Page 2 of Satisfied By the Specter (Halloween Temptation #8)

The air grew warmer, thicker. Charged with something that felt like arousal.

I headed for the shower, leaving my clothes scattered on the floor. The bathroom was the only room that had been updated this decade, with a rainfall showerhead that had sold me on the place despite Austin's ridiculous rent prices.

Hot water streamed over my body, steam already fogging the mirror. I didn't waste time. My cock was already half-hard from anticipation; years of this routine had trained my body to respond. Alone. Watched. Wanted in a way I couldn't see but could always feel.

I grabbed the conditioner, squeezing a generous amount into my palm. The thick, slick formula was better than lube for this, lasted longer under the spray. I wrapped my hand around my shaft, the cool conditioner making me gasp before it warmed from friction and water.

“I know you're there,” I said to the foggy air, starting with long, slow strokes from base to tip. My cock was already leaking. “You always are.”

I twisted my wrist at the head the way I liked it, that extra rotation that made my breath catch, that made my hips buck into my fist. The conditioner made everything silky-smooth, my hand gliding effortlessly as I increased the pace.

My free hand dropped to cup my balls, rolling them while my cock leaked steadily over my knuckles. The water pressure pulsed against my back in rhythm with my strokes, like something was learning my tempo, following my lead.

“You get off on this, don't you?” I gasped, my hand moving faster now, adding that slight twist at the base before dragging up to the sensitive head. “Watching me fuck my fist because you won't let me fuck anyone else?”

The temperature shifted, warmer where my hand moved, like invisible fingers were tracing the path of my strokes. Following my movements. Learning my body.

I let my head fall back against the tile, water cascading over my face as I worked myself. My cock was rock hard now, flushed dark and throbbing in my grip. I could feel precum pumping steadily from the tip, could feel that familiar tension building in my balls.

“Wish you could actually touch me,” I panted, my hand flying over my shaft now, chasing release. The slick sounds of my fist were obscene, echoing off the tile. “Wish you could wrap your hand around my cock. Feel how hard I get. Feel how much I leak when I'm close.”

The phantom sensations intensified, something like breath against my neck, almost-touches trailing down my spine. The shower steam swirled in patterns that might have been fingers, might have been hands.

“Bet you'd love it, wouldn't you?” My voice was wrecked, desperate. “Watching me take your cock? Feeling how tight I am? How fucking hungry my hole would be after all this time?”

My free hand left my balls, moving behind me, fingers circling my hole. I pushed one finger inside, then two, fucking myself on my fingers while my other hand worked my cock.

The stretch felt good but not enough. Never enough. I needed more, thicker, longer, the weight of someone else's body pressing me into the tile. But I had my fingers and my imagination and whatever ghost was getting off on watching me fall apart.

“Fuck, I need it,” I gasped, adding a third finger. “Need to be filled. Need someone inside me. Need—fuck!”

I found that spot, my prostate, and nearly screamed. My cock jerked in my hand as I pressed hard against that bundle of nerves while my other hand flew over my shaft—fast, desperate, chasing the orgasm building in my spine.

“Gonna cum,” I warned nobody and everybody. The air was electric now, charged with supernatural arousal that fed my own. “Gonna cum so fucking hard. Wish you could feel it. Wish you could taste it. Wish—”

My orgasm hit like lightning. I came with a shout, my cock pulsing in my grip as I painted the tile wall with thick ropes of jizz. Wave after wave, my hole clenching rhythmically around my fingers, my prostate throbbing with each pulse.

Every light in the bathroom flickered in response, like supernatural applause. The water pressure surged, then settled. And when my vision cleared, the mirror had fogged over completely except for one clear spot shaped like a handprint, fingers spread wide.

Someone had been pressed against the glass, watching. Close enough to touch if they'd been solid.

“Thanks for the show,” I panted, slumping against the tile, my legs shaky. My fingers slipped free from my hole, leaving me empty and already aching for more. “You know, we could work something out if you'd just learn to share. Or actually talk to me instead of throwing tantrums.”

The bathroom door opened and closed gently.

Ghostspeak for “conversation over.”

But there was something else in the movement.

Something almost like longing.

I was lying in bed, scrolling through hookup apps and trying not to feel pathetic, when the notification popped up.

Eli, 29, 0.3 miles away

The profile photo was him at Pike Place Market with that purple vest and that knowing smile.

Tarot reader, medium, house cleansings. Also looking for fun

Wait. Medium? House cleansings?

I sat up so fast I nearly dropped my phone. That was the guy from the party. The one with the fingers I wanted inside me.

But if he was actually a real medium...

Before I could overthink it, I swiped right.

It's a match!

My fingers flew over the keyboard:

I know this sounds insane, but I think my ghost is cockblocking me and it's Halloween. Can you actually help?

Three dots appeared immediately. Then:

You're the cute barista from Fifth Street Coffee! Just finished a reading two blocks over in Hyde Park. Send address?

He knew who I was. He'd noticed me. And he was two blocks away.

I sent my address, then added: Fair warning - my ghost literally just scared off a vampire.

Good thing I'm not easily scared. Be there in 10. Also, your cortados are perfect. Whatever's helping you with those, I approve.

A book fell off my shelf. Then another. Then all of them, in a cascade that spelled out absolute ghostly disapproval.

“Yeah, well, you should have thought of that before you ruined my date,” I told the empty room. “Time to meet someone who can hear you.”

The lights flickered frantically. My ghost was throwing a full tantrum, and for the first time in years, I didn't care.

Help was on the way. Professional, hot, presumably willing-to-fuck-me-senseless help.

This Halloween was about to get a lot more interesting.