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We both hold our breath as he draws out… then let out twin groans when he pushes back inside. Out, then in. Empty, then full.
Kinda crazy that such a simple motion can drive too bodies wild. That it can send two hearts racing, can make us both sweat and grunt and cry out, clawing at each other to get closer. I’m not myself as Arthur pounds me into the mattress. Or no, screw that—I’m more myself than I’ve ever been, and I don’t recognize the sensation. The rush of power.
The sheets are kicked away, tangled somewhere near our feet. Blood dries on the wallpaper all around us, and Hennigin Hall creaks and groans as it shifts in the darkness.
A whole parade of ghosts could march through here right now and I wouldn’t notice. Wouldn’t care. I’m oblivious to the whole world except Arthur, with his strong body and rough grunts and the sweat sliding down his chest, dripping onto my bare belly. I lunge up off the mattress, licking a salty strip of his skin.
“Penny.” He sounds winded. Desperate. Yeah, I’m right there with him. “Are you close?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Thank god.” A hand snakes between our hips, rubbing at my clit. The added sensation makes me buck and howl, and Arthur bites a kiss onto my neck, then soothes it with a lick. “You’re driving me wild, perfect girl,” he says against my damp skin. “I can’t hold on much longer.”
Just as well, because I’m seizing up, my breath coming in short pants. My toes are curled, and my jaw is locked, and my eyes squeeze shut as sensation floods my body, all my nerve endings flaring as one.
It’s like a power surge. A solar flare.
I’m incinerated.
Dimly, on another planet, I hear Arthur grunt and feel him wedge deep inside me. Feel a rush of his hot warmth inside me, filling me up.
“Guh,” I say, shuddering for another long, perfect moment before I crash back onto the pillows. I’m sweating and wobbly and soaring.
Arthur collapses beside me. He’s breathing hard too, one hand spreading possessively over my stomach.
“Good?” he says after a long pause, shifting closer until we’re pressed together from head to toe. Never mind the sweat and stickiness, because I can’t bear being apart either. Not even an inch.
“Awesome.” I hold up one hand and we share a trembly high five.
That was epic.
Six
Arthur
One year later
“I can’t believe you won’t tell me where we’re going. You’re a sadist, Arthur Carstairs.”
“A sadist for taking you on a date?”
My wife pokes her tongue out, swinging our joined hands between us. It’s a late March evening, with a blustery wind and a bite on the air, but she’s bundled up in one of my knitted sweaters and an old scarf from my college days.
One thing I’ve learned about Penny in the last year? She’s a shameless clothes thief—and she insists that my things make the best maternity wear. She’s barely even showing yet, but she’s raided half my closet.
It’s probably not something to be flattered by, but I am. I love seeing the love of my life in my clothes, with my ring on her finger and my baby growing in her belly. Apparently I’m as predictable as they come.
“You’ll like it, I promise. It’s relevant to your interests.”
“Oooh.” Penny gives a pleased shiver, walking closer to me along the sidewalk. “You mean ghosts?” The cobblestones of the harbor path have been lashed smooth by salty waves and the wind, and I’m keeping a tight grip on her in case she slips.
Another revelation: Penny is a giant klutz. I was secretly thrilled when she quit her cleaning job at Hennigin Hall to work on her own horror novel. Kept having nightmares about her tripping over her own mop bucket and falling down the stairs.
“Maybe ghosts.” I lean down and murmur in her ear, taking the opportunity to nose at her cheek. “Or maybe your other interests.”
“Huh.” She looks puzzled, but eager as ever. “Do I have other interests?”
“I think so.” I know so, in fact, and tonight’s activity will tick all of Penny’s boxes.
