Candy Kisses: Valentine’s Ghost Read online

  Candy Kisses: Valentine’s Ghost

  Alice Gaines

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2007 Alice Gaines

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  ISBN: 978-1-59596-651-3

  Formats Available:

  HTML, Adobe PDF,

  MobiPocket, Microsoft Reader

  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  PO Box 1046

  Martinsburg, WV 25402-1046

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Crystal Esau

  Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

  This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Valentine’s Ghost

  Shit, would the guy from the next apartment ever come so she could get some sleep?

  Phyllis Green turned on the lamp beside her bed and looked at the alarm clock. Midnight, and she had to get to the studio first thing in the morning. Her neighbor and his date had been going at it all night. Staying power was one thing, but weren’t guys supposed to report erections lasting more than four hours?

  “Fuck me, Howie,” the woman hollered. “Fuck me, fuck me!”

  “I’ll fuck you,” Phyllis muttered as she climbed out of bed. “Show your face around me and you’ll get royally fucked.”

  The noise didn’t abate. Instead, the sound of his headboard crashing against the wall joined in the chorus of lust. Great. Just great.

  She walked through the dark hallway to the kitchen and switched on the overhead light. Eventually, he would peter out, no pun intended. What goes up must come down and all that. Maybe some warm milk would relax her enough to get right to sleep once he did. After pulling a saucepan down from its hook and setting it on a burner, she opened the fridge and searched around for the milk.

  When she found it, she pulled it out and gave it a good sniff. The sell-by date had passed, but not by too much. Should still be good. After pouring some into the pan and turning on the burner, she waited for it to come up to temperature.

  Hey, wait a minute. A picture of a gray-haired little, old lady stared back at her from the milk carton. Didn’t they put missing kids on there?

  The picture’s mouth opened. “Phyllliiisss.”

  Shit. She dropped the carton, and milk puddled on the floor. “Who’s there?”

  “Phyllliiisss.” This time from the toaster. First, her food. Now, the appliances.

  The same face appeared there, but kind of spread out to fit the surface. Phyllis ran her hands over her eyes. This was all some dream. If she went into her bedroom, she’d find herself sleeping soundly. The guy next door wasn’t fucking some woman’s brains out, and the toaster didn’t have a face on it.

  On the stove, the saucepan boiled over, filling the kitchen with the smell of scalded milk. She jumped as quickly as she could to turn off the burner and ran back into the bedroom.

  She wasn’t sleeping soundly, and the guy next door was still fucking that woman’s brains out. But, she wouldn’t go back into that kitchen until daylight. She jumped into bed and pulled the covers up over her head.

  “Phy… oh, what’s the point?”

  The voice came from directly above her, and Phyllis pulled the covers back just enough to look. An entire little old lady, or the ghost of one, hovered near the ceiling. “Who the hell are you?” Phyllis demanded.

  The lady floated down and solidified. Without the distortions in her face and without the flying thing, she didn’t seem so menacing. In fact, she might have been someone’s grandmother if she hadn’t shown up on a milk carton first.

  She cleared her throat. “Phyllis Green, I’m your fairy ghostmother.”

  “Don’t you mean godmother?”

  “Let’s leave God out of this, shall we?” She scrunched up her nose. “No sense of humor.”

  “He made the clown next door, didn’t He?”

  “That is annoying.” She waved her hand, and the bozo came with several loud grunts. Finally, quiet settled over the room.

  “There, now I can hear myself think,” the ghost said.

  “Well, thanks for that, anyway. You can leave now. I’ll take it from here.”

  Phyllis pulled the covers up over her head again, but something pulled them right back down. The ghost or fairy or whatever she was sat on the bed, the blankets in her hand. “You left the kitchen quite a mess, young lady.”

  “I’ll clean it up tomorrow.”

  “Today,” the ghost corrected. “It’s after midnight.”

  Great. A picky ghost. She probably corrected people’s grammar, too.

  “Do you know what day it is?” the woman said.

  “Uh, February thirteenth.”

  One gray eyebrow went up.

  “Okay, the fourteenth.”

  “Valentine’s Day,” the ghost said.

  “Well, shoot, and I forgot to send Denzel a card.”

  “That isn’t funny, young lady.”

  “Tell me about it,” Phyllis answered. “He forgot me last year.”

  “Sarcasm will get you nowhere. You’ll celebrate Valentine’s Day properly if it kills me.”

  “Aren’t you… well, a ghost?” That would imply she’d already died, if it wasn’t rude to point that out.

  “I’m the ghost of Valentine’s, past, present and future.”

  “Aren’t there supposed to be three ghosts?”

  The ghost shook a finger at her. “With your attitude, you’re lucky to have me.”

  The old lady had an interesting concept of lucky. Phyllis had an early day working on her strip with her partner and cartoonist, Earl. She didn’t have time for any of this.

  “Look, I know you mean well,” she said. “But I don’t want anything to do with love. Frankly, it’s a pain in the butt.”

  “I knew you’d say that.” The ghost crossed her arms over her chest and gave Phyllis a smug smile. “That’s why we’re going to start with sex.”

  Phyllis sat straight up in bed. “You and me?”

  “Of course not, you young goose. I like men, especially if they’re well hanged.”

  “You mean hung?”

  “Hanged, hung.” The ghost waved a dismissive hand. “As long as he has a big one and he knows how to use it.”

  Phyllis sat there and stared at the woman. A grandmotherly type who appeared on milk cartons and toasters and then sat in her bedroom talking about big ones. Weren’t women her age supposed to keep busy knitting doilies or something?

  “Close your mouth before a fly flies in,” the ghost ordered.

  Her jaw had dropped, so she shut her trap.

  “You needn’t look so shocked,” the woman went on. “Your generation didn’t invent sex, you know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “The feelings haven’t changed since Adam discovered the fig leaf. Neither have the tools. If you must know, I did a darned sight better than you’re doing.”

  That wouldn’t be hard. She hadn’t gotten laid for months. It seemed like every choice she made in men was the wrong one. At least, her vibrator didn’t promise to call and then disappear into a black hole. Somewhere out there was a dark star where all her lovers accumulated, and the Laws of Physics had a lot of explaining to do.

  “You have all the opportunities in the world for great sex, and you ignore them,” the ghost said.

  “Define ‘great’.”

  “You even do a comic strip called ‘Wonderslut.’ What would Wonderslut think of your behavior?”

  “Wonderslut doesn’t exist.” What a ridiculous conversation.

  “Well, she ought to.” The ghost polished that pronouncement with a huff of very high dudgeon. “You’re a disgrace, young lady.”

  “Let me get this straight. Someone my grandmother’s age is scolding me for not sleeping around.”

  “It’s about time somebody did.”

  Phyllis pulled up the covers and lay down again. “I’m going to go back to sleep now. Let yourself out. I hear the microwave’s very nice this time of year.”

  “I’ll go for now,” the woman said. “But I’ll be back at one. You’re going to get lain tonight, or my name isn’t Agnes DeWyld.”

  “Laid.”

  With that, the woman dissolved into a wisp of smoke and disappeared. Phyllis turned off the lamp and put a pillow over her face.

  * * *

  One o’clock came way too soon. The pillow flew off Phyllis’s face, and Agnes stood by the side of the bed.

  Phyllis groaned. “Weren’t you just here?”

  “Get up. It’s time for Valentine’s past.”

  “You mean like corsets and heaving bosoms?”

  “More like 2004.”

  Phyllis rolled over. 2004 had been a bad year. A very bad year. “I’d rather have the corset. Or a root canal. Or a migraine.”

  Suddenly, she found herself standing beside the bed. “Hey, how’d you do that?”

  “Now then,” Agnes said. “Where were you on Valentine’s Day in 2004?”

&
nbsp; Oh, no. Agnes wouldn’t do that, would she? “Not James. You wouldn’t send me back to James.”

  “Your lawfully wedded husband.”

  “My ex. Do you hate me or something?”

  The room disappeared, and she found herself back in the bedroom of the house she’d shared with James. Flat on her back, she looked up at his face while he pumped into her. Valentine’s Day, 2004. She’d bought a negligee at Nordstrom, put Mozart on the stereo, and made love with her soon-to-be ex-husband. He had known how to fuck. She’d give him that.

  He closed his eyes in concentration. “You feel good.”

  “I love your cock,” she answered.

  “My penis,” he corrected, still thrusting.

  “Your cock. Your big, hard cock in my pussy.”

  “Vagina.”

  The whole thing felt like watching a movie. The muscles of his chest pressed against her nipples, creating a friction that set her heart pounding. His cock stretched her, sliding in and out of her wetness. Her clit throbbed as his pelvis pounded against it. She’d had an orgasm that night as she always had. And she’d come again now.

  “I love the way you fuck,” she said.

  He stopped, and his eyes opened. “Phyllis?”

  “Don’t stop. I want you to fuck me.”

  “We always make love.”

  “I don’t want to make love. I want you to fuck me until I come.”

  “Such language.”

  “This isn’t a tea party, James. Your cock is inside me. I want it hard and fast against my clit.”

  “Clitoris,” he corrected.

  She squeezed her pussy muscles around his cock and raised her hips to slide along his length. “You like that?”

  His eyes closed again, and he held himself stiff over her. “Oh, my.”

  “Talk dirty to me, please.” She stroked him again, her cunt gripping him as it caressed his cock. She kept doing that until he trembled.

  “Oh, God.”

  Well, shit. That was his idea of nasty talk. At least it got him to moving again. Faster and harder than before. He plunged deep into her over and over. She lay back and let herself enjoy one last fuck with the man she’d promised to love and honor until death do them part. Too bad the law hadn’t let her kill him. If he hadn’t been good in the sack, he wouldn’t have had any reason to live at all. But, he could make her come, and he was going to do it again right now.

  Still plunging into her, he sent her higher. Her blood rushed in her ears, and her breaths turned to gasps. He was so big, so hard, so hot. Her every nerve caught fire as shocks of pleasure traveled from her belly down into her clit. She needed to come. She needed to explode all around his cock.

  He groaned into her ear. “Sweet… oh, God… now.”

  “Do it, James. Fuck me.”

  “Yes, yes!” He went wild. The orgasm built, hot and insistent. She surrendered to it, letting it wash over her until she came. Shock waves rippled through her from her breasts to her cunt and to her clit. She clung to his shoulders as her pussy gripped his cock over and over. His whole body went rigid. One more massive thrust and he joined her, shouting as he came. The world went dark then, as the aftershocks rocked her into oblivion.

  * * *

  Phyllis’s eyes snapped open. She was back in her apartment, in her bed and wearing her Yosemite sleep shirt. The alarm clock said two o’clock.

  She sat up and looked around. No sign of Agnes. She might have imagined the whole thing and only dreamed of fucking James, except for one thing. Her pussy had that well-fucked feeling it had always gotten after sex with her ex-husband.

  Maybe Agnes had accomplished her goal with that one encounter, and Phyllis could go back to sleep for the rest of the night. She lay back down and pulled the covers up to her chin. Unfortunately, the light came on, and something settled on the bed beside her. She opened her eyes to find her fairy ghostmother sitting at her side, a self-satisfied smile on her face.

  “Did you learn anything from that, young lady?” Agnes said.

  “James doesn’t like foul language, but I knew that. Once a prig, always a prig.”

  “That didn’t keep you from having an orgasm.”

  She sat up and stared at Agnes. “You watched?”

  “Now who sounds like a prig?”

  “I can’t believe you did that.” Holy shit, she’d fucked her ex-husband while a little old lady watched.

  “I was curious,” Agnes said. “I’m old, not dead.”

  “But, you are dead.” Oh, no. She wasn’t getting into that discussion again. The little pervert had sent her back to her ex-husband, and then she’d watched. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “I have to do quality control.”

  “I mean it, Agnes…”

  “Never mind that now.” Agnes crossed her arms over her chest. “It was good, wasn’t it?”

  “You know it was. You watched.”

  “Get over yourself, Phyllis.”

  Phyllis let out an angry huff. Nothing to do about the woman’s past voyeurism, but she’d be damned if she’d perform any more for her, fairy ghostmother or not.

  “Frankly, I don’t understand why you’d leave a man who is as good in bed as he was,” Agnes said.

  “I didn’t. Shortly after that, he ran off with my personal trainer.”

  That, at least, penetrated the skull beneath the gray hair. Agnes put her fingers over her mouth. “I had no idea. What a shame.”

  “You’re not kidding. Good personal trainers are hard to find.”

  “Cynicism doesn’t become you.”

  “It’s hard not to be cynical when I’m still paying him alimony,” she grumbled. “Should have gotten a pre-nup.”

  “I’m sorry that happened to you, but it’s all behind you now.” Agnes rose. “Ready for your Valentine’s present visit?”

  “Agnes, I’m hopeless.” She lay down and rolled onto her side. “Go find someone worth saving.”

  In a flash, she was on her feet by the side of the bed again. “Stop that!”

  “Behold, your next partner.” Agnes waved her arms, and the wall separating them from the next apartment turned transparent. “Howie.”

  “The bozo next door? Are you out of your fricking mind?”

  “You wanted someone adventurous. There he is.”

  There, indeed, he was. He lay on his bed. Alone, thank God. His hand stroked his cock. He had a decent erection. Not as big as James’s, but respectable and definitely hard. But, she wasn’t going to fuck him. Not in a million years.

  “With the parade of women through that apartment, he must have half a dozen diseases,” she said.

  “He uses condoms. Perfectly safe.”

  “You know that for a fact, do you?”

  “Would you like to see the lab report?”

  No, this was not going to happen. On the other hand, either a lot of women were faking it, or Howie had something going for him. She’d sure heard a lot of female orgasms since he moved in.

  “He’s creative,” Agnes said. “Loves dirty talk. Everything you wanted in James.”

  “Just one thing wrong with this plan. I don’t want him dropping by every time he has an opening in his calendar.” Ye gods, why was she even considering this?

  “I think of everything, young lady.” Agnes made another motion with her arms, and Phyllis’s body changed. She got shorter, and her hair turned bleach-bottle blonde. Even her boobs changed, growing larger. They didn’t even feel normal, probably implants. “What the heck?”

  “You look exactly like the woman he had earlier,” Agnes said. “He’ll never know it’s you.”

  “I refuse. This is crazy. Change me back.”

  “Off you go.”

  One more gesture from Agnes and Phyllis found herself on the other side of an opaque wall, staring at Howie and his swelling hard-on.

  He took one look at her and grinned. “Hey, babes, ready for some more?”

  “Agnes!”

  Howie looked around. “Who’s Agnes?”

  “She’s my fairy…” Oh, no. No one would believe that. “Never mind. Hey, look at the time. Gotta run.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Uh, yeah.” She made it to the doorway with Howie right behind her. Once in the living room, she hit the light switch and stopped in her tracks.

  He’d turned the place into a florist’s with vases full of blossoms on every surface. Roses, irises, lilies, even a huge brandy snifter with an orchid in it. He had to have spent a bundle on all those flowers.