Ethan
I stirred, the edges of my nightmare dissolving into the haze of the sedative and wine. My mind felt heavy, my thoughts sluggish, but something pulled me toward wakefulness—a presence. It was faint at first, like a whisper at the edge of my awareness, but it grew stronger, grounding me in the here and now.
My breathing steadied, though my chest still felt tight from the remnants of the dream. I became aware of the warmth against my hand, the soft, steady pressure of fingers intertwined with mine. It wasn't my imagination. It felt too real—but it couldn't be. It had to be part of the dream.
"Ghost Girl," I murmured, my voice rough, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
The nickname came from somewhere deep in my subconscious, a name I had given to the fleeting presence I sometimes felt but could never quite place. She wasn't real—just a figment of my imagination. And yet, in this moment, she felt real.
The warmth against my hand shifted, and I felt her start to pull away. No. I couldn't let her go—not now, not when the weight of my nightmare still lingered, not when her presence was the only thing tethering me to something solid.
My fingers tightened around hers, firm but careful. "Wait," I whispered, my voice hoarse with quiet urgency.
She hesitated, and in that hesitation, I acted. I tugged gently, pulling her closer, the faint rustle of fabric the only sound in the stillness of the room. My other arm moved instinctively, wrapping around her, drawing her against me.
The warmth of her body pressed into mine, soothing, grounding. I exhaled slowly, the tension in my chest easing as I held her. She didn't resist, though I could feel the faint tremor in her frame—uncertainty, hesitation, or maybe something more.
"Stay," I murmured, softer now, almost pleading.
I didn't open my eyes. I was afraid that if I did, she might vanish, slipping through my fingers like mist, like every other dream that had ever felt too real. Instead, I let myself sink into the comfort of her presence, the quiet intimacy of the moment.
The nightmare faded further into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her hand in mine.
As I held her, I became acutely aware of the gentle pressure of her body against me, the way her breath brushed against my skin in quiet exhales. My fingers tightened around hers, my thumb absentmindedly stroking the delicate bones of her wrist.
She was real.
At least, for tonight, I would let myself believe that she was.
I pull her closer until our faces are inches apart. The warmth of her breath danced across my skin, sending shivers down my spine. I let myself sink into the sensation, my lips brushing against hers in a gentle, exploratory kiss. The touch sparked a jolt of electricity, and I feel the emptiness in me stir, as if it sensed the possibility of being filled.
She doesn't pull away, just gives a small soft sigh.
That's permission enough. I claim her moth again, this time with more urgency, my lips demanding and possessive. My hands roam over her body, seeking out every curve and contour, as if testing the reality of her presence. My fingers dance across her skin, I feel the shivers coursing through her, and yet, she still didn't pull away. Instead, she seemed to melt into my touch, fuelling the fire growing inside me.
"Ghost Girl," I murmur in her ears, my voice low and husky. "I can do whatever I want with you, can't I? You're not real, just a figment of my imagination." My fingers trailed down her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw before dipping lower to brush against her collarbone. "I can take you, possess you, and no one will ever know."
My hands move lower, and I pull her shirt over her head. My eyes half open. This dream feels so real, it must be the sedatives and wine I took before coming to bed. "God you are beautiful." I kiss her again.
A surge of desire course through my veins. I pull away from her lips, gasping for air, and gaze into her eyes, searching for answers. "Who are you, why am I drawn to you like this?" I whisper without waiting for an answer.....ghosts don't talk.
I reach down and grasp the hem of my own t-shirt, pulling it off, eager to feel her skin against mine.
She presses her body against mine, and a jolt of excitement shoot through me. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close and deepen the kiss. I feel her fingers still tracing my chest, sending shivers down my spine. I am so caught up in the moment, unsure what's real and what's not, "Please don't stop, I need this, I need you." I whisper as I reach down to take my pants off. My erection jumps free.
I position myself above her, slowly pulling her pants down, revealing her smooth skin. She lifts her hips, allowing me to slide the pants off completely. "My Ghost Girl..."I whisper again before entering her in one swift motion. I bury myself deep within her, feeling a sense of release wash over me as I try to escape the emptiness that's haunted me for so long, as I tries to make the ghost real.
She arches her back, her body initially tensing in response to the sudden intrusion. For a fleeting moment, I sense a hint of discomfort but then, her muscles relax, and she begins to move with me, her hips rising to meet mine in perfect sync. She moans softly, a gentle cry of pleasure, as her body adjusts to my presence inside her.
I feel her body tense beneath me, her muscles contracting around my shaft. Her breathing quickens, and she lets out a soft moan as her climax washes over her. Her pleasure ripples through me, spurring my own orgasm to the surface. I drive into her one final time, feeling my own release burst forth as I surrenders to the sensation.
"F**kit, Ghost Girl" I say breathless and drifts of to sleep.
Luelle
Luelle lay still for a moment longer, her heart pounding in her chest as Ethan's breathing steadied, his body weighing hers down. She had let herself linger too long, allowed herself to indulge in the closeness she craved but knew she shouldn't have.
He thought it was a dream. She could see it in his eyes, his words soft and disconnected, the sedative and wine clouding his mind. But even in his haze, he had reached for her, pulled her closer, made love to her as though she was the anchor he needed.
It was dangerous. Reckless.
She exhaled quietly, her fingers brushing against his as she gently slipped free from his body. He murmured something unintelligible, his arm shifting slightly as though searching for her, but she stayed calm, her movements deliberate and careful.
Luelle stood, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she picked up her clothes and get dressed. She turned her attention to the bed, smoothing the blankets where they had been disturbed, ensuring there was no trace of her presence. Her hands moved with practiced precision, checking the sheets for anything that can give away that she was really there.
She glanced at Ethan again, his face relaxed now, the tension from his nightmare gone. Her heart ached as she watched him, but she forced herself to focus. She coaxes him to put on his t-shirt and shorts, careful not to wake him. His body relaxed in deep slumber. He complies like a little child. She kisses him on his forehead and pull up the duvet to cover him.
"Sleep," she whispers. Her fingers brushed lightly against his arm, checking for any sign that her touch had left a mark. She adjusted the pillow slightly, ensuring it looked undisturbed, then stepped back, her movements silent as she surveyed the room.
Everything was as it should be.
Luelle retreated to the hidden entrance, her steps light and measured. She paused at the pantry door, her hand resting on the edge as she looked back at him one last time.