Grave Phantoms
Page 71
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Bo heaved a dramatic sigh and released Astrid’s wrist.
“I wanted to take a moment to thank Lena and Julia for working so hard on the julbord,” Winter said in a booming voice. “It might be the best meal we’ve had all year, and it certainly was the most bountiful.”
Cheers and applause roared through the living room. When it died down, Jonte spoke up from the piano. “And that goes for the holiday bonus, too. Tack så mycket!”
More applause, and Bo clapped along with them. He was shocked when he’d opened up the red envelope from Winter. It was too much—more than he earned in two months’ time, and that made him feel grateful and guilty at the same time. If he only knew, a negative voice in his head chastised. He pushed it away.
“It was a good year,” Winter said. “Pappa always said, ‘Shared joy is a double joy.’ We are all part of this household, and we all share in its successes. And that’s why I wanted all of you to know that, God willing, we’ll become one member bigger next year. Little Karin’s going to have a baby brother or sister.”
A cascade of surprised noises, cheers, and whistles went around the room, and while Astrid hugged Aida, Bo shook Winter’s hand and slapped him on the shoulder. “Good job. Keep it up, and you two will have those five empty bedrooms filled in no time.”
“Smart aleck,” Winter murmured, but anyone could see he was pleased. And when Bo moved to congratulate Aida, her freckled arms swept him up in a hug as she whispered, “Thanks for keeping my secret. Road goes both ways.”
Flustered, he pulled back to see her face, and she smiled at him surreptitiously before the rest of the clan descended upon the fertile couple. As Bo sidled out of the crowd, Astrid caught his arm and said in his ear, “Meet me at the top of the turret in five minutes. I want to give you my Christmas present.”
—
Bo sneaked out of the merry crowd and climbed the back stairs to the upper story. No lights shone. Two of the low-ceilinged rooms were bare and closed off. He passed a powder room with a severely slanted ceiling and pushed open the door to the turret.
“It’s only me,” he said softly, in case she hadn’t heard him come upstairs. “I thought we agreed we weren’t giving each other presents this year, so—”
He stopped in the doorway and stared at the windows banding the rounded wall. She was waiting for him, perched upon the window seat of their hiding spot, wearing nothing but stockings and garters. Above her head, a stem of mistletoe hung from a ribbon.
“Merry Christmas,” she said.
“Buddha-Osiris-Jehovah,” he mumbled. He shut the door and leaned back against it for a moment to take it all in. The inky sky dotted by starlight. City lights like powdered sugar sifted over rows of streets that ended at the foggy Bay. The soft panes of moonlight spilling over her shoulders and lining the tops of her breasts. The red dress strewn on the floor by her feet. He took a mental photograph and filed it away under Things I’ll Never Forget as Long as I Live.
He exhaled a calming breath, adjusted the angle of the growing bulge in the front of his trousers, and tried to sound causal. “Did I ever tell you the story of the fox spirit that climbed over the rooftops at night to sneak inside a young scholar’s bedroom window?”
“No,” she said, a slow smile spreading over her face. “Tell me.”
He fumbled around in the dark and found a chair to wedge under the door handle. “She came to his room every night for a month and aroused him to three orgasms.”
“Every night?”
“She was a remarkable fox.”
“I’ll say. He must have been a little remarkable himself.”
“He wasn’t one to brag, but he was bigger than the average scholar and had spent many years studying books about pleasuring women.” He began stripping off his suit jacket and necktie. “He gave her two orgasms for each one of his.”
“I’ll bet she was happily surprised about that,” she murmured with a smile. Her hands glided over the tops of her thighs and rolled her stockings a little lower. “What kind of books taught him these tricks?”
“You’d be surprised what you can find in the back room of your average bookstore in Imperial China. The scholar had a boss who collected . . . interesting drawings that he thought no one knew about”—Astrid snorted a soft laugh—“so the scholar got an early education in rare books when he went into town to pick up the boss’s special-order packages.” Bo unbuttoned his shirt. How much time did they safely have? Half an hour?
“He probably should have taken the fox spirit with him on these trips,” she said. “They might have realized earlier how much time they could have spent on orgasms all those years.”
“The fox spirit was much too young.”
“I seriously doubt that,” she said as one hand lazily skimmed over her breast. Down, and then up. “Why did the fox spirit only come to his window for one month?”
“Because the scholar’s father was superstitious of supernatural creatures. He caught her sneaking in one night and was afraid she was siphoning his son’s vitality, so he nailed the window shut.”
“The bastard.” Her knees slowly opened. The hand that was on her breast dipped down between her legs, shielding his view. Teasing his imagination as it made slow movements. “I hope that didn’t stop them.”
“Not a chance. They had already fallen in love. So the scholar climbed up the chimney and met the fox on the roof,” he said, stopping in front of her. “Spread your legs a little wider and let me see what you’re doing,” he murmured, enjoying the thrill that careened through his chest when she complied without hesitation—and the way that thrill echoed in the tightening of his balls and the jumping of his cock.
“I wanted to take a moment to thank Lena and Julia for working so hard on the julbord,” Winter said in a booming voice. “It might be the best meal we’ve had all year, and it certainly was the most bountiful.”
Cheers and applause roared through the living room. When it died down, Jonte spoke up from the piano. “And that goes for the holiday bonus, too. Tack så mycket!”
More applause, and Bo clapped along with them. He was shocked when he’d opened up the red envelope from Winter. It was too much—more than he earned in two months’ time, and that made him feel grateful and guilty at the same time. If he only knew, a negative voice in his head chastised. He pushed it away.
“It was a good year,” Winter said. “Pappa always said, ‘Shared joy is a double joy.’ We are all part of this household, and we all share in its successes. And that’s why I wanted all of you to know that, God willing, we’ll become one member bigger next year. Little Karin’s going to have a baby brother or sister.”
A cascade of surprised noises, cheers, and whistles went around the room, and while Astrid hugged Aida, Bo shook Winter’s hand and slapped him on the shoulder. “Good job. Keep it up, and you two will have those five empty bedrooms filled in no time.”
“Smart aleck,” Winter murmured, but anyone could see he was pleased. And when Bo moved to congratulate Aida, her freckled arms swept him up in a hug as she whispered, “Thanks for keeping my secret. Road goes both ways.”
Flustered, he pulled back to see her face, and she smiled at him surreptitiously before the rest of the clan descended upon the fertile couple. As Bo sidled out of the crowd, Astrid caught his arm and said in his ear, “Meet me at the top of the turret in five minutes. I want to give you my Christmas present.”
—
Bo sneaked out of the merry crowd and climbed the back stairs to the upper story. No lights shone. Two of the low-ceilinged rooms were bare and closed off. He passed a powder room with a severely slanted ceiling and pushed open the door to the turret.
“It’s only me,” he said softly, in case she hadn’t heard him come upstairs. “I thought we agreed we weren’t giving each other presents this year, so—”
He stopped in the doorway and stared at the windows banding the rounded wall. She was waiting for him, perched upon the window seat of their hiding spot, wearing nothing but stockings and garters. Above her head, a stem of mistletoe hung from a ribbon.
“Merry Christmas,” she said.
“Buddha-Osiris-Jehovah,” he mumbled. He shut the door and leaned back against it for a moment to take it all in. The inky sky dotted by starlight. City lights like powdered sugar sifted over rows of streets that ended at the foggy Bay. The soft panes of moonlight spilling over her shoulders and lining the tops of her breasts. The red dress strewn on the floor by her feet. He took a mental photograph and filed it away under Things I’ll Never Forget as Long as I Live.
He exhaled a calming breath, adjusted the angle of the growing bulge in the front of his trousers, and tried to sound causal. “Did I ever tell you the story of the fox spirit that climbed over the rooftops at night to sneak inside a young scholar’s bedroom window?”
“No,” she said, a slow smile spreading over her face. “Tell me.”
He fumbled around in the dark and found a chair to wedge under the door handle. “She came to his room every night for a month and aroused him to three orgasms.”
“Every night?”
“She was a remarkable fox.”
“I’ll say. He must have been a little remarkable himself.”
“He wasn’t one to brag, but he was bigger than the average scholar and had spent many years studying books about pleasuring women.” He began stripping off his suit jacket and necktie. “He gave her two orgasms for each one of his.”
“I’ll bet she was happily surprised about that,” she murmured with a smile. Her hands glided over the tops of her thighs and rolled her stockings a little lower. “What kind of books taught him these tricks?”
“You’d be surprised what you can find in the back room of your average bookstore in Imperial China. The scholar had a boss who collected . . . interesting drawings that he thought no one knew about”—Astrid snorted a soft laugh—“so the scholar got an early education in rare books when he went into town to pick up the boss’s special-order packages.” Bo unbuttoned his shirt. How much time did they safely have? Half an hour?
“He probably should have taken the fox spirit with him on these trips,” she said. “They might have realized earlier how much time they could have spent on orgasms all those years.”
“The fox spirit was much too young.”
“I seriously doubt that,” she said as one hand lazily skimmed over her breast. Down, and then up. “Why did the fox spirit only come to his window for one month?”
“Because the scholar’s father was superstitious of supernatural creatures. He caught her sneaking in one night and was afraid she was siphoning his son’s vitality, so he nailed the window shut.”
“The bastard.” Her knees slowly opened. The hand that was on her breast dipped down between her legs, shielding his view. Teasing his imagination as it made slow movements. “I hope that didn’t stop them.”
“Not a chance. They had already fallen in love. So the scholar climbed up the chimney and met the fox on the roof,” he said, stopping in front of her. “Spread your legs a little wider and let me see what you’re doing,” he murmured, enjoying the thrill that careened through his chest when she complied without hesitation—and the way that thrill echoed in the tightening of his balls and the jumping of his cock.
