Dreamscape by Rose Anderson Page B

him, so did he.
    Without hesitation he kissed a path over her heart and down her belly, settling at last between those warm satin thighs that now lay wide against his shoulders. Her beckoning charms lay open lit by the glow of his ethereal self, and he touched her there, exploring her hot moist lips. Desiring to taste the heaven before him, his face drew close while both hands gently spread her. He touched a tentative tongue to her sex and found it more than he could bear, for as impossible as it was, her heavenly taste and scent assailed him. Finding his senses working, he licked and sucked and feasted like he’d been starved. And he had been starved as a man.
    Lanie made a small moan in the back of her throat.
    Emboldened, Jason slid his finger inside her hot depths and slowly moved it in and out before adding another, his mind once more lost in the wonder that he could feel the slippery ridged heat of her. Good God love, you’re so tight, so hot. He freed the cock straining in his trousers.
    Jason’s mouth and fingers worked their ghostly magic on her nerve endings and started the tremor of her impending release. But as tired as Lanie was from working all day, the wine at dinner, and her overlong evening, she dreamed her climax rather than woke to it. Her muscles contracted around his fingers as she found her release in her dream.
    The small helpless whimpers were his undoing. Stroking hard and fast with the scent and taste of her fueling his pace, he emptied his balls for the first time in more than one hundred and twenty years. And the draining was glorious. He heard her softly moan. Apparently he wasn’t alone in that assessment.
    Passing right through him, she rolled over on her side and hugged her pillow. Breathing the perfume behind her ear, he lightly spooned against her. His glowing blue arm wrapped possessively around her waist, and his hand filled with the soft weight of her breast. Lying there, Jason’s mind was awhirl. He hadn’t felt this way about a woman before, not once while he lived, and certainly not once since he’d died.
    Thoughts of his duplicitous wife came unbidden. Under the guise of shyness, Cathy had shunned such intimate attempts to bring her pleasure. Even his innocent kisses. Terrified tears met his advances on their wedding night, and in the four months of marriage he’d lived as a monk waiting for her “comfort to grow.” Of course, it never did, in fact they hadn’t yet consummated their marriage. She’d managed to kill him off before her avowed shyness was tested.
    The little Cathy did suffer his affections, his kiss upon her cheek, his caress as she passed, were simply a part of the ruse that gigged him like a frog. Blinded with desire for his beautiful wife, he didn’t immediately see the changes in her when he’d brought her home. Having time to think like he had, he recognized Cathy was indeed cold as a woman, selfish to his calling as a physician, and disdaining to his friends and the people in his employ, some of whom had been with his family longer than he had lived. At the time he attributed those changes in her demeanor to her missing her dear friends in Atlanta. He knew her father had died in the war, her mother shortly after. Knew too she was raised by a distant fourth cousin who had children of her own. Cathy was extremely close to those cousins . He frowned at the thought.
    The preposterous lie she’d told him on their wedding night as she cried and begged her shy sensibilities to keep his attentions at bay all but melted away after his death. He pushed the image from his mind. His merry widow’s thighs straddling her lover’s head. That beautiful lying mouth licking and sucking on the man’s cock while he treated her sex the same. He’d lived as a monk with his shy wife, while she enjoyed her carnal feast with such abandon that no one could doubt the act had happened many times before.
    Confused as to how he could have been so blind, he’d studied the pair,