There's a strange sensation like a free-fall. It's short, but prominent enough that I open my eyes and realize the ceiling has moved toward us. But that doesn't make sense, so I glance down and realize it's us who have moved toward the ceiling.
We're floating a few feet above his mattress, and Spade hasn't noticed it yet.
His forehead is still pressed to mine, and his beautiful lips are pressed together in focus, so I decide not to tell him. I don't want to take him out of the moment. But I do want to take him out of his head. So, I curl my fingers around his jaw, prompting his eyes to open and take me in for the half second I allow.
And then I crush my mouth against his, stealing a kiss that tastes like surrender… for him, for me, for the lives we lost.
And to hell with them, because this single moment is infinitely better than the sum of all the good things from life.
Ghostscanorgasm, apparently, because I do it... not once or twice, but almost infinitely, continuously.
I just make the choice to sink a little deeper into the bliss, and suddenly, I'm coming, awash in wave after wave of gossamer pleasure.
"Spade..." His name is a whisper from my lips which he swallows with his fervent kiss, and then I think he comes too, because he tosses his head back, his dark hair falling away from his gorgeous, sculpted, painted face.
"Gianna..."
He works us both through the heights of our orgasms and continues, unceasing as the pleasure recedes just enough to begin building again, like a tide washing out to sea and swelling higher.
If there was any doubt that we are not alive, it would be gone in this moment, because nobody is capable of going through all of that, orgasm after orgasm. But he does; he doesn't tire, doesn't stop, just continues to carry me through the ocean of our mutual pleasure until some point, when our eyes collide and we catch each other's gaze.
A giggle slips out of my throat in the space where moans were previously.
He laughs too, and I tip my head, indicating for him to look in the direction I indicate.
When he does, his shock is apparent by the widening of his eyes.
We've risen more with each cresting orgasm, lifting higher and higher until we passed right through the roof, which is spread out below us, missing shingles and covered in dark spots. The fields around us are dry and brown, nearly as devoid of life as the two of us. Everything here is decrepit, decaying, abandoned.
It's clear the house is deserted, but I know it's not. It's not empty just because there's no onelivingin it.
But this town? Itisempty. Soulless.
I guess there's a reason they named it Hollow Fields. The people here are as empty as the scarecrow they pulled down to throw me on the stake last night.
We are still connected, floating together as we slowly drift back down.
Spade tenses, wrapping me closer against him when the roof appears, as if he thinks we may crash. Instead, we pass rightthrough it, drifting down to the bed like feathers dropped from the sky.
I don't know what keeps us from slipping through the bed, under it, down into the foyer below us, or the cellar beneath that. I don't care to figure it out yet.
"That was..." Spade shakes his head. "Unbelievable."
I smile, because that's a fair assessment. All of this is pretty unbelievable. We're dead and we just had ghost sex, which was the most potent thing I've ever felt.
I should have pegged him for a cuddler; he slips out of me and tugs me toward him with one arm draped around my back, the other coming round to circle me in his arms.
Silence falls between us, a peaceful ambiance that neither of us breaks as we soak in the afterglow.
But like everything else, eventually that fades, too.
In the wake of all that he gave me, the emptiness is back, and there's nothing to fill me. I'm hollow, full of nothing.
So, I turn my focus back to the only thing other than his touch that let me feel— the rage.
Chapter 12
I'mrattled,unabletofocus on the canceled game because all I can see in my mind's eye is Toby tied up on that stake where we left New Girl last night.
