...Mason moaned.
Cassie knew it was a moan of passion, not of fear, and bit her lip. If she’d been curious about what Mason would be like in bed, she was about to see the real thing for herself.
Be honest. You want to see this, Cassandra.
She flushed, embarrassed by her own erotic thoughts, embarrassed for Mason, but most of all fascinated by the chance to observe the most intense haunting she’d ever experienced. And glad beyond belief that Meemaw was at home, safely joined to the crystal ball unless Cassie were to call for her. The last thing Cassie needed was to hear Meemaw’s raucous, disembodied commentary in her head while she watched Mason being taken by a spirit.
The spirit’s hands—they were definitely looking like hands by this time—traveled over Mason’s naked chest to his shoulders, then down his arms, wrinkling his shirt as they slid. Cassie took note of the poltergeist aspect, the spirit’s ability to manipulate matter. Mason’s hands shifted as though to allow someone’s fingers to lace with his, and the spirit guided his hands to his belt. The shirt hadn’t been too much for the spirit, but the belt was a definite obstacle. Perhaps its silver-toned buckle was actually cold iron?
Mason unfastened the belt and his fly. Beneath his sharp-creased wool trousers he wore silky boxers, already stressed by his arousal. Cassie bit her lip as he reached into the slack opening of the boxers and freed his erection. Half of her wondered what he would have done—or what the spirit would have directed him to do—had he been wearing jockey shorts, but the other half of her watched fascinated as Mason’s penis lifted ceilingward, reddened and engorged, with its veins prominently displayed in the living room light.
Cassie put a hand over her mouth and tried to look away. Professional curiosity warred with personal attraction. Mason’s cock wasn’t gigantic, but in the girth department it was no slouch, and it moved slightly with each beat of his pulse. Cassie had always preferred thick cocks to long ones, deriving more pleasure from the stretching fullness than the deep plunging thrusts. It was all too easy to imagine herself slipping out of her shoes and panties, settling astride him to take his cock into her body, to gratify the humming urge building between her thighs. She was already wet and eager, swelling with want and need. The glistening of moisture that pearled on the tip of his penis drew her like a magnet.
Wet together. Rocking. The warm merging of bodies, auras blending and sparking like summer storm clouds.
She could feel the prickle of Mason’s arousal on her skin as his aura bloomed like a luxuriant peony, expanding to fill the air around them both. The deep yellow color that surrounded him mixed with the sparkle of the spirit that had focused itself on his penis. As the spirit’s gleam intensified, Mason’s aura dimmed and became shot through with flecks like red and green fireworks.
She should stop this now. She could do it, if she woke him.
Or could she? He hadn’t opened his eyes, not once, since the encounter began. Cassie shook her head. She might as well call the spirit what it truly appeared to be, a succubus. It was as good a label as any for now, until she gathered more definitive information.
The succubus had taken on as much substance as it was able. The glowing form moved, its fingers stroking down Mason’s torso to his erect penis, and clenching there.
Mason arched his back, moaning.
Cassie’s mouth dried in an instant. She shivered in the chill of the room, but it wasn’t the cold that had made her nipples harden—it was Mason’s moan. The thought that he might react in exactly the same way to her if she were the one sitting in his lap…the moan, the arching press. What would that thick, rigid cock feel like as it pushed its way into her body? Would he mind a woman being on top, taking her pleasure as she found it? Or would his experiences with the succubus have changed his opinions about what was erotic and what was not?...