Page 16 of The Ghost of Ellwood
Stop thinking about it.
Good thing one of the previous owners had installed a shower in this one, because there was no way I was getting into that tub. Once the water was at the right temperature, I stripped out of my clothes and stepped into the shower and closed the glass door. The bubbled texture made everything on the other side blurry.
I groaned and leaned my head forward as the hot water hit my tense shoulders. Minutes passed with me reveling in the heat before I washed my hair and lathered up my body. As my hand brushed my semi-hard dick, an ache gathered in my groin.
Fuck, it had been a while since I’d been laid. A while since I’d even jerked off.
I squirted more shower gel into my palm and took hold of my shaft, working my hand up and down. I knew it wouldn’t take long to shoot my load. Pleasure rippled down my spine as I twisted my hand on the upstroke, and I closed my eyes, pretending someone else was touching me.
Panting, I moved my wrist faster and slapped the other hand on the wall for balance. As my orgasm grew closer, I imagined arms coming around me from behind. He replaced my hand with his and kissed my nape as he jerked me. I could’ve sworn I felt lips on my shoulder and teeth lightly grazing my neck. Dark hair and brown eyes and he smelled like lavender.
“Shit.” I pumped into my closed fist.
When my release crashed into me, I groaned so deep I went hoarse. I opened my eyes, giving them time to adjust as I’d had them closed for a while.
A hand print was on the shower door.
Confused, I stared at it then I laughed at myself. It was probably mine. I got out of the shower, dried off, and changed into athletic pants and an old T-shirt. Once in my room, I pulled the covers back and slid between the sheets.
The moon shone in through the windows, chasing away some of the shadows. I should’ve been creeped out after knowing everything I did about the manor and after experiencing the unexplainable things that had occurred earlier. But I was too exhausted to be scared. The shower—and jerk-off session—had worked.
My eyelids grew heavy and I closed them. I didn’t remember falling asleep. I was awake, and then my body was weightless, being carried away by sleep’s clutches.
I dreamed of a young man with short raven black hair. He stood by my bed, peering down at me. His earthy brown eyes were warm, but his skin was chilled. When he brushed my bangs off my forehead, his cold fingers made me shiver.
“Who are you?” he whispered, leaning closer. “Why are you here?”
I liked his voice. It had a cadence not heard in today’s world. And it was smooth, caressing me like the finest silk.
I couldn’t answer him. My mouth wouldn’t work. When he started to pull away, I took hold of his hand.Don’t go, I wanted to say, but it was as if my lips were fused together. A cold breeze swept through the room, and my teeth chattered.
The man grabbed the thick comforter I had folded at the foot of the bed, and he covered me with it. I reached for him again, but he flickered out of sight and my hand fell back to the mattress.
Although his touch had been cold, it had been strangely comforting.
I woke the next morning drenched in sweat. The sun lit up the room, and I squinted my eyes against it. The heavy comforter was pulled up to my chin, and I shoved it down to my legs. The night might’ve been cold, but the morning was warm. At least until I stepped out of bed and onto the hardwood floor.
It wasn’t until I was on my way to the bathroom that I recalled my dream. And the man who’d been in it.
Carter said Wayne saw a young man the night he fled the manor; a man with black hair, dark eyes, and appearing as though he belonged in another time. The description fit the man in my dream.
And then I wondered if it’d even been a dream at all.
Chapter Five
George Blackwell had been an insanely wealthy man. He’d come from a privileged family, graduated from Yale University at age twenty, and he’d begun investing money in the stock market, as well as buying up real estate. He’d made a fortune as a business tycoon. By twenty-five, he married Elizabeth Bennett, the daughter of a wealthy banker.
They had a son named Theodore Blackwell.
The public library had an incredible collection of old newspapers, records, and photos from families in Ivy Grove dating back to the early 1900s. What they didn’t have in print, they had in the online records. I had been researching the manor for hours, trying to learn everything I could about the place I now called home.
As a writer, I was no stranger to research. The chase excited me. I loved the thrill of it, of finding something long since forgotten by the world and breathing life into it once more.
“Need help with anything, Mr. Cross?” Florence, the librarian, asked.
“No, ma’am.”
She smiled and went on her way.
