Chapter One
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Makenzie
Well...it looks like the kind of house that would have more than a few ghosts. It's old, carries an aura of its own, and the top two windows look like eyes looking down on me...and I love it!
And it happens to be all mine. Well, mine and a very agreeable bank that gave me a decent interest rate. How did this happen? Is it even real? I have dreamed of having a big rambling house like this one for as long as I can remember. When I was eight I would beg my mom to move into one but all she would tell me is that a house like that is too big for our family since it was just me and her. I wonder what she would think about me buying this one.
The thought of my mom bums me out a little so I push it down and run up the front stairs. It wasn't easy, the last couple of months, sitting by her side watching her slip away, and not being able to do anything for her. It gutted me. She has always been such a strong, confident woman but in the end, she needed me - so I was there. I stayed by her side right up until the end.
I sweep away all of the sadness that still clogs my heart when it hits me that she is gone and I'll never be able to share things with her the same way again. Oh, I can tell she's still with me. I can feel her presence every now and then. And sometimes I’ll catch a glimpse of a red bird sitting on the ground - cardinals were her favorite - and think that maybe she sent it to me as a sign she's still looking out for me.
I take a deep sigh and slide the key into the lock, preparing for my first step into my future. I think I got this house at such a low price because the owner had family that passed away here. Can't I just relate to that. I jostle the box I'm carrying around so I can push the big thick door open and step into my new home. And there goes my heart again.
I step into the front hall and look longingly up at the double staircases that curve ever so gently up to the second floor. Wood carvings and smooth flooring greet my eyes and delight my imagination. Who lived here before me? What was their life like? Did they love and fight right where I'm standing? So much history in one room. I can't wait to go through the others again.
I should wait for Talia but I swear I just can't. I'm too excited. I go into the room on the left and start giggling like a mad woman. Then I go to the one on the right and run my hands over the pocket doors that close the room off from the hall. I run through the house touching and laughing until I get to a room in the back that I didn't go into when I did the walk-through with the owner.
I turn the knob and feel my heart stop in my chest. So many books cover the walls. I may have just had an orgasm, I'm not sure. A large desk sits on one side with a fireplace on the other and French doors leading outside on the opposite side of the room from where I am standing. It just became my favorite room in the house. I run my hands over the spines of the books like a lover caressing skin. So many books. I could stay here for...well, ever!
My eyes finally drift back to the desk and again my heart stops but this time not in a good way. A large painting is hung behind the desk. In it, a man is standing against one of the columns of the house and looking down right at me. His eyes are so blue they couldn't have been the real color. No one has eyes that color. Do they?
He seems dark and broody even if his hair is the color of salted caramel and he has a small smirk on his lips. He is clearly telling me and any other person who dares to step in this room that they shouldn't be in there. This is his room. And a man like that...he always keeps what belongs to him.
"Whatcha looking at?"
I startle and yelp before turning around and finding my best friend standing behind me. I must have been so absorbed in the painting that I didn't hear her come in.
"Whoa, who's the hottie?"
Emotions boil up inside of me. Things I have never felt before. A possessiveness of my own, a need to keep him safe like a secret but not a dirty one - one you keep close to your chest until the time is right to share it with the world, and a smidge of jealousy that I can't even begin to explain.
"I think that was the former owner."
"The dude who died here?" Her words hit me hard and cause my heart to start aching. Maybe it's just because I understand what loss feels like. Or maybe I'm losing it, who knows?
I take her by the hand and pull her from the room even as I myself turn to take one last look at those piercing eyes and that mischievous smirk. After all the house is mine now...and so is he. If only in picture form, he belongs to me now.
Chapter Two
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Sterling
Being dead sucks. What really sucks is all the regrets you're left with. And I apparently have a shit ton of them. One of my biggest regrets right now is lying in my old bed dreaming away while I stand over her. She looks just like a little doll - a very sexy, and very tempting little doll.
Her hair falls in soft blonde ringlets that fan out across the pillows begging to be touched. Something I can no longer do. Her sweet fragrance haunts me much the same way I haunt these rooms, curling and twisting around me until I am convinced I’m going to have to carry this erection around with me for the rest of eternity.
I spent years worrying about refilling my family's bank vaults and restoring the Barrett name. Years of my life were spent with my head tucked firmly down and my mind whirling to find new ways to repair what my father had broken. My main goal was to make sure I didn't lose the house and that I could afford to live in a house this size. That included the repair work that needed to go into it.
Twelve years of my life, twelve years of stress and worry, and no time for anything except work all led me here...to this one moment where I would do anything to go back, to look up every once in a while and appreciate what I had, instead of being constantly focused on what I wanted. I was successful, hugely so. I not only got our family back on top I went far beyond where my grandfather had been. Now I never have to worry about money, never have to worry about keeping the god damned lights on...but I don’t have to worry anyway because I'm fucking dead.
And now I have a hot little, half-dressed strawberry blonde in my bed and all I can do is look down at her and dream of what could have been. God damn it! Ain't that just the way it goes. The little doll stirs and rolls to her back giving me a great view of her creamy skin and soft half-exposed breasts. That nightgown isn't hiding anything from staring eyes. Not that anyone is here but me.
What would I do to her if I was alive and found this woman warming my bed? What wouldn't I do? Would I be able to stop myself from crawling in beside her and unwrapping her like she’s the best present I have ever gotten? Would I wake her with kisses to woo her or skip all of that and just take her for my own since she clearly belongs to me if she's in my bed? Isn't she mine now anyway? It doesn't really matter if I'm alive or dead. It's still my house and my bed. And if she's in it she is now mine as well.
The thought of waking her up by making love to her has me thinking about all the ways I could have her. What was my favorite thing about sex when I was alive? Hell, I never had it enough to remember. But if I think about what I would do to this little thing in my bed I would have to say one of my favorite things would be finding out how she tastes. Does she taste as delicious as she smells? Would she be wet for me, waiting for my cock to slide inside of her? Will she grow sweeter after I make her cum over and over again?