cock kept sliding in and out of me with that excruciating slowness.

When his fingers brushed the base of my cock, I bit into the pillow and gasped.

His fingers slid up my shaft and circled the head of my dick. He squeezed me there, once, and suddenly, I knew it was over.

I cried out as my semen shot from me, soaking Sam’s hand, filling his fist. Jet after jet of hot come tore out of me, and he stroked and prodded and teased me until every drop was spilled.

And only then did his cock begin to move again inside me.

His come-soaked hand slid around to my face and pressed itself to my mouth. I could feel my own semen in his caress, and when Sam drove his cock ever harder into my ass, he worked his fingers into my mouth, and then I tasted my semen too. It was sweet against my tongue. Sweet and thick.

At that moment, Sam pulled his dick from my ass and flipped me over onto my back. He crawled higher over my body until his balls were on my chest, then he tore away the condom and gripped his dick in his hand. I reached up and stroked his chest, and the moment I touched his nipples, he came.

I begged for what he was offering, and he positioned himself so that his sperm spilled over my face. Across my lips, into my hair, over my cheek. He stroked his cock until he was drained, all the while cupping my chin as he slid his dick across my face, his come puddling on my skin.

I looked up at Sam hovering over me. His head was thrown back, the tendons in his neck tight, his eyes closed. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes and gazed down at me.

He smiled a weak smile. And when he did, I shivered again.

He collapsed onto me and buried my mouth beneath his. I circled Sam with my arms and held him tight.

“Thank you,” he mumbled over my mouth.

And I smiled beneath him, our faces soaked in his come, our hearts pattering down to a quieter rhythm.

“I think it’s time to wash these sheets,” he said. “And maybe take a shower. What do you think?”

I laughed.

Sam. My Sam.

I
T
WAS
Saturday morning. Timmy was eating cold cereal and eggs and watching classic cartoons on the tiny portable TV I kept in the kitchen. He set his spoon down between every bite because, even two days after he tried to pound the bejesus out of the basement wall with his father’s hockey stick, Timmy’s hands were still sore.

The boy’s hair was shorn off to practically nothing. It was the only way the barber could repair the damage Timmy had inflicted on his head with my sideburn trimmers. Since the buzz cut made Timmy’s largish ears stand out like sails, I began to understand why Sally had always insisted on keeping his hair long. When the barber apologized to Sam and me for making the kid look like Dobby, the house elf in the Harry Potter movie, even Timmy had laughed. He thought it was great. He loved Dobby.

Sam and I sat on the sofa in the living room where we could watch Timmy and still speak out of earshot if we conversed quietly. We were sipping coffee, and Sam’s hand was on my knee. My hand, the one I wasn’t using to hold my coffee cup, rested over Sam’s. I was enjoying the hell out of being in love, and I’m pretty sure Sam was too, but at the moment, we had other matters to discuss.

Sam was trying to convince me of everything he himself was absolutely certain of. I’m afraid it was a bit of an uphill battle for the poor guy. I was not going softly into that good night.

“You have to agree,” he tried again, “that your house is haunted.”

“Maybe.”

He glared at me, and I made a great show of cowering beneath his gaze, like a serf avoiding the master’s whip.

When he didn’t appear amused, I capitulated, “Okay. Fine. Yes. My house is haunted. I think.”

“And you have to agree that it seems to be my brother who’s doing the haunting. Why else would Timmy continually call the ghost Daddy? Why else would the haunting only have started after Timmy arrived on the scene for a four-week stay?”

It was hard to argue with facts, but I was doing my best to do exactly that. I didn’t like where this conversation was obviously headed. “I suppose,” I admitted grudgingly.

Sam grinned. “God, you’re stubborn. You
suppose
? Jason, the ghost has made its presence known because that’s the ghost’s son sitting in there chomping down on Count Chocula and watching Bugs Bunny cartoons. You have to believe that, or nothing else makes any sense at all.”

“Well….”

Sam waved his hand in front of his face like he was swatting away a fly. “Let’s move on. You also have to agree that when the ghost interacts with Timmy alone, he does it in a way that is fun for the boy. The wind in Timmy’s bedroom is a case in point. It’s like they’re playing games. Yes? I imagine the ghost even switched off the basement light like you told me he did before I arrived only to amuse Timmy by startling you.”

“Seemingly.”

Sam lifted his hand from mine and wiped his face in frustration. Sort of like Moe Howard of the Three Stooges just before he got a finger in the eye from Curly. I tried not to laugh.

He placed his hand back on mine and faced me with a renewed burst of patience. At least, I think it was patience. It might have been a dawning urge to kill. Who knows? His absolute determination to remain calm and not knock my block off, which would probably have been his first choice, made his face look saintly. The man was amazing. I would have shot me by now.

“Conversely, Jason, when Sally calls, the ghost throws a bit of a tantrum. Would you agree with that assessment?”

“There’s no empirical evidence of any such occurrence.”

“What do you call the screaming phone and the towers of flame shooting out of the stove?”

“Utilities glitches?”

“Do you ever want to have sex with me again?”

I blinked. “Yes. And soon.”

“Good. Then try to focus. The ghost obviously hates Sally. Why do you suppose that would be? Could it be because Sally did something to the ghost to piss him off while he was still alive?”

“It doesn’t necessarily mean—”

“Doesn’t necessarily mean what, Jason? I’d like to hear you say the words.”

“Okay, Sam, I’ll say them. It doesn’t necessarily mean it was Sally that made our ghost… a ghost.”

“The ghost has a name and you know it perfectly well.” Sam clutched my hand in a grip that almost made me wince. I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me go. “His name is Paul. And Paul is dead right now, and for some reason, he’s haunting this house, and I’d bet everything I own that your sister had something to do with that fact. If she didn’t kill him herself, she must know something about it. She must know enough to at least make Paul mad that she hasn’t done anything to bring his killer to justice. That’s if—”

“That’s if what?”

Sam frowned as his eyes burned into mine. “That’s if she didn’t kill him herself.”

Now it was my turn to frown. “As much as I love you, Sam, and as much as she sometimes irks me so badly I want to kill her myself, I would really rather you not call my sister a murderer. As far as I know, she and Paul had the perfect marriage. She would have no reason in the world to kill him. It seems to me if there were any underhanded dealings going on inside their marriage, they were being perpetrated by Paul. After all, in spite of all your circumstantial evidence to the contrary, the only fact we know to be an absolute truth is that Paul is no longer around. He left her.
He. Left. Her.
You say he did that because she killed him. But
where’s your proof?
And if the house is indeed haunted, the only reason we think it’s your brother who’s doing the haunting is because a four-year-old calls the ghost Daddy. Did it ever occur to you Timmy could be wrong?”