Chapter 1: Phantom Longings
I’ve been dead for three years now, and let me tell you, eternity is a real bitch when you’re stuck with an itch you can’t scratch. My name’s Vivienne Hart, or at least it was when I was alive. Billionaire tech mogul, ruthless in the boardroom, and apparently, a little too reckless in the bedroom. I died at 26, mid-climax, alone in my king-sized silk-sheeted bed, chasing a high no merger or acquisition could ever match. Now, I’m a ghost, haunting my old penthouse in Manhattan, watching the world move on without me. But the worst part? I miss masturbating. God, do I miss it. The heat, the rush, the way my body would arch and tremble. It’s a cruel irony that death took even that from me.
Tonight, though, something’s different. There’s a new tenant in my penthouse—a man named Jace, mid-30s, with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass and a body that looks like it was sculpted for sin. He’s been here a week, and I’ve been hovering, invisible, watching him. Not in a creepy way—okay, maybe a little creepy—but mostly because I’m bored out of my spectral mind. He’s unpacking a box in my old bedroom, shirtless, sweat glistening on his chest, and I can’t help but float closer.
“Damn, this place is a steal for the price,” he mutters to himself, wiping his brow. “Haunted, my ass. Just a bunch of old money rumors.”
I smirk, hovering just behind him. “Oh, honey, you have no idea,” I whisper, though he can’t hear me. Yet. I’ve been working on manifesting lately—focusing every ounce of my ghostly energy on becoming visible, tangible, just for a moment. I want to feel something again. Anything.
He bends over to lift another box, and I catch a glimpse of the bulge in his jeans. A flicker of heat—or what I remember as heat—stirs in my incorporeal core. “If only I could get my hands on that,” I muse aloud, testing my voice. “Bet you’d be hard in a second with the right touch.”
To my shock, he freezes, head tilting like he heard something. “Who’s there?” he snaps, spinning around. His eyes narrow, scanning the empty room. My non-existent heart races. Did he hear me? I focus harder, willing myself to appear, just a shimmer at first. My form flickers into view—long black hair, piercing green eyes, and a body that, even in death, could stop traffic.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, stumbling back. “You’re… you’re real?”
I grin, stepping—or floating—closer. “As real as a ghost can be, handsome. Name’s Vivienne. Welcome to my home.”
He blinks, then laughs, a nervous edge to it. “This some kind of prank? Hidden cameras?”
“No cameras, just me. And I’ve been watching you, Jace. You’ve got a body that’s begging to be touched.” My voice drips with seduction, and I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard.
“You’re insane. Or I’m insane. But… damn, you’re hot. Even for a ghost.” He smirks, regaining some composure. “What do you want, Vivienne? To scare me out?”
I hover right in front of him now, close enough that if I were alive, he’d feel my breath. “Scare you? No. I want to feel something again. And I think you’re just the man to help me. Tell me, Jace, when’s the last time you had a woman who could blow your mind—literally?”
His eyes darken, a spark of intrigue flashing through them. “You’re talking a big game for someone who’s not even solid. What’s in it for me?”
I laugh, sharp and wicked. “Oh, I’ll make it worth your while. I was a billionaire, darling. I know how to get what I want. And right now, I want to see if I can make that cock of yours hard without even touching you.”
He steps closer, testing the air between us, his voice low. “Keep talking like that, ghost girl, and you’ll find out just how fast I can get there.”
My form shimmers with effort, but I feel it—a tingle, a connection. I’m almost there, almost tangible. I lean in, my ghostly lips inches from his ear. “Then let’s see how long you last when I tell you how wet I’d be for you if I still had a pussy to soak. How I’d ride you until you’re sweating, panting, begging to cum.”
His breath hitches, and I see the strain in his jeans. “Fuck, Vivienne,” he growls, reaching out as if to touch me. His hand passes through, but the intent sends a jolt through my essence. I’m so close to feeling again, to igniting that fire I’ve craved for years. And as I focus harder, my form solidifies just enough for the promise of contact, I know this is only the beginning.
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