Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sharing a room with Flower proved to be a surprising balance of patience and curiosity. Often her prattle made absolutely no sense or twisted in round illogical circles. She once spent four hours talking about the various rules and laws within the cult and the penalty for each transgression. How a century’s time could change society was something Hetty often pondered. However, every once in a great while, Flower would say something profound, she would share something personal about herself with Hetty and warm the stiff Victorian to the idea of change, of progress. The Sexual Revolution –as she often called it– had once scandalised Hetty, causing her to blush to her very toes, but after her…interactions with Trevor, Hetty had to admit she had some questions.

“Flower,” she began one night without a preamble, “Do you remember our conversation about the washing machine? Or rather…after Jay had the washing machine unfairly taken from me…?”

Flower had been admiring the pattern of her second favourite rug in the manor when Hetty entered the room unannounced. She couldn't actually touch it, but she ran her fingers over the tassels anyway, imagining the texture with a dreamy sigh.

For a moment it was unclear if she heard the question, but after a pause, she turned to look at her. "Yeah, I remember.”

Hetty’s fingers twisted together in front of her, chin raising a bit as she continued with courage. “I was curious about other…ways one might pleasure their partner?” She couldn’t look Flower in the eye and was grateful for Flower’s own short attention span. Hopefully, she would not remember this conversation.

Her gaze floated to the ceiling as a smile blossomed across her face. "There are many different ways to please your partners, but the best way to start is asking them what they like- everyone is different after all.”

Hetty chewed the inside of her lip as she considered Flower's words. “When I was alive there was only one acceptable position for…a game of nug-a-nug…”

Flower giggled. "Nug-a-nug. I love that." She resumed fiddling with the rug as she spoke. "Well, is your lover a man or a woman?" She asked.

Hetty's eyes widened, breath caught in her throat as she spluttered, “Is my…a man or a…my goodness!” She took a deep breath, cheeks aflame with incredulity. “A man. Obviously.”

"You're so funny Hetty," she replied, entirely unaffected by the conversation. "Have you ever gone down on him? Men love that.”

“I'm going to need you to elaborate for I have never gone to Hell with a man.”

She stifled a giggle, remembering that despite her conservative morals, it was best to be blunt with Hetty. "Put his penis in your mouth," Flower advised.

“Does…Does one, can I– that seems so unsanitary!” A million thoughts ran through her head, and for a moment she wondered if she had overtaxed her female brain. Would Trevor truly like something like that? He had used his mouth to pleasure her on more than one occasion. Perhaps it was only fair of her to reciprocate. Without another word to Flower, Hetty turned on her heels and left the room.

She considered what Flower had said for the better part of three days. She rolled the idea around in her mind, admittedly curious by the premise. Trevor had seemed to enjoy using his mouth, he cared about her pleasure. Did he perhaps think she didn't care about his?

Hetty found Trevor lounging in his room. She briefly looked behind her to make certain they were alone. “I have something to ask you, meet me in the basement in five minutes.” Without waiting for a response to her command she made her way down to the basement.

Trevor lounged on the couch in his room, taking in the silence (and advantage of the tv) while the others were taking walks and whatever else. Usually, he went with the monotonous activities of the household, but he’d been distracted lately. Things with Hetty had been going excellently. Obviously, the sex was amazing, but Trevor thought that maybe, just maybe, she had been enjoying their pillow talk. He sometimes just liked being alone just to think about how lucky his afterlife had been. Trevor enjoyed the slow pace of Hetty and him.

Trevor glanced up from the television when Hetty entered the room. Hetty spoke abruptly, turning on her heel before he could interject a knowing smirk or innuendo. “Oookay.” He sighed to an empty room.

After a few minutes of finger-fighting with the clicker, Trevor made his way to Hetty and their secret room. He drifted through the door where Hetty was waiting for him, sitting primly on the bed. He beamed at her, lips curling into a smirk. “You rang?”.

She looked at him with a furrowed brow, his expression too modern for her understanding. Her fingers twisted in front of her as she took a deep sigh. “Are you satisfied?” she asked in one quick breath.

His grin faltered at the sight of Hetty’s anxiously twisting fingers and brupt question. “Like…sexually? I think we’re pretty set in that department, right?” Trevor head cocked to the side confidently. Inwardly, he was terrified of this being the Victorian version of “we need to talk”.

Hetty looked down at her entwined fingers then raised her gaze back to his. “Are you certain there isn't more I can be doing?”

Trevor paused to process her words. “No, you’re absolutely stunning, babe.” And he meant that. Every night with Hetty was absolute bliss. Trevor had never cum so easily in his life than with this woman. He walked towards her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. “Or, are you asking if there’s anything else that I like in bed?”

Hetty could feel a hot blush up to her ears, only giving him a nod at his second assessment.

Trevor took Hetty’s hands in his and brought them to his lips. He placed a light kiss on her knuckles and moved to sit next to her on the bed. How to explain novel sex acts to a Victorian? “You know how I put my mouth to your…” He used a free hand (and his eyes) to point down Hetty’s bodice to her skirts. He was unsure of the proper etiquette here. “You could totally, a hundred percent do that to my…” With the same free hand, he gestured downwards, “If that was something you’d be comfortable with.”

Her little nose crinkled in distaste, teeth biting her lower lip. “Is that something other women have done for you…when you were alive?”

Trevor took in Hetty’s disgusted face. His hands shot up in surrender. “Again, you are under zero obligation to do that. But…yeah blowjobs were common for me when I was alive. Seriously though, Hetty, I’m not gonna make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

She swallowed around the lump in her throat. She was admittedly intrigued by the prospect. She knew when Trevor used his tongue on her it felt divine. “I want to try it.”

Trevor cocked his head, blinking in surprise. “Are you sure?” He placed his hand on his cheek, caressing gentle circles with his thumb. “If you get the ick, you can stop at any time.”

She leaned into his touch, eyes briefly fluttering closed as she savoured the warmth of his hand. She turned her cheek and pressed a gentle kiss against his palm. It was kind of him, to give her an out, a courtesy never granted by her husband. With him, it was duty, but with Trevor, a frisson of desire shot down her spine. She pushed his cuff up and allowed her lips to trail kisses over the sensitive skin.

A shiver ran down Trevor’s neck at the soft kisses Hetty placed on his wrist. His stomach was made of knots and butterflies in equal parts at her unspoken acceptance. He really, really did not want Hetty to feel pressured into doing something she didn’t like. Sex, women, and sex with women were some of T Money’s hobbies, but forcing sex on a woman just wasn’t it. What did Sam call it? Consent?

Hetty looked up from his wrist, blue eyes glimmering as they met his gaze. Her hand trailed up his thigh, fingers playfully walking up before gliding back toward his knee. Hetty leaned up, brushing her lips along his jaw. “If I…find it distasteful,” she murmured, hiding her words against his throat. “I simply need to say so?” She wanted to make certain he had been sincere.

Trevor sighed, craning his neck to give her more access. “Of course, babe,” his voice was breathy and he took a deep breath to gain focus on their conversation, “Sex is supposed to be fun and feel good for both of us. I won’t feel good if you’re not feeling good, you know?”

“I'm beginning to,” she replied softly, stealing a quick kiss. Hetty shifted, sliding off the bed gracefully to kneel at Trevor’s feet. She looked up at him, lips twisted in a smirk. With a turn of her cheek, she pressed a small series of kisses to his inner thigh.

Trevor beamed at Hetty, deep brown eyes watching her every move. All previous focus was lost to Hetty kneeling on the ground before him, her faint smirk, and her glimmering blue eyes. She held so much care for him in her eyes. He spread his legs for her, nerves sparking at each kiss to his thigh. His cock began to twitch beneath his shirt ends.

The trembling movement did not go unnoticed by Hetty. She kissed a hot trail up his thighs, alternating between the two as she slowly neared her prize. She brushed the tip of her nose against the tented cloth before depositing another kiss to his inner thigh.

“Fuck, Hetty…” he moaned, reaching down to roll up his shirt to allow her more access. His eyes flickered between his bobbing cock and Hetty’s expression.

Her blue eyes nearly crossed looking at it, suddenly intimidated by the realities of her choice. Trevor had experienced this pleasure with a myriad of women. How was she to compare? Hetty leaned forward, inhaling the scent of him: dark and musky, but not entirely unpleasant. She wrapped her hand around his cock, stroking slowly from the base to the tip.

Trevor’s cock quickly became rock hard with each of Hetty’s strokes. A deep moan escaped his lips as her hand once more reached its tip. Shaking, his hand rested on her cheek. She moved her hand intuitively like an artist. Oy gevalt, this woman.

Emboldened by his reaction, Hetty pressed her lips to the head, tongue poking through the blossom of her lips to gently lick the small amount of fluid already leaking from the tip.

Trevor stifled a gasp. Her tongue felt heavenly against his tip. He was being hustled. There’s no way she hadn’t done this before! Logically though, Trevor understood the impossibilities of that thought. Hetty didn’t even know she could orgasm until earlier this year. She was just that attuned to him. “It-it…you’re very pro at this,” he stuttered, unable to form any suave sentences.

Hetty looked up at him, eyes bright and mischievous. She opened her lips and took the head fully into her mouth, sucking it gently as her tongue mapped the shape of it. She could feel a deep flush rise in her cheeks, but rather than feeling ashamed and denigrated, she felt powerful. She had barely begun and Trevor was already reduced to a stuttering mess. She chuckled absently at the thought, the vibrations shooting straight down his cock.

A high-pitched gasp burst from his mouth, neck arching backwards in pleasure. This repressed Victorian lady could suck cock. He wasn’t sure if he was biassed because it was specifically her mouth around him, or because he hadn't received a B.J. in nearly three decades, but Hetty easily won for best blow job. He felt flustered and blissfully overwhelmed by the sparking nerves running down his shaft. She had a magic mouth.

Slowly she took more of him into her mouth, tongue moving against the underside, the muscle undulating along the prominent vein. Her hand continued to stroke the remainder, her pinky teasing his sac on every downward stroke.

“Hetty, so good, Hetty,” he moaned. He raked his fingers through her hair with trembling hands, the tight pinned curls loosening. His breath hitched with each curl of her tongue against muscle. “Please, please,” he whined.

The feeling of his fingers in her hair encouraged her, she hummed against him, loving the feeling of him twitching against her tongue. Taking advantage of the fact that she didn't truly need oxygen, she slowly took more of him in until her nose was pressed against dark curls. Hetty looked up at him with wide blue eyes, hoping to watch him come undone.

He locked eyes with Hetty, her crystal blue gaze studying him, her pink lips swallowing his cock; she was an absolute goddess. She was Trevor’s heaven. She was truly sucking him off. Hetty’s hums sent a shockwave of pleasure from hilt to tip, and Trevor knew it wouldn't be long before he succumbed to bliss. He thumbed her curls, “Hetty, Hetty, babe, I’m so close. I don’t want to–”

Hetty bobbed slowly up and down the shaft, too preoccupied to hear him fully. All she could focus on was the trembling of his thighs as she raked her nails down, the twitching, pulsing organ in her mouth, and the breathless way Trevor said her name. She pulled off his cock with a small pop, mouth open obscenely as she bounced the head against her outstretched tongue.

“Oh, fuck.” Trevor’s breath hitched, the sporadic sensation of his head against Hetty’s tongue brought him over his edge. Cumming hard, he watched as his release splattered onto Hetty’s tongue, across her cheeks, and up into her hair. His heart sank and his hands rushed to hold the sides of her face. “Oh no. I’m so sorry, Hetty.”

Hetty was startled as she was covered in Trevor’s sticky conceit. She licked her lips, the taste of him on her tongue. While she had to admit it certainly wasn’t Cheetos or Sour Patch Kids, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It did not take long for it to disappear entirely. She leaned into Trevor’s touch, looking up at him with a soft smile. “No need to apologise, Trevor. I assume that means my performance was satisfactory~?”

Trevor sighed, tension dissipating. “I just know it’s not the best sensory experience.” He placed a soft kiss on her lips. “It was more than satisfactory, it was out of this world, absolutely fantastic! 11 out of 10! How was it for you?”

“Enlightening,” she murmured with a slight smirk. She straightened up, noting that his seed had disappeared and leaned up to capture his lips.

He grinned into their kiss. Trevor slightly parted his lips from hers. “‘Enlightening’ like you’d do it again or…?”

“So soon?” she giggled, gasping with feigned incredulity.

“No, no!” He scooted his hips across the bed, taking her hand in his, and guided Hetty to sit beside him. “I just want to make sure you feel comfortable. Although, that would be a fun experiment of ghost refractory periods.”

She moved to sit by his side, leaning against him gently. “I did not hate it,” she assured him with a chuckle. She pushed against his chest causing him to fall back against the bed. She followed, resting her cheek against his chest.

“Good.” He kissed Hetty’s forehead, wrapping his arms tightly around her side. “For round two, I want to make you feel that good.”

Chapter Text

It began innocuously, as most great bouts of emotions do, with a simple request. Trevor and Hetty had been engaged in the act of “making out”, to borrow a phrase from the 21st-century ghost, which was an activity Hetty greatly enjoyed. Trevor’s kisses and light touches over her many frills and layers were a delightful aperitif to their usual game of missionary nug-a-nug. Hetty had never kissed anyone the way she kissed Trevor. No prefunctorial pressing of lips together after “I do” could ever match the raw passion and need Hetty felt whilst kissing Trevor.  

She clung to his shoulders as his hot lips descended the line of her jaw. She tilted her head back to give him more room as he trailed near the sensitive point below her ear. He lingered there a moment, driving her mad as he nibbled gently upon the lobe. “Would you like to try something new?” he asked with a low moan, his large hand splayed over the front of her bodice.  

“Yes,” she answered immediately, breathless. His hands came around her waist, guiding her up to sit on her knees. She followed his lead, moaning as he peppered kisses against the back of her neck as he settled behind her. Slowly he guided her again to rest on her hands and knees. He lifted her skirts, hands kneading up her covered thighs to the round of her ass. She groaned, burying her face in the pillow to cool the sudden flush to her cheeks. 

Trevor was ecstatic to share this new position with her. Especially since Hetty had become more sexually explorative, even a bit kinky since they'd been together. Plus, Trevor loved the way her thighs looked from this angle. And her ass. And the feel of her ass. He liked it all. And he liked her.  

He massaged his hands back down her thighs, enjoying Hetty’s whines as he teased her. His fingers met the cuff of her bloomers. Trevor swiftly rolled the old-timey undergarment upwards for access to Hetty’s bare thighs. He lowered himself, placing slow kisses and gentle nibbles against her skin.

She gripped the pillows tightly as he teased her, rolling her hips gently back to try and shift his hands up toward her need. The soft kisses against the back of her thighs were driving her wild. She could feel herself begin to drip with desire, the molten heat in her stomach beginning to rise. 

As Trevor grazed his teeth against Hetty’s thigh, he could smell her arousal. He hummed a chuckle against her skin, gliding his free pointer finger on her inner thigh and up to the wonderfully convenient opening in her bloomers. With practised gentility, he parted her outer labia and smirked at the sight of her twitching hole. “You’re so wet for me already.” 

The groan that ripped free from Hetty's throat was filthy , her whole body trembling as he played with her so boldly. “God, the way you talk,” she murmured, looking over her shoulder at his smug expression. She wondered idly if ghosts could spontaneously combust, the heat from her cheeks creeping steadily down her neck. 

Hetty’s groan shot pleasure down Trevor’s spine. He parted his pointer and middle finger into a V, expertly sliding the two between her folds. “Oh, you like when I talk dirty like that?” his darkened voice whispered. “You're practically soaking the sheets, Hetty, so fucking sexy.” He leaned forward, sweeping his tongue through the slick. 

“Hello!” she exclaimed, chest dropping down to the blankets. Trevor smirked down at her as her entrance fluttered, needing to be filled. 

“ Hello… ” Trevor nearly growled. He brought a finger back to her clit, rubbing slow, gentle circles. His cock pulsed at the sight of her. “I can’t wait to be inside you, to fuck you.”

“Nngh, yes, please, Trevor…” She elongated his name with a groan, rocking back against his fingers and tongue. “Take me.” 

“Anything for you.” Trevor pressed his lips to Hetty’s slit, sliding his tongue inside her and curling the muscle against her sensitive walls. He pressed his tongue deeper, basking in the sweet taste of her before pulling out to tease her clit. 

“Oh fuuuuuuck–  please, God, more please.” The lava now pooling in her stomach threatened to erupt at the feel of his tongue fucking in and out and in and out and dear God he was going to be the death of her– again. 

Trevor rubbed two fingers against her clit, quickening the thrusts of his tongue. He felt the blood rush to his cock. 

“F-fuck, Trevor I'm gonna…Please, I need you.” 

Trevor steadied his tongue and took his sweet-ass time pulling it from Hetty. He took a moment to rub the flat of his tongue against her aching clit until she was dripping, begging mess, her thighs practically vibrating with need. He moved to his knees, placing his hard cock below her slit, teasing circles with the head. 

Her skirts were bunched beneath her, blocking her access, and causing a growl of impatience. She rolled her hips back against him, trying to force him to slip inside her. His cock was hot against her, the throbbing organ brushing over her entrance. There! She pressed back, the head of his cock slipping inside. 

Trevor moaned, pushing further inside her. His thrusts began steadily, each urging Trevor to increase his pace. He admired the wonderful sight of his cock sinking inside of her, the euphoria of feeling her pleasure surrounding him. 

As he plunged into her, Hetty rocked forward, forehead pressed against the pillow. The stretch of his cock and the carnal grunting caused the hot flush to increase in her cheeks. In a moment of sudden and overwhelming distress, she felt her breath catch in her chest, each exhalation coming in short, sharp gasps. A trace of copper lingered on her tongue, blood from where she had bitten her lip in response to Trevor's movements. She couldn’t see Trevor, could only feel his hands against her waist, pulling her back onto him. 

Her heart raced as if it were trying to escape from her ribcage, pounding so hard it seemed to reverberate through her entire body. Her vision blurred, and she struggled to focus, the world around her closing in with a suffocating intensity. “Come now, Henrietta, it’s not that terrible. Put a little effort in.” 

She shook her head, trying to stay in the present where she was safe, cared for, and valued. 

“Don’t know how this marriage will work with you just lying there.” Her hands trembled uncontrollably, and her body felt icy and damp with sweat. Thoughts of her past encounters with Elias surged uncontrollably, like a flood washing away any sense of safety she had. The intense fear and helplessness gripped her tightly, leaving her feeling disoriented and vulnerable, trapped in a moment where time seemed to stretch and contract in painful ways.

“No! Please stop!” she screamed, pulling away from her lover and collapsing forward. 

“Hetty!” He froze, his unbeating heart threatening to burst again. Shaking himself free from his own anxiety (oh god oh god oh god what did I do), Trevor gently and quietly removed himself from the bed. “Hey, I’m here,” he whispered, kneeling beside the bed. Trevor watched her carefully from his spot beside her, moving her skirts back over her legs and hoping it would give her some small comfort. 

Their eternity stood still and the silence was stale. Trevor had a feeling Elias was at fault. He knew Elias was the fucking worst husband. But witnessing how deeply his treatment of her affected Hetty nearly re-killed him. His mind reeled with disturbing hypotheticals. Each made him wish he could reach down into Hell itself and show Elias true torture. Oh the things he would do. 

Hetty tried to control her breathing as she sat up, hand resting at the base of her throat to ground herself. She focused on Trevor's face, his voice, the kindness and concern in his eyes. Hot shame suffused her cheeks, leaving the tear tracks staining her face pale in comparison.  “I’m…sorry,” she murmured, eyes downcast. She scrubbed roughly at her cheeks, embarrassed. 

Trevor’s eyes lingered on the hand held to her throat. It was a gesture he had memorised in its context, but now understood the deep wound of its meaning. He met her eyes. “There is nothing to be sorry for.”

“I-I rather ruined our evening.” She rung her hands together in front of her, still finding it difficult to meet Trevor's eye. She felt the soft touch of his fingers beneath her chin, gently lifting her gaze to meet his warm brown eyes. 

“Hey, nothing's ruined, Hetty. I just wanna make sure you're alright.” 

Her lip quivered slightly, tears silently falling down her cheeks. She leaned into his touch, his hand now cupping her jaw. “I am all right now.”  

He sat himself beside Hetty on the bed, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek. He would do anything in an attempt to comfort her. “Maybe we could pillow talk without the talking?” 

She nodded mutely, tears threatening to overflow once again. Together they shifted to lie next to each other, Hetty's cheek against Trevor's chest, his fingers gently playing with her red curls. It was a bittersweet feeling to note Trevor was no longer hard against her. 

He continued to delicately run his hands through her magnificent red hair, careful not to accidentally pull her curls. He held her tight against his chest with his free arm, caressing circles on her shoulder with his thumb. The silence was warm and Trevor watched the steady rise and fall of Hetty’s breathing. 

“I don't think of you like him,” Hetty mumbled into his suit coat.

Trevor paused for a moment, needing to process what Hetty was saying into his chest. He was pretty sure he heard her right. He hesitated to say he wasn’t worried about this. Trevor knew Hetty didn’t see him as Elias. However, he did suggest trying that position and his actions did , albeit unintentionally, cause Hetty pain. Of course, he blamed himself a little bit. He leaned down and kissed her head through her curls. “I’m still sorry.” 

She lifted her head a little, eyes meeting his with a questioning gaze. “I am the one who should be sorry.”

“Again, there’s absolutely nothing to be sorry for.” Trevor took the opportunity to kiss her forehead. If only kisses could take away her hurt. “It’s him who should be sorry. He’s in Hell for a reason.” 

She chewed her lower lip in thought, wondering if this was just one of the many things that had changed since her era. “Though you and I are not bound in marriage, is there not some etiquette about leaving one’s partner unsatisfied? A sort of lover’s conjugal debt?” 

Trevor cocked his head, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “Married or not, you owe me nothing.” Confusion morphed into anger at the past for, once again, sucking. Every anxiety Hetty held onto made sense. “Sex is fun and intimate. Sex is for connection. It’s not transactional.” 

Hetty accepted his words and laid her head back on his chest. “You have such a lovely way of thinking about…” She made a vague gesture with her hand before allowing it to play with his tie. “A connection.” Her fingers found his and entwined, his thumb caressing gentle circles to the back of her hand. 

Trevor chuckled, “I’m going to get you to say ‘sex’ someday”. He raised the back of her hand to his lips. “Along with some other choice phrases.” 

“Like ‘please’ and ‘thank you’? Samantha says I could exercise more use with these ‘magic words’.” She smiled and shifted her skirts to act as a blanket for them, suddenly tired from her emotional tumult. 

“I meant swear words and modern slang.” Trevor loved when phrases she’d heard from Sam, Jay, the other modern ghosts, and most especially, himself slipped into her vocabulary, “but that works too.”

“A lady is never vulgar,” Hetty recited, smug even as her eyes drifted closed. 

“The rules are different these days. Be as vulgar as you’d like,” he yawned, resting his head back against the pillow. He gave Hetty’s hand a light squeeze and soon fell asleep. 

Though the tension in her shoulders had eased considerably, Hetty still felt uneasy. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with the emotional toll she endured and began to close despite her attempts to keep them open, to bask in Trevor’s warmth and the feeling of his hand in hers. As she drifted closer to sleep, her thoughts, once racing and chaotic, began to blur and fade. The sobs that had wracked her chest now echo distantly in her mind, replaced by a quiet, numbing fatigue. At that moment, with her head resting against Trevor’s chest, Hetty surrendered to the overwhelming pull of sleep, the sorrow and shame in her heart giving way to a brief, fragile peace. The world around her faded, and she slipped into the embrace of slumber. 

Hetty had always been a relatively light sleeper, her body’s rhythm fastidious even in death. She was comfortably warm, which told her she was still in the basement with Trevor. She felt his presence behind her, his breath puffing intimately against her ear. As she shifted slightly, the sensation of his body pressed against her back became more pronounced. The firmness of his erection, warm and insistent against the back of her bodice, sent a shiver of awareness through her half-awake mind. The weight of his arm draped over her waist and holding her close caused a flutter of tenderness in her heart. For a moment, she remained still, savouring the closeness, the feel of his body against hers. The morning was calm, their shared warmth cocooning them in a private world of intimacy and affection. 

She rearranged her skirts carefully so that he could press closer, his hard cock now rubbing lewdly against her ass. She arched into the touch. 

Trevor steadily awoke from the blissful friction, eyes fluttering open. A wave of affection passed through him at the sight of Hetty’s blissed face bathed in sunrise peering through the basement window. He loved her so much.

“Good morning”, he whispered, kissing her shoulder. Trevor rocked his hips, his cock sliding firmly between her spread thighs. 

She moaned, arching back against him with a grin. “Good morning indeed~” She turned in his grasp, throwing her leg over his hip and adjusting her skirts once more as she faced him. She lined up his aching cock, rubbing herself against the throbbing member with a roll of her hips. 

Trevor wrapped his arm around Hetty’s back and held her ass with his free hand. Now yellowing sunlight bathed in the beauty of them both. Of all his memories with Hetty, this was his favourite one. Of course, he hadn’t kept track of how many times he had thought that. He loved waking up to each new day with her. 

And he cherished how time stood still in these quiet moments in the basement. Their lips met. Trevor could kiss her, their bodies tangled together, endlessly through eternity. He moaned into her lips, rocking his hips against hers.  

He entered her slowly, their connection renewed with a gasping sigh between kisses. Hetty felt a swell of tenderness permeating her core, hands trembling as she cupped his cheeks. “Darling,” she breathed before he devoured the sentiment with lips and teeth and tongue. 

With a tenderness that seemed to envelop them both, brain still pleasantly foggy from sleep, he whispered, "I love you," into their kiss. The warmth of his breath mingled with hers, creating a sweet and heady sensation. Slowly, he moved himself within her, savouring the intimate connection they shared. Every touch, every movement was filled with an unspoken declaration of love. It was a moment of pure bliss, a melding of two souls into one.

As Trevor spoke, Hetty felt tears well up in her eyes. She had not expected this. That the self-entitled ‘playa’ would display a depth of feeling previously unknown to Hetty. She had learned the hard way through her life how to manage her feelings, keep them in check, contained, and controlled, but the tempest now roaring in her chest was so far out of her control that her former coping methods seemed like hubris. Gentle rain fell from her eyes as she wrapped her arms around him, cherishing the strong embrace between them. The electricity of their bond pulsed through her as she held on tightly, never wanting to let go.

Trevor continued his deep, languid thrusts, savouring every sensation. He trailed kisses along Hetty's jaw. She gasped and arched against him, her fingers tangling in his hair.

"Trevor," she moaned softly, rolling her hips to meet his movements. The slow build of pleasure was exquisite torture, each thrust stoking the fire within her. Hetty arched into him, her leg tightening around his hip to draw him even closer. She rocked against him, matching his rhythm as they moved together in perfect synchronicity. The tender passion between them was a stark contrast to their frenzied past encounters with the young millennial ghost. 

He sighed as Hetty pulled him closer by her leg. He kissed back up her neck, noticing the tear stains down her cheeks. He placed soft kisses along the trail, dwindling the speed of his thrusts momentarily to admire her. Her gaze inspired him to continue increasing the pace of his thrusts moving his mouth back to her lips. 

Hetty's body undulated with every thrust from Trevor, her fingers digging into his cheeks as she deepened their passionate kiss. The pleasure building in her core was like a simmering volcano, hot and intense but not yet ready to erupt. As it reached its peak, Hetty let out a soft moan of Trevor's name, her body quivering and trembling in his arms as the waves of ecstasy washed over her. She held onto him tightly, never wanting this moment to end.

Trevor felt his own pleasure peaking, continuing his thrusts through Hetty’s orgasm. The breathy way she moaned his name made his cock throb with edged heat. “You feel amazing, Hetty. Fuck .” With two more rolls of his hips, Trevor moaned, his release filling Hetty’s soaked hole. 

The peak of her pleasure crested and ebbed, leaving Hetty gasping for air as she collapsed against Trevor's chest. They lay there for a few moments, panting and basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Trevor's arms were still wrapped tightly around her, his fingers tracing soothing circles on the back of her bodice. 

Trevor kissed the top of her fiery curls, her head rising and falling with the motion of his steadying breath. He longed for the ability for them to take every item of clothing off. He wanted to lay like this, but skin to skin, wrapped in each other’s arms. He wanted to be connected to her somehow at all times. “You’re amazing, Hetty”. 

The treacherous flap of butterfly wings against her stomach was quickly tamped down as Hetty returned to her senses. She ignored the quiet, almost imperceptible sensation of joy, a soft hum through her veins as Trevor nuzzled her curls. She smiled at him, blue eyes brighter than the morning sun. “You are too, Trevor.”

Hetty made his heart burst in a pleasant, afterlife-extending kind of way. He was glad her face was now buried in his chest once again since he could feel his cheeks burning. His face was probably red and T Money had a reputation to uphold. Although, he guessed that facade had long been long forgotten in Hetty’s mind, mindless orgasmic declaration notwithstanding. Especially when they were alone like this. 

They lied together until they could hear the house begin to wake, whereafter they resumed their practised facades and rejoined the upstairs ghosts.

Chapter Text

They really ought to stop meeting like this. Hetty had her back pressed against the solid door of Elias’ secret vault. Trevor was trailing delicate kisses down Hetty’s jaw, nose tucked against the soft spot behind her ear. It had started in the kitchen, Trevor’s confident smirk and glimmering dark eyes set Hetty aflame, though she was loathed to admit it. She disliked the idea of any man having influence over her.

She tangled her fingers in his hair as his teeth nibbled on her ear. A gasping moan left her throat, nails scraping lightly against Trevor’s scalp. She tugged, lifting his head far enough to devour his lips in a kiss.

“I told you this was a great idea,” Trevor’s lips curled into a grin against Hetty’s, gasping as she tugged his hair. He’d been casually planting the seed of vault wall sex since Christmas. Trevor teased his knee against her skirt.

“I suppose you were bound to have one eventually,” she quipped back, teeth against his plump lower lip, she nibbled and pulled, chasing its retreat with her tongue.

“Nah uh, T Money’s full of exceptional ideas,” he teased his tongue between her lips, pressing his knee against the spot on Hetty’s skirt he knew would elicit a reaction. He deepened their kiss and held a hand against the vault door to easily press against Hetty.

She arched against him, impatiently pulling up her skirts so that his knee pressed against her aching core. She ground down, wetly rubbing herself with a roll of her hips.

He chuckled, tangling his tongue with hers. Trevor slid his free hand to Hetty’s skirts, helping to bunch and securely tuck the layers between her and the door. The same free fingers trailed down and traced along the waistband. He increased the grinding of his leg against her slit.

“Are you planning on teasing me all day, Trevor, or showing me some more of those rumoured ‘exceptional ideas’?”

“Mm, someone’s impatient,” Trevor traded his leg for his fingers, caressing his pointer around the opening in her bloomers. He ghosted (no pun intended) the tips of two fingers along the head of her clit.

Hetty moaned, head falling back against the door. “I'm not accustomed –oooh my– to waiting.”

“Sometimes the more waiting you do,” Trevor’s fingers circled her clit, his lips resting close to her ear, “the better it feels.”

“Ah– ahhhh,” she groaned breathily, fingers clinging to his shoulders as he played her like a virtuoso. Her eyes fluttered shut, dark lashes kissing her cheeks. Trevor slowly lowered himself to his knees, holding the bulk of her skirts against her bodice with a wide hand. With his free hand he gently lifted her knee, resting it over his shoulder and forcing Hetty to lean more against the door. She looked down at him, admiring the handsome line of his jaw, the attractive glimmering of his dark eyes. His smile inspired a spark of sentiment.

Trevor kissed Hetty’s inner thigh, grazing his lips along her wetness. He curled his tongue along the head of her clit and then took it into his mouth. Trevor’s lips moved around it like softly crashing waves.

Her toes curled in her expensive leather boots, the tip of it shining over Trevor's shoulder like a lewd beacon. His sinful tongue sent pleasure up her spine, clouding her brain better than any morphine she'd ever tasted.

Trevor delighted in the taste of her. Hetty was often apathetic towards him, frequently cold, but boy did she get wet for him. It was thrilling that Henrietta Woodstone, the lady of the house, desired him, Trevor Lefkowitz, former finance bro. He continued to caress her clit with his tongue, adding two fingers inside of her, stroking in and out of her slowly.

Hetty's heart was pounding in her chest, her breath coming in short gasps as Trevor worshipped her with his tongue and fingers. She could feel the pressure building inside of her, a sensation that was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

Her head thunked against the iron door, the sound echoing in the empty vault. She bit her lip, stifling the loud whine now trapped in the confines of her throat.

Trevor moved his hand splayed against the door onto Hetty’s outer thigh above his head, raking his nails over her bloomers. He could feel her legs begin to twitch. It inspired him to move his lips faster, press harder.

The heat in her body climbed higher and higher, pleasure pooling in her stomach like liquid fire. Trevor continued to curl his magic fingers in and out of her, driving her to near madness. “Tre-Trevor, please…” She didn't know what she was begging for, didn't know from where the stream of babbling moans and desperate words stemmed. All she knew was Trevor's touch, his kiss, the gentle way he cradled her thigh, his smug hums of satisfaction as he watched her come undone. She wanted more, the tempest of her desire threatening to overwhelm her. “Please…”

Trevor moaned at Hetty’s high-pitched pleas. He stared up and basked beneath her crystal blue eyes that rolled in pleasure, the “o” of her soft pink lips, firey red hair sprawled against the iron door. The dim glow of the sconces haloed her porcelain features. He knelt before and was worshipping a goddess. The ten of tens! He listened to her begging, rolling his tongue where her moans pitched the highest.

Ecstasy flooded her, breathy whimper of Trevor's name rising to a wail of passion as wave after wave gushed between her thighs.

Trevor tasted a mouthful of her, slick dribbling down his chin, soaking his suit and thighs as he continued to finger-fuck her through her orgasm. He’d only experienced squirting once before, but there was something so much hotter about a repressed Victorian squirting.

Hetty looked down at the other man with a horrified gasp, hands first pressed against her mouth, then her eyes as she felt a sensation she hadn't felt in 130 years. She quickly dropped her leg from his shoulder and smoothed down her skirts, even as the puddle vanished. Too ashamed to even speak, Hetty stepped around him and tried to make a quick getaway.

Before he could express that this moment was straight out of a porn fantasy, Hetty readjusted herself into her uptight shell and was making her escape. Panicking, Trevor jumped to his feet. Was it something he did? Or did the repressed Victorian have no idea what she just did? “Hetty, wait,” he reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder, “You have no idea what just happened do you?”

Hetty stopped at the sound of his voice but did not turn around. “I know very well what just happened, though up until now I was convinced ghosts couldn't…” her voice drooped to a whisper, as if ashamed of the very word, “urinate.”

“You didn’t,” Trevor explained softly. Hetty was clearly extremely bothered by this. “You did something very hot! You squirted! It’s just like you’re ejaculating your wetness. It’s a good thing! It means your body enjoyed it. Also, even if you did accidentally pee, it just happens sometimes. It’s not the end of the world.”

Hetty was certain her eyes were as wide as a silver tea tray. “Your attempts to lie to save my ego are very poor, Trevor. Only men can ejaculate!”

“I’m not lying!” Trevor moved in front of her, placing his other hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re not used to,” he gestured wildly, afraid more sexual terminology would cause Hetty to bolt, “…this stuff. But trust me, squirting is real and if I’m being honest, extremely hot. Like, it means you had a fantastic orgasm. There’s nothing embarrassing about feeling so incredible you get even more…wet. In my opinion, at least.”

“You-You’ve seen this before? There’s nothing wrong with me?” She looked at him through her lashes, jaw tight, and fingers trembling.

“Yes! That’s what I’m saying!” Trevor beamed at her, happy that he helped her be a bit less self judgemental. “It was at a house party during my last semester at Warton. I went down on this blonde-“ he stopped himself before getting into the more explicit details as Hetty’s face began to twist slightly in dismay. “Anyways, yeah it’s normal. And very, very sexy.”

“Well, by the grace of God, at least the mess disappeared,” she murmured, allowing him to take her into his arms.

“Hm, yeah silver lining to purgatory: no cleanup,” Trevor smirked, kissing a line from her cheek to her lips. He lowered his hand to entwine with hers, fingers mentally crossed this affection would be accepted.

His hand felt warm in hers, their fingers entwining as he coaxed her to calm with sweet kisses. He made her feel like a teenager when her emotions were unschooled and her heart was too close to the surface.

He squeezed her hand, pulling from her briefly to look in her eyes. Trevor’s eyes met her crystal blue ones and he swore he saw a shimmer of a deepening admiration. Or was that just a reflection?

"I suppose we should return to the others," Hetty said softly, though she made no move to leave Trevor's embrace. Her thumb traced lazy circles on the back of his hand.

Trevor nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on her face. "We should," he agreed, his voice low and husky. "But I don’t want to let you go just yet."

A small smile played at the corners of Hetty's lips. "Perhaps... we could stay here a moment longer," she suggested, her free hand coming up to rest on his chest.

"I'd like that," Trevor murmured, leaning in to capture her lips once more. This kiss was different from their earlier passion - slower, more tender. Hetty melted into it, allowing herself to savour the warmth of his body against hers.

For a few blissful moments, they stood there in the dim light of the vault’s vestibule, lost in each other's embrace. Trevor's hand slid up to cup Hetty's cheek, his thumb gently caressing her soft skin. Hetty found herself leaning into his touch, her earlier embarrassment fading away in the wake of this newfound intimacy.

The kiss deepened, and Hetty felt a familiar warmth beginning to build within her once more. She pressed herself closer to Trevor, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Trevor responded in kind, his arm wrapping tighter around her waist.

Just as things were starting to heat up again, a loud crash echoed from somewhere in the house, followed by Alberta and Thor’s muffled shouting. The spell was broken, and Hetty reluctantly pulled away from Trevor's lips.

"That's our cue.”

Chapter Text

“Did I go too far?”

“Not nearly far enough, you pantless son of a bitch. Come over here”. Hetty’s eyes surveyed Trevor from pseudo quaffed hair all the way down to the edge of his shirt. Within a millisecond, her hands pulled the back of his skull, their lips colliding in a passionate, hungry kiss.

Hetty approached the kiss with an infectious enthusiasm, her lips meeting his in a series of eager, playful pecks that lacked finesse but overflowed with genuine excitement. Her inexperience was evident, and yet there was something endearing about her uninhibited approach. He, with a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, responded with gentle guidance, his movements smooth and assured. Amused by her spirited attempts, he found himself charmed by her openness. Who was this fiery little bird, and where was the real Henrietta Woodstone?

Hetty clung to him, entirely caught off guard by the young man holding her so firmly against him. Her hands roved over his suit, collar, his tie, his arms, his chest, his cheeks, hair, hands, anywhere she could grasp. She whined, eyes catching the open door behind him. He felt her begin to pull away and with a warm hand against her back, guided her behind the sofa. The thrill of being discovered only added to the intensity of their embrace. Hidden from view, they continued to kiss, their breaths mingling in the confined space, each touch a secret shared between them. The world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of their connection and the exhilarating fear of being caught in their clandestine act. Lord Landingham eat your heart out.

Trevor laid down on his back, pulling Hetty with him, their lips never leaving the other. Hetty took his cue, throwing her leg over his hips like one of her prized horses, her hands pressed against his chest. She sat up slightly, breath coming in short, gasping pants as she gazed down at him. His lips looked puffy and red and she couldn't resist leaning down to nip at them. She felt Trevor's manhood twitch against her and she shifted with a sound a surprise. “Oh! Hello there!” She wiggled, her hot, wet pussy grinding fully against Trevor's cock beneath her skirts.

Trevor's eyes widened. “Holy shit are you not wearing panties!?” he whispered harshly.

Hetty stiffened, straightening up. “I am most certainly wearing undergarments, if that's what you're implying!” Something in her tone, or the haughty way she raised her brow, or perhaps her hair nearly pulled wild and free from its drab gilded age do, but Hetty felt another twitch at the admonishment.

Trevor momentarily considered grinding up against her wetness. In fact, there was something sexy about semi-nude underwear. But, he knew he could milk the disappointed looks and irritation for all it was worth. It's what they knew best. “If that’s not fabric I’m feeling then what is it?” He looked up at her with a wide grin.

Hetty whimpered as she conceded to the dripping desire pulsing between her thighs. “It is precisely what is…o-ooh-” she gave an experimental wiggle of her hips down, his hardness brushing hot and firm against her in a slick and easy slide. “Necessary to relieve oneself.”

Trevor hummed, biting his lip. His cock pulsed against the feel of her slit. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The Henrietta Woodstone, the same Henrietta Woodstone who scoffed and rolled her eyes when he entered a room, who clutched her broach when he brought up kissing at yacht parties, was rocking herself against his cock. “Enjoying yourself?”

She wrapped her hand around his tie and pulled him up into a kiss in answer, her hips continuing their shifting rolls and wiggles. When she had gotten the feel for the rhythm of it, Hetty greedily increased her pace, smirking down at him as she released his lips. “Mmm, a great deal more than I ever imagined I could,” she admitted.

Trevor’s over-embellished gasp masked a groan. He reached up and held onto her hips, stopping her movements against his hard cock. “Wait, wait, so you’ve thought of this before, huh?”

Hetty's nose twitched in irritation as she tried in vain to move against his grip. “Perhaps in a fit of pique, or after one of your baffling tales I had considered it. After all your boasting I thought perhaps you must be over compensating.”

“So still, you’ve thought of me?” Trevor smirked, rubbing himself in slow circles against her folds. “I bet 300 back rubs I can absolutely rock your world.”

Though her smirk was a little wobbly, she ground her hips down against him in challenge and kissed him once more. He guided her, and helped to lift her skirts, cock twitching at the sight of red curls peeking between the open slit of her crazy Victorian underwear. There had to be six layers hiding this breathtaking sight from the rest of the world, and Trevor felt a rush of tingling pleasure. She was settled more evenly against him, her lips never having left their dance with his own. She rubbed her slick folds against his twitching member, hips grinding down to get more of the friction she seemed to crave. He did not cave to his own desires, and stayed the needy jerk of his hips upwards, never entering her, simply rutting together. Trevor's hands found hers, their fingers entwining, their clothed chests pressed together as Hetty moaned.

"Take your time," Trevor cautioned, cupping her cheek to gently break their kiss. She seemed ravenous indeed, but Trevor was worried about how little experience she had. Her stories of Elias were an all too chilling reminder of that alone, as well as her reaction to finding out what was truly happening on the washing machine. His other hand travelled down to her hip, helping her to find a slow deep rhythm, putting the thought of the other man far from his mind. The head of his cock brushed against her clit with each downward movement. White sparks danced behind Hetty's eyes at the sensation, far more potent than the vibrations of the washing machine.

Emboldened, and desperate for more, Hetty sat up higher on her knees, depriving him of her touch for the moment. Trevor's hands tightened against her hips, a whine leaving his throat. She could feel his muscles twitching beneath her thighs, the slight movement of his hips upwards towards her. Fascinating. "Look at you, " she murmured, voice rich with desire, but softened from condescension by tenderness. "Shameless." She ground down against him once more, in complete control.

The sudden shift blindsided Trevor. Well, logically he should have known Hetty would prefer to call the shots. He underestimated how soon she’d be emboldened to do so. Not that he’s thought about having sex with Hetty before. Okay, maybe he’s had a fleeting thought or two. But who didn’t think about friends-acquaintances…or people you’re trapped in a house with for eternity like that?

Anyways, so there Trevor was, needy gaze trained on Hetty like a deer in the headlights. His fingers twitched at her hips, desperate to hold her against his throbbing dick and show her exactly how shameless he could be.

The head of his cock brushed against her entrance, causing a moan to bubble up from the tips of her toes. It had been well over 130 years since Hetty had felt a man so close, and never in all that time had she wanted it as much as this moment. She reached down between their bodies to stroke his aching member, before her gaze shot to his face, soaking in his breathless reaction.

Trevor shivered, melting into Hetty’s moan. He gasped, the sudden touch making his cock twitch. “Oh fuck…” Trevor breathed, head arching backwards.

“Language,” she chastised, her haughty tone somehow still smug even as she sank slowly onto him.

Trevor’s throbbing cock slid inside Hetty, a snarky rejoinder robbed from him by a moan wrenching itself unbidden from his throat. Hands shaking, he grasped at her hips. He met her crystal blue and hungry eyes, begging her with his own.

The young man's open desire startled Hetty for a moment, causing her focus to shift. She sat back too quickly, impaling herself without warning. “S-so full,” she moaned once breath had returned to her lungs. She clung to his shoulders in as tight a grip as her wet heat. She leaned down over Trevor, her body rolling against the sensation.

Trevor wrapped his arms around her waist, clutching against her skirts. Henrietta Woodstone was riding his cock. She was riding his cock and loving it. Trevor grinned, basking in the sight of Hetty becoming undone for him. “Take your time,” he repeated, strengthening his hold on her.

Overwhelmed by the myriad of sensations lighting her very blood on fire, Hetty stilled her hips. She covered his chest with hers, devouring his lips in a breathless kiss.

Trevor slid a finger beneath her jaw and tilted it upwards deepening the slow movement of their lips. She had improved considerably from the ravenous (and frankly sloppy) kisses of earlier, her mouth readily opening to allow his tongue to entwine with hers.

She groaned deeply, relaxing against him. She felt the twitch of him inside her and pressed her hips back into a slow roll. Her hands clenched against his suit, pulling him closer still.

Trevor groaned into Hetty’s mouth as she pulled him closer. He knew Hetty would be an excellent lay, but he wasn’t expecting the uninhibited roll of her hips, the tight, wet heat surrounding him, the near hypnotic pull of her gaze. He watched in awe as Hetty sat up, fingers splayed against his chest.

A smirk touched her lips, a heady sense of power suffusing her cheeks with heat. The control was almost as intoxicating as the pleasure pulsing in her core. She sped the roll of her hips, knees working against the floor as she fucked herself on his cock, taking her pleasure from him as surely as she had from the washing machine.

The subtle twitch of Hetty’s lips made Trevor stifle a whimper through gritted teeth. Being under her, commanded by her presence, was intoxicating. This was better than Girls Gone Wild! Trevor considered himself an expert in all things sex, but this was next level. And he loved it. He loved his cock throbbing beneath her, for her. Loved watching her come undone.

“Look at you,” Hetty repeated with a throaty sigh, her fingers tangling in Trevor’s tie. She gave a firm tug of the expensive fabric just as she snapped her hips down on his cock. He arched up against her with a whine.

“Shit, Hetty, I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that.”

Her smirk pulled wider, eyes nearly twinkling with wicked intent. She set a brutal pace, greedy body desiring everything Trevor had to give.

Trevor realised that was the point. What kind of sixth sense did Hetty have? A guttural groan spewed from his lips. His cock thrummed in time with her pace.

The small sparks of pleasure she had felt that day on the washer machine had been nothing in comparison to the heat pooling in her core, the fire in her belly radiating outward until she felt it would consume her utterly. She collapsed against him, hips pistioning back, her cries caught against his lips as her vision blurred. “Tre-Trevor, oh Trevor…”

Trevor grasped her hips, hungrily thrusting into Hetty as her heat clamped around him. Every nerve in his incorporeal body was on fire. She was very good at this. “Fuck, Hetty. I’m gonna-“

“Yes, please,” she breathed, trembling and needy and too damn hot to worry about how desperate she sounded. “Fill me up, darling. I want to feel you dripping down my thighs. Oh- you feel so good, Trevor, Trevor darling…” she babbled.

The deep, rumbling heat burst from his cock at her words, her voice alone. Moaning deeply, he continued to greedily thrust through his orgasm. “So good, you feel so good…” He pulled her against him to bury his face in soft red curls. He wanted to keep touching her, hear her lovely words, he needed more of her.

She clung to him, stars behind her eyes. Hetty quivered, coming down slowly from bliss. “Oh…That was…what was that, Trevor?” she asked breathily. It had been nothing like she had experienced on the washing machine, the little shooting sparks of pleasure up her spine, but never the bone melting paradisio that Trevor inspired. She peppered kisses anywhere in reach, a giggle bubbling up from her throat.

Trevor slowed his movements, heavy breaths racking his chest. “That was an orgasm, Hetty,” he chuckled into her neck, pressing small kisses up to her cheek. “You came.”

She shifted to look him in the eye, her own glimmering in the light of the afternoon sun. She pushed up, hands resting by his head, the very public nature of their liaison beginning to creep into the periphery. Her legs felt like jelly, still straddling the young man's hips, and the door was wide open. They had laid themselves out on the floor behind the sofa, but it was poor cover from any vantage in the room. She groaned, cheeks aflame and buried her face once more in his neck.

Trevor’s heart sank at her swift switch in mood. “That’s not a bad thing! They're just a part of great sex. Everyone’s downstairs anyways, so no one heard any of it.”

Hetty took a moment to compose herself, shivering as she felt Trevor slip from her, though the warmth of his embrace never wavered. The second floor was indeed silent, steadying the erratic rhythm of her heart, the tempest of emotions had calmed into relaxation. Though her legs still felt twitchy with pleasure, even as they were tangled with Trevor's own. It felt utterly scandalous, but as she pressed a gentle and inquisitive kiss to his cheek, she realised she could not care any less right now how outrageous her behaviour was.

Trevor gasped at the sweetness of Hetty’s kiss, a feeling akin to a blush flowing through his body. Did T-Money blush? He does now, apparently. It was nice to see Hetty relaxed like this. His grin widened, “We should do that more often.”

“Insatiable,” she replied incredulously, a fondness creeping into her tone. Her lips quirked against it, dimple threatening to emerge from her cheek.

His dead heart skipped a beat. Trevor caught that millisecond quirk. Was Hetty enjoying his presence? “Well, it helps that I’m with an insanely attractive woman.”

She slapped his shoulder playfully and rolled away to sit up in one graceful movement. She sat up on her knees, still hidden slightly by the sofa, her hands fluffing the perfectly coiffed curls of her restored bun. Slowly she rose to her feet in the mid-afternoon light, the frosty winter a cold contrast to the warmth of moment's before. “I can count on your discretion?” she commanded softly, looking her nose down at him.

Trevor watched her rise within a sunbeam like some sort of goddess. And then suddenly, that sharp look returned. Still a goddess. Trevor nodded, sitting himself up on the floor with his palm. “Absolutely. This was off the record.”

“Good boy,” she murmured lowly, a smirk about her lips as she shuffled to the door. “Oh,” she stopped, turning back with a regal swish of her teal skirts. “And 300 backrubs well earned.”

Chapter Text

All day long Trevor could swear Hetty was leading him on with innuendo and the kind of tongue-in-cheek charm that Trevor himself was known for. It was maddeningly hot, but every time he went to engage, the gilded age vixen would slip away. In the kitchen that morning, while everyone was bent over to catch the delectable scent of Jay's western omelettes, Hetty ran the tip of her finger over the shell of his ear, then brushed by him to look more closely at whatever Sam was doing on her laptop. The fiend! Then later in the parlour she made a soft joke at his expense, followed by an absolutely filthy look of derision. Did she have to stick her tongue in her cheek like that as she looked him up and down with disdain? That twinkle in her eyes told Trevor she knew exactly what she was doing, damnit!

Despite the magnetic pull between them, she maintained a careful distance, a master of the game, reveling in the delicious tension of unfulfilled anticipation. It reminded her a bit of the giddy feeling of cocaine. She enjoyed the liberty she felt with Trevor, and marveled at the feeling of power as potent as the steam that drove the great engines of industry. Her mind, once a quiet harbor, teemed with the currents of thoughts and ideas previously deemed unsuitable for a lady of her station. With each little teasing touch, or clever glance, Hetty could see the effect she had on Trevor, observing open and abject desire in the young man's eyes. She wondered how far she could push him, taunt him so openly and yet so fleetingly.

Around lunch he was certain she was doing it on purpose, the small brushes of her hand against his thigh as she passed him, unseen by the others due to her voluminous skirts. Once, he definitely felt her knuckles graze his dick! At last, after Thor and Flower had snuck out together to the woods, he found her in their normal rendezvous spot, sitting on the bed as primly as ever, like she hadn't been setting his blood on fire all day, causing him to have to duck through a wall hastily to hide the rather prominent effect her voice had on certain parts of him that were –due to a hero move– very visible to all and sundry.

She looked him up and down, a smirk twisting her lips. “Earlier than I expected,” she mused. “I thought for sure your pride would hold out much longer.”

“Early? You’ve been driving me insane,” Trevor gestured wildly towards his junk on display. A playfully irritated expression on his face, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You’re lucky I even made it through sniffing Jay’s western omelettes this morning.”

She turned her cheek, placing a tender, if mocking in its brevity, kiss to his knuckles. Hetty looked up at him, her bright blue eyes swimming with mischief. She opened her lips and took the tip of his finger into her mouth.

Trevor watched Hetty’s soft lips take in his finger. A shudder waved down his spine, his cock growing harder than it already was. She would be the death of him, if that were possible. He breathed in heavily to keep his voice from shaking. “You’re mean.”

She smirked, opening her mouth to lick a trail from the base of his finger to the tip lasciviously. She placed a cheeky kiss to the pad to each finger before coming to her feet in front of him. “Here's what we're going to do,” she murmured lowly, circling behind him, pressing herself against his back. “Kneel on the bed, pet and remove your tie.”

Trevor swore he felt Hetty’s tongue lick up his cock. She had an instant hold on him. The only sound echoing in his brain was her voice and his heartbeat gaining rapid speed. He had no witty retort or flirtatious expression, just awe at the woman pressing herself against him. “Yes.”

“Good boy,” she replied, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. She stepped back, allowing him space to follow her command.

His cock twitched. Just her voice had power over him. He bounded onto the bed, kneeling before her. Trevor hastily fought with his shirt buttons and loosened the tie knot. He wrapped the expensive fabric around his hand. He met her eyes.

She took her time coming to the bed herself, carefully moving her skirts to kneel beside him. “Arms behind your back.” When he complied, she began to use his tie to secure his arms behind his back, making sure to keep an end wrapped around his palm. Perhaps Peter's endless diatribes about various knots and their uses wasn't entirely pointless after all. Hetty's hands traveled up his arms, fingers then buried in his hair. Gently yet firmly, she gave a tug, exposing his throat to her lips and teeth and tongue.

Trevor gasped, nearly whimpering for Hetty to graze her lips, teeth, and tongue along his neck. He needed to feel her touch, her breath, her gaze, anything.

She moved away from him with a deeply amused chuckle. “Kneel at the end of the bed. You may speak and make noise, but you are not allowed to do anything that might bring yourself pleasure. Do you understand?”

Trevor nodded, resigned yet terrified over the hell Hetty was about to put him through. He shuffled his knees forward towards the end of the bed. He pictured every way he could “accidentally” fall and grind himself against the sheets.

She watched the myriad of thoughts swirl around the young ghost's head, his ever-expressive face displaying each tantalizing emotion for Hetty to readily read. “Remind me,” she murmured after he had settled. “What is our word for safety?”

Trevor grinned, “The safe word is Checkov.” Her 19th century phrasing was always endearing, even in the midst of her domming his brains out.

“Good boy,” she smiled, cupping his cheek. The pad of her thumb trailed over the rosy plumpness of his bottom lip, her eyes gazing into his with a deep affection. She then settled against the other end of the bed, far away from his touch, and hiked up her skirts as she spread her legs. “You are to watch me as I pleasure myself–” she was proud her voice did not waver despite the uncertainty in her own ability to perform adequately in this endeavour. “You are not to touch me, nor look away. Do you understand?”

Trevor awkwardly rotated his knees to face Hetty and her hiked up skirts. His cock twitched as he processed the situation he was in: his tie tightly binding his hands, him kneeling before Hetty in the absolute perfect position to view her delicate fingers stroking herself, possibly moaning his name, teasing him. His head swam with sexy, sultry possibilities. He took a deep, calming breath, fully aware just these thoughts could possibly get him off.

“You are not to cum until I give permission; do you understand? Answer me, pet.”

“Y-yes, I understand.” Pet. He shivered. He not only loved, but took great pride in this title. He loved worshiping Hetty in the way she deserved to be worshiped, pleasuring Hetty in the way she demanded to be pleased.

“Good,” she smiled softly, running her hand down over her chest, across the blue silk covering her stomach, her eyes tracking Trevor's as they followed her hand's movements. She spread her legs wider, breath coming in shallow little gasps as her fingers began to play between the slick folds.

Trevor mirrored Hetty’s gasp, his eyes trained on the slow movement of her delicate fingers. He took a deep, steady breath, slowing the percolating heat. “…Fuck”.

“That's rather the idea,” she smirked, her fingers separating her outer labia, revealing her twitching hole to Trevor fully. She played against her clit, circling the bundle of nerves before moving down toward her entrance.

Trevor bit his lip to stifle the whines that already threatened to pour out of his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to feel his cock twitch inside of her. He watched her hands hungrily.

The picture of obedience Trevor made had only served to make Hetty unbelievably aroused, her fluttering entrance already dripping onto the bed beneath her as she teased herself before him. She slipped a finger inside with a moan, curling the digit as Trevor usually did.

“Hetty…shit.” Trevor hardened as he watched her delicate fingers steadily fuck herself, wetness trickling around her knuckle and through her folds. He wished those lucky fingers were his. He sighed at the euphoric feeling of Hetty’s moans, her light tone a symphony of its own. “More, please.”

She smirked, looking at him with a lustful gaze. “Have some restraint,” she moaned softly. She pulled her finger out and massaged her folds, teasing her clit with a wink.

She continued, languidly pushing in two fingers. She felt a little ridiculous with the show she was making, but judging by the little whimpers coming from the end of the bed, she supposed she wasn't doing terribly. Ordering him around was easy, but there was a certain vulnerability about this that she was grateful that the shield of her skirts prevented her from seeing his face unless she looked. She stretched her fingers, pulling them out slowly only to press them back in with a moan, hips grinding down with a greedy roll.

Tears peaked at the corners of Trevor’s eyes, teeth grinding together in a feeble attempt to soothe his unstoppable need. He groaned, cock pulsing, red and aching with the need to be buried inside her. The edge of his shirt brushed against the tip creating the most miserably tantalizing friction that was at once both too much and not enough. “Hetty…” he breathed, pre-cum beginning to create quite the large wet patch.

At his desperate tone she pressed three fingers into herself, arching her back as her other hand separated her outer labia to give him a perfect view of her fucking her pretty pink cunt just the way he taught her. “S-so deep. Oh Trevor, darling it feels so good.” She swiped the pad of her thumb against her clit, and lifted her head, nearly coming undone at the look of absolute hunger in his dark eyes. His entire focus was on her, and she could tell by the twitching muscles in his thighs and the trembling in his shoulders that it was getting very difficult for the young ghost not to rut against the mattress like a beast in heat. Her walls fluttered around her fingers, their rhythm now nearly pounding in and out of her.

His knees shook and the end of his shirt shifted slightly grazing his tip once more. Trevor gasped, whines increasing in volume and desperation. Even the precum trickling from the tip to his base now caused each nerve to painfully spark, threatening to push him over the edge. His mouth fell open, desperate to feel his tongue licking the wetness on her fingers. “Please…please….”

She watched the trail of pre drip toward the bed, smirking in satisfaction at the mess he was making of himself. Her hips rolled in a frenzy; she was so close, but she wanted to see how far she could push him. “You’re making quite the mess of yourself, love,” she murmured, slowing her hand, denying herself the sweet release they both craved. A whine bubbled up from her throat, but she ignored her own desires in favour of watching the clench of his jaw and the glint in his eye. “How can I let you cum, if you're going to be so uncouth?”

He moaned with the roll of Hetty’s hips. Hot tears rolled down Trevor’s cheeks as she slowed her fingers. He squirmed against the bind of his tie and nearly screamed as the slight shift caused the end of his shirt to graze his red, throbbing cock once more. Desperation at the sight of Hetty finger-fucking herself towards a hot, heavy climax, her dark, silky voice teasing him, commanding him, brought him to an uncontrollable babble. “Please, please, please…M-Mommy, please, Mommy….I need, I-“

Hetty nearly cursed as he pleaded so beautifully. She panted, ribs pressing against her corset as her hips rolled against her fingers. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, and she knew she couldn't hold back any longer. “Y-Yes…Come here…”

Trevor shuffled his knees forward at warp speed. His cock pulsed in time to his heartbeat as he positioned himself between her legs. Hands still bound, Hetty delicately took hold of his cock and positioned his head at her soaking entrance.

She let him fall against her, arms cradling him as he entered her with one smooth thrust. Hetty cried out his name, lips kissing along his jaw as he began to thrust with abandon. “Yes, darling, fuck you feel so good…”

“Fuck”, Tears streamed down Trevor’s cheeks, completely overwhelmed, but loving every second. Surrounded by her arms, still physically and mentally within her control, he revelled in the feeling of her wet arousal encompassing his. “Please, please, please, please.”

“Cum for me, sweet boy,” she murmured, caressing his cheeks, her cunt squeezing around him as she came with a groan of his name.

Trevor released deep inside her the second permission was granted. Hetty’s moans of his name drove his thrusts, his cum continuing to fill her. He felt absolute euphoria, vision darkening around the edges. He collapsed against her, face buried in her throat.

Hetty cradled him gently, her legs wrapping around him as she took the brunt of his weight. Without the use of his arms he was difficult to maneuver. Hetty carefully reached around and undid the knots, chuckling to herself as she shifted them into a more comfortable position, Trevor still passed out against her. She felt him slip from her, his tie snapped back into place. She caressed his hair, fingers trailing down the soft line of his cheek. “Very well done,” she praised, depositing another light kiss to his temple.

As Trevor came to, he pressed himself up against Hetty as much as possible, his freed arms wrapping around her to pull her close. He took a deep breath, inhaling the hints of florals and vanilla that were undeniably her, and attempted to pull her even closer at the kind praise.

“I hope I didn't overtax your brain and cause you to become mute,” she teased, ruffling his hair. It felt nice to have his head resting on her chest for a change, his arms wrapped around her waist. If she possessed the ability she might like to light a cigarette, like she had seen in so many of Trevor and Peter's tacky Rom-Com movies. She chuckled at the notion.

“You certainly scrambled it,” Trevor sighed into her neck, finding his voice post Hetty’s teasing. “That was stellar. I’m a very lucky guy.”

“I would say I'm a very lucky woman to be so indulged. Though, mommy?”

If Trevor’s heart could stop again, it would have. “I-it’s a kink. Listen, it just came out. You wanted me to watch you please yourself and suffer. I was overcome.” He babbled a half assed explanation, hoping to play it off as no big deal.

She smirked, loving to watch him squirm in really any context. “It's all right, provided it stays within these walls and in this bed.”

“You didn’t hate it? You’re okay with it?” He craned his neck to meet her eyes, both shocked and amused. A small grin appeared on his lips.

“Well, though I was a mother in life, I never allowed my children to use such a familiar title and so I felt no association with them…Is it wrong to say I found it rather exhilarating?” she whispered the last word in a scandalised tone, grinning from ear to ear.

Again, if it could, Trevor’s heart would be pounding as fast as it did the minute before his overdose ridden death. “It’s exhilarating for me, so I’m glad you feel the same. That was the first time I’ve ever called anyone that in bed. It was that good. Plus, I don’t know, I just feel comfortable with you. It just came out. It was hot.”

She reached down, intertwining their fingers. “I feel similarly,” she murmured softly, glad that he had once more rested his head against her chest. It was difficult to speak about her feelings with his ever-understanding eyes gazing into the depths of her soul. Or…whatever they currently were.

His smile widened against her chest. Hetty wasn’t open to talking about her feelings. Her even saying she felt similarly was huge progress towards…something. Whatever they were. Trevor held onto those three words he’s felt deeply for her for a while. She probably had reached her vulnerability quota for the day. Plus, Trevor figured she knew already.

Hetty allowed her eyes to fall shut, feeling disinclined to move after such rigorous activity. She cuddled into Trevor’s embrace, surrendering to the desire to spend the night in his arms.

Chapter Text

It was a beautiful autumn day, and Trevor was out for a walk by the lake with Hetty, Alberta, Sam, and Thor. The world was awash in the gentle hues of orange, gold, and crimson, and the leaves were just beginning their transformations. The air was crisp, invigorating the lungs and carrying the faint earthy scent of a dying season and the hint of smoke from distant fires. The sun cast a soft, golden light that filtered through the partially bare branches, creating dappled patterns on the ground that seemed to dance with the gentle breeze rustling the few remaining leaves. Hetty Woodstone stood out like a vision of fiery elegance in the autumn sun. Her copper curls corresponded elegantly with the scenery, the cerulean of her eyes, vibrant and clear, were a mirror to the endless expanse of the sky above them. The contrast of her vivid hair against the soft muted tones of the fall landscape made her look almost ethereal, though he supposed as a ghost, she was. 

She stood on the bridge, the sunlight bouncing off her curls and Trevor felt the butterflies in his stomach fluttering into a swarm. With no small amount of relief, Trevor noticed the others had gone down the path ahead of them, leaving Hetty and Trevor on the bridge alone. She reminded him of Rose Dewitt from Titanic, standing on the bow of the ship and staring out into the sun. He chuckled to himself at the image, pulling her attention away from the lake, her sharp blue gaze piercing him in an instant. “What’s amusing, Mr. Lefkowitz?” 

“You remind me of Rose from Titanic right now. The girl from the movie we watched last night.” He leaned forward, cherishing his ability to rest his arms on the railing. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re always stunning. But when sunlight is involved? Wowza.” 

“Should I put my arms out and proclaim I'm flying?” she asked dryly, a smirk pulling the corners of her lips upward.

“No, but you can keep the compliment.” Trevor smiled, enjoying the way the sun beamed off her porcelain skin. 

He was about to move closer, to rest his hand against her hips when Alberta yelled, “Hey! what’s the hold up?!” from ahead of them. 

“Yeah! Thor want to make it back in time to smell lunch!” 

Hetty brushed past Trevor with a nod and a poorly concealed grin. The promise of more shared between only them and the fallen autumn leaves.

By the time Hetty was able to sneak away from Isaac’s watchful eye —though she enjoyed having him as a roommate it was quite cumbersome when one wanted to sneak out for a clandestine affair, the hour had grown very late. She worried, as she passed through the door into their secret love nest, that Trevor may have given up and gone back to his room, but she found him lying in the middle of their bed, legs crossed casually at the ankle, arms folded behind his head. He looked peaceful as she approached him quietly, carefree when he slept in a way that he only pretended to be when he was conscious. “What are you doing to me, Lefkowitz?” She reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead, her hand lingering against his warm cheek. 

The touch of Hetty’s delicate fingers on Trevor’s cheek slowly pulled him out of his dream. He had been drawing for some reason. And Hetty was there. She was sprawled out, presumably nude, save for the canvas blocking her torso… he blinked awake, looking up to see a very much clothed Hetty smiling down at him. “Hey.”

She sat down next to him on the bed, her hands once more in her lap. She smiled softly at him as he looked at her with a warm sleepy expression. “Sorry to have kept you waiting, Isaac wanted to discuss the Boston Massacre.” 

Trevor nodded. “Sounds engaging,” he teased, shifting to sit next to her on the bed. He yawned, unphased by her lateness. What did time mean anyways in purgatory? “As you saw, I kept myself busy. Beauty sleep.”

“It's only engaging the first 50 times Isaac recounts how: on that cold March evening, he was at a nearby Tavern when he overheard the commotion and was absolutely set on joining his fellow patriots if only he could find the tavern keeper to settle his bill. By the time he found her the skirmish had reached its climax and there was no need for him.” She rolled her eyes playfully and shrugged her shoulders, any validity in Isaac's tale notwithstanding. 

“That happens to him a lot, doesn’t it?” Trevor chuckled. He knew enough Revolutionary War history to get the sense that Isaac may over embellish not only his involvement, but his proximity. He loved Isaac of course and would continue to begrudgingly listen to his stories. That wasn’t a hill any one of them wanted to die a second time on.

“It does, doesn't it,” she laughed, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “I must admit I was surprised when you joined us for our walk this morning.” 

Trevor gently rested his head against her curls. “Just thought the fresh air would be nice.” He gave a small shrug, careful not to disturb her resting place on his shoulder too much. He stayed clear from admitting that he just wanted to hang out with her more.

She draped her legs over his thighs, tucking her nose against his neck, and then nuzzled into the sensitive space below his ear. “Oh really? In 20 years I've never known you to enjoy the fresh air, especially this close to winter,” she teased with a low pur, her fingers crawling up his arm. “So what really made you so ready for a promenade with the Walking Club? You weren't foolishly hoping for a romp in the forest, were you?”

Her low voice sighed tingles up and down his neck and spine. Oy vey, this woman knew what buttons to push. “No, no romping in the woods! First, you’d definitely nix the idea if presented and second,” Trevor held up a finger, pausing for the dramatic, unnecessary effect he thrived in, “like you said, it’s too cold for that.” 

She pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat, enjoying the little way he trembled beneath her touch. Their liaisons were still too new and yet each time they found themselves alone together the young man completely bent to her will. It was intoxicating, and Hetty found she could quickly become as fond of the sensation as she had been of cocaine. “Well, there was a time where the idea of a young lover who cavorted around my mansion sans pantalon would have also been unheard of, so~” 

“So- ah- never say never?” Hetty’s kisses threatened to wipe away any well formulated flirtatious remarks from his brain. Trevor had a myriad of experiences with women and the occasional man or two when he was alive, but Hetty’s…Hettyness threw all that knowledge out the window the second she laid eyes, or lips on him. “Sounds like you want a winter romp in the woods,” his brain slipped the words out of his mouth before he could forget how speaking worked. 

She laughed, delighted by him. “Perhaps not a winter romp, and we'd have to make sure we were not seen, but the grounds are rather expansive and it does seem a wasted opportunity…” 

“Maybe —with more practice— I could maneuver your frocks like a pro and we wouldn’t have to worry about being seen as much with a speedier process.” Trevor brought his own lips against the point of her jaw, pressing a line of kisses leisurely up to her ear. He whispered, “I’ve been thinking about you naked since last night. It’s driving me insane.”

She shivered, her fingers clutching against his suit coat. “Have you been fantasising about painting me like one of your bottle-service girls~?” 

“Something like that.” Trevor resumed a line of kisses up to her cheek and then to her lips. He kissed her lips softly, refraining from deepening them just yet. “I bet I can do it.”

“It seems like an ambitious endeavour. Won't my clothes just zap back into place? We'll have to get creative,” she replied softly, not entirely negating his proposition but unsure how to go about accomplishing the Sisyphean task. 

“A little trial and error might spice things up.” His lips parted from hers briefly. “Even more than they already are. I’m up for the challenge if it means seeing everything underneath that dress.”

“I believe you're overestimating what lies beneath these pretty wrappings,” Hetty murmured sardonically, her hand caressing the line of her bodice. 

“And you are underestimating the power of teamwork and T-Money.” Trevor grinned, pulling back slightly to “do that little thing with his hands where he makes a T”. He leaned forward, a grin still plastered on his face. He loved a challenge. “You just guide me as to what comes next and I’ll take care of the rest. Easy.”

Hetty could not help but return his infectious smile, endeared by the charming young entrepreneur. She cupped his cheek again and kissed him sweetly, nodding her consent. “I suppose my shoes should come off before anything else. I can hold them while we decide the rest.” 

Trevor nodded, heart already pounding at the thought of their end result. He moved his lips back to her jaw, open mouthed kisses and teeth grazing down his earlier path. He placed a gentle kiss on the lace at the crook of her neck as he continued downward, lowering himself from the bed and onto his knees before her. Trevor grazed his fingers from the boning of Hetty’s bodice, to her hips, and finally across the flowing blue fabric of her skirt. He reached his hands beneath the dense materials, finding her calf. Rubbing circles downwards with his thumbs, he reached her shoes. Trevor hiked the layers upwards towards Hetty’s hands. “Hold these?” he asked. 

She nodded, unsure from where the bubbling nervousness stemmed so suddenly. It wasn't like she had not dallied with Trevor before. He had seen the most intimate parts of her, touched her trembling core, so why now when he was so casually unlacing her boot —as her maid had done thousands of times in life— did she nearly come unraveled herself? She reached out and touched his shoulder, grounding herself in the moment. 

Trevor looked up and met her nervous gaze. He kissed the side of her unlaced boot. “You okay, Hetty?” he asked, voice gentle and genuine. 

He was always doing that wonderfully new-age practice too. “Checking in”, as he called it. She knew if she attempted to placate him, his annoyingly keen perception would call her bluff and it would cause a tedious conversation about feelings and so she took a deep breath and murmured, “I suppose I am experiencing trepidation about my being naked for the first time in almost a century and a half.” 

Trevor rested his chin on Hetty’s knees as he looked up at her. “I get that. I’ll check in each step of the way. There’s a shit ton of layers here, so we’ll be taking it very slow. Whatever’s going on under there, is going to be rockin’, no matter what. Layers or nothing, I’m just here for you.” Trevor shrugged. “Ball’s in your court, gorgeous.”

She leaned down and kissed him, appreciating just how truly thoughtful Trevor was as well as needing the distraction for herself. Her lips caressed his slowly, deepening the kiss with an tilt of her jaw causing a moan to bubble up from the base of her throat. 

Trevor parted his lips from hers for a moment, “So I’ll take that as a ‘keep going’?” He laughed, running his hands down Hetty’s calves.

“Yes, you may continue,” she replied after stealing another kiss, and then another before releasing him to finish his task. 

Trevor quickly held her cheek to steal another kiss, or a few. “Mmm I love kissing you.” He gave her one last peck on the lips before returning to Hetty’s shoes. Trevor slid back fully onto his knees, picking up the boot that was partially untied and continued to pull at the black laces. He grasped the heel, pulling it off Hetty’s foot.

Hetty's breath quickened as Trevor returned to his knees. It was thrilling to see him in such a position. Once her boot was off, she took it in hand, and presented its twin to him in return. She shoved both under her bustle and out of the way, effectively sitting on them. When they did not materialise back on her feet, she surmised that satisfied the strange ghost rule about her needing to touch the article. “Perhaps this will work after all,” she praised.

Trevor beamed up at her, holding the heel of her foot steady. His free arm stretched outward excitedly, “Hey! See? I knew this would work! There’s no problem T-Money can’t solve.” He pointed to Hetty with a flourish. 

She laughed at his grandeur, her hand covering her smile. “Difficult to be charmed by a man who calls himself T-Money.” The, but I am charmed, remained unsaid. She felt his hands caress up her calves, teasing the sensitive skin where her stockings met her drawers. “You're getting ahead of yourself. My stockings and under dressings are some of the last to go.” 

“Do I have to guess what the next logical step is?” Trevor smirked, kneading small circles down her calves with his thumbs. 

The massage to her sore muscles felt heavenly. She wanted to melt into his touch. “My bodice is next, so I'll need to stand,” she replied instead, biting back a mewling purr by the skin of her teeth. She found herself forgetting her dignity more and more around him, and she needed every ounce of composure if she was to be laid fully bare. Gently, she lifted her leg from his hold and moved to stand, careful to bring her boots with her so they didn't pop back onto her feet. This was quite a lot to remember, she thought as Trevor rose to join her. “I used to have a maid for this,” Hetty chuckled. 

Trevor laughed. “Oh, so I’m her replacement?” he joked, bringing his hands close to the neckline of the bodice to start undoing the buttons. “I thought I was just a washing machine.”

“It seems you are a very enterprising young man,” she replied with a feigned sarcasm, her tone dry, but her eyes filled with a sparkling warmth that set Trevor’s blood on fire. She helped guide his hands to undo the buttons at the base of her throat gently, the wire beneath the collar peeking through the lace. 

Trevor refocused his gaze on her hands to hide the blush he felt rising in his cheeks. His eyes wandered and lingered on the golden wire beneath the now exposed lace. The wire wasn’t something they talked about; he respected her too much to push the issue despite his curiosity. Hetty never talked about her death, which was odd for a house full of ghosts who constantly spoke about their deaths, but Trevor knew he was keeping his own share of secrets about the events preceding his death. Who was he to judge? Hopefully she would tell him in time, but until then he took her pale hand in his, kissing the back of it gently. 

Once her dress jacket was off, she slung it over her arm and out of the way. Her white chemise, just as delicate-looking as its high lace collar, was pristine, the fabric soft and finely knit. Her corset was a lovely cream that matched her skin, intricate roses embroidered down the boning. His hand caressed up her side, thumb teasing against her breast. He'd never been so close and still so far. Her hands moved to unbutton her outer skirts, but at the confused twitch of her nose, Trevor smiled and got back on his knees, allowing her to rest a hand on his shoulder and step out of her skirts while still keeping a hand on it. “Are you certain this is worth the trouble,” she murmured, caressing his jaw. 

“Every single layer.” Trevor grinned upwards at her. He stilled his thoughts and himself. All he wanted to do was touch the bare skin of her shoulders and arms. Who knew beneath that coat her lace would be short sleeved. His fingers danced up and down the soft paleness of her arms, over the light, light –so light one could barely discern it, dusting of freckles. She shivered at his touch, the sensation striking after centuries of long-sleeves. His hands felt… warm, and she knew sometimes they could be hot against her thighs. A gasp of realisation left her throat as Trevor kissed a blazing trail up her wrist, his other hand nearly scorching through her corset. 

“How much better to get wisdom than gold,” he murmured with a smirk against her skin.

She raised her hand, burying her fingers in his hair to give the little imp a playful tug. “You're getting ahead of yourself again,” she said with a laugh.

He grinned up at her, placing several more kisses between the boning of her corset. He wanted so badly to touch her bare skin. Yes, obviously he was turned on, but it was way more than that. He desperately needed to be that close to her, as if her skin against his would get him sucked off immediately.

His perceived hunger inflamed her and she quickly untied her bustle, the last of her skirts, and her drawers. Each article of clothing was laid carefully over her arm, the bustle folded and tucked up between her arm and rib, and her shoes tied together at the laces and dangled from her hand. With one hand free, she pulled Trevor into a sweet and tender kiss, moaning at the heat of him pressed against her, felt so keenly even through all the remaining layers. “Corset next.”

Again, so close, yet still so far. He craved to feel his own skin against hers. To be tangled up against Hetty Woodstone would be pure ecstasy. Maybe they were in Hell. Damn ghost rules. He nodded, his hands pushing inwards against the bottom of the cream colored corset to unclasp the…clasp. He really ought to look up the names for Hetty’s vast array of clothing. He looked upwards to Hetty for guidance and/or praise that he was doing as he was expected. 

She reached behind herself with her free hand to grip the corset strings, so that when Trevor inevitably ripped her corset open —determined as he seemed to do so with the way he was man-handling it— it would not go flying back on immediately. Once the first few busks gave at the bottom of her corset, Trevor moved to undo the top. He gave one last squeeze of her midsection and the last of the guarded prison around her ribcage gave way, opening her lungs up to their first full breath in centuries. It stuck in her throat with a muted gasp. 

And Trevor lost his breath completely. While she still wore what looked to be a nightgown, the material was thin and nearly translucent. He took in the sight of an almost fully naked Hetty Woodstone for the first time. He admired her unrestricted breasts, her nipples formed against the fabric. His eyes grazed down her cleavage to her waist, soaking every last inch of her in. She wasn’t just a nine or a ten, no. Henrietta Woodstone was exactly the portrait of a goddess he always imagined her to be.

Hetty felt heat rise in her cheeks as he surveyed her. Her heart trembled with a yearning so deep it frightened her. She wanted to give him everything: her laughter, her tenderness, her dreams. Yet, a shadow coiled in the pit of her stomach, a constant reminder of the secret she carried.

Will he still look at me the same way when he knows? Once he's seen it fully? she thought, her hand moving up to the base of her throat. She knew he knew of the wire, of the red-raw skin hidden just beneath her collar, the bruises marring her it, but it remained unvoiced between them.

Trevor spoke softly. He knew what that hand gesture of hers meant. “Hey, you can leave the gown on. I want you to be comfortable.” He laced his fingers between her free ones, giving her hand a squeeze. 

“What about your comfort? It's…It's not pretty my neck and,” she clenched her jaw, biting back the lump forming in her throat. “I don't want it to…deter–” she gestured between their mostly nude forms. “Anything.” 

Trevor shook his head. “I don’t care. It’s still a perfectly kissable neck.” He brought her hand up to his lips. “You deal with my exposed dick all day. Granted, you have opinions on it. But my point still stands. I like you for you.”

“I want to feel all of you,” she whispered, wrapping her hand around his tie. “Please.” 

“Fuck. Me too.” Trevor kissed her hungrily, yet very aware not to jostle Hetty’s occupied arm to save all of their hard earned work. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Hetty’s clothes respawned over her figure. “I need to feel you,” he whispered against Hetty’s ear. He brought a hand to Hetty’s breast, grazing his thumb against her nipple.

“O-ooh!” she gasped, the desperate sound wrenching itself up from the depths of her toes. She pressed into his touch, squeezing her thighs together to stop her knees from falling out beneath her. “Again,” she demanded with a ragged tone. “Please.” 

Trevor’s grin widened, “Absolutely.” He pressed his thumb harder against her nipple, rubbing in slow circles. “How long has it been since you’ve felt this?”

“I've never felt like this,” she whimpered. “Elias never…nngh-ah!” she cried out as Trevor dared to pinch and roll the rising buds gently. 

Trevor continued his teasing, thrilled by how quickly Hetty’s nipples hardened beneath his fingers. “Really?” He smirked, carefully pinching and twirling her nipples once more. “Just wait until I use my tongue.”

Her body nearly collapsed against his at the mere suggestion. “Please, please remove my chemise.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Trevor blurted, stopping himself from tearing it off her shoulders. Hetty dropping all her doodads and them snapping back into place would definitely ruin the mood. So he cautiously pulled Hetty’s left sleeve from her arm as she bent her elbow to assist. Trevor rolled the half removed lace up to her neck, the golden chord peaking out beneath the translucent fabric. Hetty calmly brought both her arms to her center and Trevor helped transfer each clothing item from one to the other, laser focused on making sure everything touched a part of her skin throughout the process. When done, he pulled the collar of the shirt over her red curls, sliding the last sleeve down to her wrist.

She stood bathed in the soft light of their basement hideaway, her pale white skin shimmering like moonlight, a flawless canvas untouched by time. Deep red curls framed her face in a halo of warmth, each lock ablaze like spun fire. Her peaches-and-cream complexion glowed with a natural blush, a perfect harmony of delicate hues. Her eyes, gleaming and deep like sapphires, held an ocean of emotion—certainly the depths of adoration she held for him, her trust in his caution and care, the wry appreciation of his charms; yet the blue seas were shadowed with a flicker of uncertainty. She gazed ahead, her expression tender but hesitant, as though silently pleading for reassurance, hoping her beauty would meet the measure of her lover's heart. 

He viewed Hetty with absolute reverence. Trevor felt like his whole body blushed. He’d seen many nude women in life, and he enjoyed each of their bodies tremendously, but there was something more he felt with Hetty. She wasn’t only sexy, she was beautiful. She was beautiful not only in looks, not only in the way the sunlight intertwined with her fiery hair, or the softness of her porcelain skin, or her breasts, or the fullness of her hips, the blue glow of her eyes, or or or…but also her. The way her nose crinkled when she was irritated at him, the hint of her dimples when she smiled genuinely, the twinkling bell that was her laugh, the way she said his name, her mean, but not so mean teasing, and and and… It was like he was in Harry Met Sally. 

Trevor then met her gaze, “Hey.” He placed his palm on her cheek. “You’re stunning. In every single way. I mean that.” 

Hetty let out a shaky laugh, cheek leaning into his touch. She deposited a swift kiss to his lips and turned in his arms before bending at the waist to carefully arrange her clothes. 

Trevor looked down, admiring the perfect curves of Hetty’s ass. He moved forward, carefully placing his hands against her sides to not scare her and cause her to drop anything. “Loving the view.”

She wiggled against him with a smirk, feeling his hard cock twitch over her ass, his hand nearly burning her with his grip as it tightened, a hiss of pleasure escaping his teeth. Hetty felt a filthy moan rip from her throat. 

He lifted one hand to roll his shirt up further before re-grabbing Hetty’s hips. Trevor pressed his hard, bare cock to grind against her sex; the movement of his cock across the curve of her ass caused him to groan with heat.

“Shit, darling I want to see you,” she breathed raggedly, fingers clutching the fine fabrics of her skirts beneath her, cunt pulsing with need against him. 

Trevor’s dramatic gasp would have made Isaac proud. “Excuse me, Henrietta! Did you just swear?” He moved his hands to her ass cheeks, groping them hungrily, his cock twitching. “Turn around.”

She did so immediately, sitting on her carefully arranged clothes and holding her breath. Nothing popped back into place and another tinkling laugh left her throat as she spread her legs. 

Trevor stepped one foot backwards to gain a better view. He joined both his thumbs and pointer fingers in a square and held it up against his eye, feigning a camera. He squinted one eye. “If only I could paint. I wanna remember you like this for eternity.” 

He needed more of his skin against hers, he wanted to wrap himself around her and never let go. “My turn.” He shuffled out of his jacket, tying it around his waist as he loosened his tie. Trevor winked at her, moving his hips to the stripper soundtrack playing in his head, ripping open each button with a flourish. “Like what you see?”

She watched him, her smile widening, any remaining discomfort or worry she felt melting away, as she shook her head with endeared exasperation at his antics. “I do,” she answered with a low murmur, her eyes smoldering as she caught his gaze. 

Like all the best strippers before him, Trevor ripped open his shirt in a flash, sliding himself out of the sleeves. He quickly tied the shirt on top of his jacket. Lastly, the tie that sat loose on his bare chest. He pulled the loop over his head, swinging it like a lasso. Tie in hand, he pulled both his jacket and shirt from his waist, bunching it all into one hand. Trevor bounded forward and straddled Hetty’s hips. 

Hetty's arms came around him, hands roving over his toned chest, mapping every curve and every sinewy muscle. She leaned up, trailing kisses anywhere in reach, laying a cheeky bite below his collarbone, and enjoying his hard cock twitching against her stomach. 

“Ah~!” Trevor leaned further down, bringing his mouth to her collarbones. He trailed slow, sloppy kisses down her porcelain skin, determined to fulfill his earlier promise. His free hand caressed her left breast as he teasingly worked his mouth to her exposed right nipple. He took her into his mouth, tongue flicking the hardened bud excruciatingly slow.

Hetty buried her fingers in Trevor’s hair, a hot flush suffusing her cheeks. Her toes curled at the sensation, thighs quaking with need.   

He hummed as his cock twitched against Hetty’s hip, feeling the heat of her soft skin. Trevor’s tongue tip circled her nipple, pinching Hetty’s other between his free fingers.

She was a babbling, incoherent mess, fingers scrabbling for purchase against his shoulders, his ribs, his chest. “Nnngh, T-Trevor.I need, please.” 

Trevor chuckled against her skin, indulging his mouth sucking at her breast, teeth grazing her skin for just a moment. He released her, leaning up to adjust himself at her entrance, his right hand still clutching his expensive suit, shirt, and tie. He drifted a finger across her stomach, slowly trailing it downwards to meet the fiery hairs of her groin. Most 90s babes were clean shaven, but Trevor found the matching curls sexy and delightful. He continued tracing his thumb down to her folds, cock almost throbbing at how wet Hetty already was.

She was dripping onto her skirts, the silk satin soaked beneath her “Ah, darling please, please touch me.” The feeling of anticipation—a most exquisite torment, a rapturous agony that stretched the very fabric of her soul taut, like the delicate threads of a spider’s web trembling under the weight of a single breeze. Hetty felt she might go mad if he didn't touch her, rolling her hips down for even the chance of friction where she craved it most.

Trevor ghosted his thumb over her clit and caressed a finger between her folds. “Fuck, Hetty.” He couldn’t help himself from pressing a kiss to her slit, imbibing in the taste of her. “You’re so ready for me.”

Each singular moment spent in the absence of his teasing touch felt interminable, stretching time into an abyssal expanse where seconds became hours, and hours, an eternity. Her heart, poor, beleaguered creature, beat a frenetic rhythm, as though its ceaseless drumming might summon the coveted thing closer. And oh, how her mind turned traitorous in such moments! The smarmy fiend was enjoying her excruciating awareness of his every move, a whine ripping from her throat as his lips moved not closer to her aching need, but trailed off course over the stocking garter she wore around her thigh. “Trevor.”

He hummed at the desperate way she whined his name. He grazed his nails across the skin of her thigh, readjusting to get at the silky white garter with his teeth. Trevor glanced at the wonderful site that was Hetty completely undone; writhing, wet, naked, and gasping long before he had even fucked her. “Beautiful,” he breathed, teeth dragging the garter down her leg. 

The heels of Hetty’s palms dug into her eyes, hair a tangled mess around her head as she moaned and pleaded for him. Seeing his lips pulled down her stockings, his brown eyes trained on her as he took in every microexpression, every twitch of her hips towards him, every breath, and every sigh shared between them. The stockings joined the pile beneath her and at last as Hetty walked the razor’s edge between ecstasy and despair, Trevor positioned himself between her legs. 

He gazed down at Hetty, bathed in the glow of lamplight, her chest swelling with every breath she attempted to catch. She was nude, except for the yellow chord surrounding her neck. “You’re absolutely stunning.” He made sure she met his gaze. “May I?” he asked softly for permission. 

She nodded mutely, sitting up to assist in unwinding the cord. His hands were gentle, breath coming a little easier as each strand was unwound. She trembled, eyes swelling with tears when she was free of it.  

Trevor handed an end of the strand to Hetty and tucked the rest of the cord beneath her with her other clothes. “Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered, leaning down and balancing on his hand containing his bunched clothes. “I’m here, I’ve got you, Hetty.” He kissed the tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. 

She looked up at him with a watery smile, hands coming up to cup his cheeks. Hetty pulled the young man close and kissed him deeply. “You have no idea what you've just given me.” 

Trevor smiled, letting Hetty’s vulnerability echo throughout their basement room unanswered. Instead, he continued to kiss her, deeply and tenderly, almost forgetting their initial objective of insanely hot and wild, completely nude, sex. They would most certainly return to that. But Trevor found he actually preferred these quiet, tender moments with her. He’d keep that secret to himself, though.

Slowly they broke away from warm, sweet kisses, Trevor trailing his lips down the bruised skin of her throat. Hetty's breath hitched. The lump in her throat, now caused by overwhelming and conflicting feelings, silenced her. Not out of fear, but because the emotions demand her to simply be—raw, unspoken, infinite. In life she had retreated from emotion, first by will alone, then assisted most intensely by lady laudanum. His lips against her neck felt like absolution she had not earned.  

His hand was warm against her breast, and she wondered if he could feel the rapidly beating wings of her traitorous heart. He kissed her again, filling her body with warmth. 

He wanted to suggest remaining like this for the rest of eternity; him kissing and caring for the dark bruises on her neck. He needed her to feel like how he saw her; as if the whole world stopped when she entered a room. Like the badass she was. It took a special kind of person to be able to take that much shit throughout her life. He didn’t blame her for her death and he definitely didn’t pity her for it. Trevor would worship every inch of her neck (and every single damn part of her) until her self consciousness was a memory. 

“You ready?” Trevor cupped her cheek, brushing a loose ringlet behind her ear. He once more pressed himself fully against her.

“Yes, darling,” she breathed against his lips, rolling her hips down with a cheeky wiggle, enjoying the twitch of the head against her entrance. “Please. I need you.” 

“And I need you.” He responded, a deep hungry growl within his chest. His big finale; he rubbed the length of his hard cock nonchalantly between her slit, pressing the head against her clit. He basked in her hot desperation and her dirty, high pitched, moans. And then finally, Trevor placed the head of his cock at her entrance and so so so slowly, pushed himself within her. 

Little gasps and sighs slipped from her lips as she pulsed wetly around him. “Please, Trevor, I'm ready. Move. Now.” 

“Yes, absolutely.” Trevor thrusted inside of her in a crescendo. He braced his hands on each side of Hetty’s head, fully sheathing himself within her with each movement. “Fuck, so good.” 

They set a desperate pace, passion renewed as he slid home fully. The slide of their skin together, her hands clinging to his shoulders as she rolled her hips down to meet each of his thrusts. His hand, scalding as it cradled her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple sent shockwaves of pleasure through her system. “Yes, yes, darling, harder, please. I want to feel the ache of you for days to come.” 

He slid his forearm against the bed, clothing still bundled within his fist, to lay completely flush against Hetty’s body. The hot friction of their bodies lit Trevor’s nerves on fire. He fell against her chest, breath huffing against her neck. His cock swelled inside of her, groaning at how tight her muscles contracted around him. “Yes. Fuck, yes please. Want to feel you always. Please.”

She rocked against him, lost in bliss. “I fear..nngh oh god— I fear I won't—I'm so close, please…please, please, please.” She caressed his jaw, peppering kisses against his temple. “Look at me,” she breathed. 

Trevor obeyed immediately, staring into Hetty’s stark blue eyes, welling tears shimmering within the lamplight. He pressed desperate kisses to her mouth, jaw, cheeks, everything he could reach. He pounded into her, sweat running down his temples. His cock swelled and throbbed, absolutely on the edge.

As his sentimental gaze met hers, Hetty sped the roll of her hips downward, fucking herself desperately on his cock. He lifted her leg, hooking her knee around his elbow as he drove deeper, harder until white exploded behind her vision. “Trevor!” she cried, cumming wetly around him. 

His fingers dug into Hetty’s thigh as he continued thrusting wildly. Her slick cunt clenched around him, and Trevor came inside her at the sound of her screaming his name. “Fuck, fuck, Hetty, holy fuck, Hetty.” Tears formed in his own eyes, and he continued to thrust, emptying himself completely inside her. 

She continued to quiver against him, body slowing the roll of her hips as she took in lungfuls of air, her mind swimming with pleasure. She buried her face in his neck, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Darling,” she sobbed quietly as another electric zing of pleasure shot down up her spine, pricking through her veins like fireworks.  

With his free hand, Trevor pulled her tight against his chest through the aftershocks, overwhelmed tears rolling down his own cheeks. He slowed his thrusts, still needing to be a part of her, to give this absolute goddess the immaculate and unending pleasure and attention she deserves. 

She curled up against him, utterly overwhelmed. As her body slowly calmed she relaxed into his arms, face still tucked against his neck. “My God,” she murmured. 

“Ditto.” Trevor’s chest heaved in a feeble attempt to catch his breath. He kissed her forehead. Hetty’s skin against his felt sacred. “I’ve gotta rip your clothes off more often.”

“I am in agreement,” she giggled, wiping her eyes. “My God, Lefkowitz, the possibilities! You're so clever to figure out all these ‘Ghost Rule’,” she raised her fingers in exaggerated quotation marks, “Loopholes!” Hetty finished excitedly, endorphins rushing through her system with a coke-like high. 

Trevor grinned, relieved she couldn’t see the possible blush rising in his cheeks. He couldn’t let her know her approval made him feel…things. “It was no sweat. It’s just like playing Twister.”

“Playing what?” she laughed, content to engage in the frivolous ‘Pillow Talk’. 

“It’s a board game! You spin a wheel and whatever you land on, like right foot blue or something, you put your right foot on the game mat and it stays on the blue dot. You get tangled up, but lose if you fall down. We have to physically touch our clothes for them to stay off, or we lose.” Trevor shrugged. “I was a pro at Twister.”

“Sounds complex and unhygienic. Though, if it had anything to do with flexibility or capable muscles, I'm certain you ‘rocked it’, as you say.”

“I did rock it!” Trevor looked down at her, jaw open with a mix of shock and pride. He loved when Hetty tried using slang, but was always chuffed when she correctly used slang. “Don’t knock it until you try it. It can be dirty in the nice kind of way too”. Trevor’s eyebrows rose cartoonishly. 

Her nose crinkled in delight of him. “I highly doubt you'll convince Samantha to purchase your sex game. It would be fun to watch you try,” she teased, elbowing him gently before nuzzling a kiss against his jaw. 

Trevor pouted. She was probably right though. Hetty usually was. “It’s a family game, actually, for ages 6 and up. I’m surprised she hasn’t made us play it for ‘bonding time’ or some shit like that.” He laughed, then sighed. “I don’t want to get up. I like being this close to you.”

She smiled softly at the sentiment, nodding her agreement. “Eventually our clothes will pop back into place. I am not looking forward to that.” 

“I can help put everything back on.” Trevor offered, taking her hand and kissing it gently. “It’s the very least I could do to help.”

“The only items I'm worried about snapping back into place and hurting me are my corset and…” She touched her throat.

“I can help. And maybe with T-Money ghost-loophole-magic, we can keep it loose.” Trevor shrugged. “Never know until we try.”

“I'm certain if it's your magic we'll succeed, the universe really does have favourites,” she laughed. 

“What can I say? I’m a catch.” He shrugged again, winking. He opened his fisted hand over the side of the bed, his shirt, jacket, and tie snapping back into place before they hit the ground. Trevor gestured to the Hetty’s pile of clothing. “May I?”

She nodded, sitting up, but careful to keep touching her clothes. She handed him part of the golden wire, keeping a loose hold on the end. He was careful as he wrapped the offending article around her throat, following the grooves of her injury. 

Trevor was delicate, wrapping the cord loosely around Hetty’s neck to be comfortable, but stable enough that it wouldn’t rub against the bruises when she moved. He finished his work with affectionate kisses along her neck. “If I’m wrong and it tightens, you know where to find me.”

Without thinking, she shifted, throwing one leg over his hips to straddle his lap. Hetty gripped the lapels of his suit coat and kissed him deeply, gasping into his lips as her clothing popped into place. 

“Ouch. You okay?” Trevor held onto her hips, now covered with the silky blue fabric he knew best. “I could have helped with the rest, too. I get it though, it’s hard to keep your hands off these goods.” He teased, eyes playfully meeting hers.

“I'm alright, but it startled me,” she laughed, kissing him again. “Thank you, Trevor, what a gift you've given me.”

“Nah, you’re the gift, gorgeous.” Trevor reached up, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “Honestly, there’s no place I’d rather be.”

Her lips twisted, nose crinkling, “Sentimentalist,” she crooned, leaning into his touch. 

“That’s your own damn fault. You make it easy.” Trevor grinned, kissing her nose. He delighted in her little nose crinkle. And yeah, maybe he was a bit sentimental. But there was some truth in his statement. Trevor had always looked for “that spark” he loved in romantic comedies, but no sexy co-ed or model really did that for him. Yeah, they did other really great things, but it always lead to nothing but a fun hookup or a short term girlfriend. Hell, this felt bigger than Bela. There was something different about Hetty. Some new feeling.

Hetty fell to lie beside him again, a warm blush dusting her cheeks. She ought to get up and return to her bed, but she found she couldn't move her legs. She rested her head against his chest, fingers idly playing with his tie. 

Trevor wrapped his arms around her, fingers crossed he’d never have to let go. “You know, it’s getting kinda let we could always…stay here tonight.”

“I really am finding the motivation to climb all those stairs fleeting.” 

“And I’m finding the idea of letting you climb them a bummer.” 

“So perhaps, just this once, we slumber here and face the stairs in the morning~?”

“That’s a solid plan, Mrs. Woodstone.” Trevor yawned, snuggling the side of his face into her hair. He breathed in the floral and vanilla scents of her. Heaven might as well be here. 

She shifted her skirts to lay over them both, giving Trevor a sudo-blanket for the night. Hetty leaned up and kissed his cheek sweetly. “Goodnight, Trevor. Sleep well.”

“Night, Hetty. Thank you.” 

Chapter Text

Henrietta Woodstone considered herself a rational woman. She had spent a great deal of her life perfecting the art of hiding one's true feelings in a small little trunk at the back of her mind and locking it up tight. So it came as quite a shock to her to find herself yelling at Trevor Lefkowitz, a little baggie clutched in her hand before materialising back into the traitorous scoundrel’s innermost coat pocket. “How very dare you!”

“Hey, you asked for cocaine not coke!” Trevor feigned stupidity, smirk widening as he backed out of the line of fire. “They’re the same thing? Who knew?”

Hetty’s jaw clapped shut unbecomingly, lips pursed as if she had sucked a sour lemon. “Oh you don't expect me to buy that, Trevor, do you?”

Trevor shrugged, slowly answering. He again felt like he was being scolded by his teacher. She was totally going to kill him. Again. He brought his hands up in surrender. “Look, in my defense, I didn’t know you when I died.”

She narrowed her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. “I was absent the night you died, yes. I did not favour watching my descendant malign my manor with his equally idiotic friends. Have I really never asked you my customary question?”

“Not that I remember, no.” Trevor stated honestly. “Which…kinda made it all the better when I found out how desperate you were for coke. I mean, the perfect way to one up the lady of the house? Priceless.”

Her mouth dropped open again incredulously. “You horrid man!” she cried, no real venom in her tone. “And then after? When we started to…become close? Why not disclose your foul betrayal of etiquette to me then?” Here a touch of genuine sadness entered her tone.

“I…” Trevor paused, incapable of lying to her. He took a deep breath and sighed. “I didn’t know how to bring it up without you being absolutely pissed at me.”

“Yes, because this way I am much less ‘pissed’,” she replied sarcastically, throwing her arms up and turning away from him.

“Well,” Trevor shuffled his feet innocently, hands folded behind his back, “it’s here now. I can make it up to you, if you want. As well as for the rest of eternity.”

Hetty's lips quirked upwards in a small smile, temper cooling at his soft tone. She turned back toward him, her expression schooled into an aloof mask. “How would you propose to make it up to me, exactly?”

“You sniff it off my finger and then we have hot, passionate, coke-filled sex.” Trevor responded, brown eyes wide and glimmering.

“Cocaine makes you horny?” she asked with a raised brow. “It used to just make me chatty.”

Trevor blinked, cocking his head. “Right. You’ve never had sex while high.” His grin widened. “I’ll definitely make it up to you. It’s the best!”

“Show me,” she commanded with a hand on her hip.

“Alright.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the two decade old secret coke. Truthfully, Trevor hadn’t done the drugs himself since his death. Mostly because he knew Hetty would recognize instantly what kind of high it was. He poured a line on the joint of his thumb like the year 2000 was yesterday.

Hetty cautiously moved to his side, eyes wide as the white powder was laid so precisely on his hand. “You first, darling.”

“You’ve been waiting over 100 years, but if you insist.” Trevor blocked his nostril with his free thumb, expertly snorting the line of cocaine down his hand.

Hetty nearly bounced in her seat in delight. When Trevor laid a line for her she did not hesitate to block her nostril and snort the whole line like a pro. She shook her head, feeling the tell-tale post nasal drip that signified the powder’s absorption into the mucus membrane. “Oh! Yours is quite a bite superior to the substance we had in 1880!”

“No kidding. Pete wasn’t joking when he said coke is illegal now.” Trevor laughed, bouncing on his feet and shaking his head as the drug stung the back of his throat. “People get addicted and die from this shit.” He plopped down onto the bed, starting to feel the telltale signs of a good trip.

“How could anyone die from something like this?” She shifted to sit in his lap, arms coming around his shoulders as she nuzzled against his jaw.

“Technically, I was also on coke the night I died. It can cause heart attacks and also something about toxicity with too much.” Trevor wrapped his arms around her. “Let’s just say if you weren’t already dead, knowing your history I would strongly advise against the stuff. For safety.”

“My history?” she laughed, feeling giddy. She bumped him in the shoulder with her own. “Opiates and cocaine were quite common in my era i'll have you know.”

“Well yeah I know! You talk about doing lines of coke at your garden parties then guzzled laudanum to sleep.” Trevor chuckled, kissing a line up her jaw. “Which is why I’d worry. Doesn’t matter anymore, does it? We can do all the cocaine we want. No consequences.”

She sniffed in derision, “I have never ‘guzzled’ anything,” she replied, offended at his common phrasing.

Trevor smirked, his tongue flicking the sensitive lobe of her ear. “That's not entirely true, babe,” he replied, thinking of all the times she'd acquiesced to swallowing his cock down her throat.

She swatted at him, a high flush on her cheeks at his tone. “Pervert.”

“Mmm yeah, but you like it.” He nearly growled in her ear. “Guess that means we’re both perverts.”

Her eyes fluttered, veins buzzing with the effects of the cocaine and Trevor’s sinful tone. Her heart beat a mile a minute as she melted into his care.

Trevor’s own heart pounded within his chest like the baseline at the club. “I need you.” Trevor kissed her roughly, almost whining.

Hetty was just about to push him down onto the bed when the disembodied head of a basement monster broke through the door. “Hey! Don't worry my eyes are closed,” said the mouthy one. “But I thought you should know that shit’s going down upstairs! You gotta get up there!”

Trevor, nearly vibrating on the bed, blurted, “We gotta get up there. I bet there’s something wild going on up there.” He placed his hands on the sides of Hetty’s face.

Hetty jumped off the bed with an excited twirl. “Take us to the action dirty potato sack girl!”

They followed Nancy upstairs, minds moving a mile a minute. Unfortunately, so were their mouths. “Do you think it's a domestic? Or perhaps a familial quarrell?”

“Holy shit. I can hear them. They’re so loud. Holy shit.” Trevor’s grin was impossibly wide as and Hetty essentially sprinted towards the lobby area where all the commotion was coming from.

Two men were on the floor, rolling around, throwing punches whenever either could get a shot in. Samantha was by the phone, no doubt calling the police, and Jay was trying his best to break up the fight. The other ghosts were standing close by, watching the action. Hetty nearly bounced over to Isaac, hoping to hear what started the altercation.

Trevor followed close behind. “Ooooh left hook! Left hook ‘em!” He nearly shouted, fist pumping the air. “WWE has come to Woodstone!” He didn’t really notice Sam giving him a confused glare as she hung up the phone.

Isaac leaned over as he addressed Hetty. “Oh, Henrietta, you almost missed it! These two young, strapping rogues became very heated over a small debate.”

“A debate over what?” she asked in a rushed whisper.

“Something about the 1984 Tony awards, and who should have won Best Actress in a Musical. Honestly I am in agreement with the young man in green…”

Trevor’s head snapped towards Isaac, “A debate about what? Who?” Trevor blurted, watching as a short man in a blue sweater pushed Jay away with a hand to his face. “I need to know who to place my bet on.”

“Oh gambling! How unseemly,” Hetty babbled. “I'd put backrubs on the one in blue, he's scrappy!”

Isaac eyed Hetty warily. “Hetty, are you quite alright? You're speaking a mile a minute, woman!”

Trevor patted Isaac on the shoulder. “Hey! She’s just excited for the action! Hetty’s pumped! We’re all pumped!” He pivoted his body away from Sam’s watchful gaze from the ground helping Jay up and away from the so called “action”. The two men had began rolling on the carpet back and forth, one shrieking about a park on a Sunday with a man named George.

Hetty giggled, warm gaze following Trevor. “Your concern is noted, Isaac, touching even, but I really am just powerfully excited to see the end result of this!”

“Bernadette Peters was better than Chita Rivera in every way!” The green shirted man slapped blue sweater across the face. “Have you ever seen Sunday in the Park with George?”

Trevor gasped, having a lightbulb moment. “Wait. They’re arguing about musicals?” He laughed. “My mom loved that show. She and my dad liked La Cage aux Folles better, obviously. But I think they were both up for best musical. Again, La Cage won, obviously.” Isaac shot him a surprised glance. He continued, “Hey, Jewish family from Long Island. Broadway was big. We were cultured.”

Henrietta laughed uproariously at the slack-jawed look on Isaac's face. Jay had managed to wrangle one of the guests, effectively stopping the fight.

“Damn, I was hoping one would kill the other,” Sass said with a frown. “Could've been a new ghost.”

Trevor remained intensely focused on the breakup, humming Sunday (he thinks that’s what the song was called) from that musical his mom liked. “Broadway WWE gone wrong. Kind of a baller way to go.”

“I wonder what ghost power would manifest from that, do you think?” Hetty asked excitedly.

“He walks into people and they sing showtunes.” Trevor laughed, rocking on his feet.

“Oh! or do something gaudy like a vaudeville tap number!”

“I don't know what's got either of you so chatty, but I agree, a tap number would be fun,” Alberta cut in, her and Isaac the only ones remaining after the fight disbanded. Hetty wondered if the police were outside speaking to the two young men. She steeled herself against the rush of panic that shot through the tendrils of her nervous system, jaw held imperceptibly tighter.

“Do you think they know Gilbert and Sullivan,” Hetty asked, distracting herself from that line of thought.

“Oh, from familial experience, these guys definitely know Gilbert and Sullivan.” Trevor chuckled, hand gestures more vibrant than usual. “My favorite one was Pirates of Penzance.”

“Oh, mine was H.M.S. Pinafore! However, I used to be able to sing all of Modern Major General.”

Trevor’s jaw dropped. “No way! My dad used to sing it. Honestly, the sickest rap song I’ve ever heard.” Alberta’s eyebrows raised at the two of them. Since when had they gotten along this well without closed doors?

“I am the very model of a modern Major-General,” Hetty began softly, eyes trained on the floor as her shoulders swayed to the rhythm. “I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral, I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical. From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical,” Hetty took in a breath, ribs fighting against the corset.

Trevor bopped his head slowly to Hetty’s hesitant beats. “Hey, Hetty, you’re kinda cartoonish sometimes.” He stated matter of factly.

“Are those the moving drawings?” she asked, stopping mid-lyric like the flipping of a switch.

Trevor froze, suddenly focused on Hetty’s sudden refocus on him. “…Yeah. Like the old timey stereotypical villain trope which yeah I guess that’s based off you and your time.”

Hurt flashes briefly in her eyes, but she recovered with a —only slightly stilted— smirk and a murmured, “Flattery will not get you anywhere with me, Mr. Lefkowitz.”

“Eh, I dunno. It’s gotten us to quite a few places.” Trevor winked, bumping her hip with his.

Isaac and Alberta gaped openly. “All right you two crazy lovebirds, spill. How did you figure out a way to use Flower's ability?”

“Indeed!” Isaac interjected. “Henrietta you have not spoken in such a manner since your gala days.”

Hetty’s eyes widened, gaze whipping to Trevor before trailing around her friend's heads, not meeting their eye. “Um…”

“Be prepared to be amazed.” Trevor announced, flourishing his hands. He dramatically pulled the plastic bag from his suit pocket. “Ta da! Secret coke! I’ve been keeping it secret this whole time! T-Money!” The bag formulated the top of his signature pose.

Isaac and Alberta gasped loudly, Hetty nodding solemnly alongside Trevor's confession. “The scoundrel has been ‘holding out’ this entire time!”

“Uh, technically, it never came up. It was a lie by omission.” Trevor shrugged, dropping the bag. It snapped back into his pocket.

“So you are high!” Alberta laughed.

“Only a little,” Hetty returned with a slight shrug.

Trevor pinched his fingers together. “Just a little.”

They giggled together conspiratorially, and linked arms. They left Isaac and Alberta gaping behind them. “Wait, Trev, you're not gonna share?”

“Maybe later!” Hetty called over her shoulder, disappearing with the finance bro down the stairs. Once they were securely back in their room, Hetty pulled him closer by his tie. “I still owe you a punishment for twenty years of forced sobriety by omission.”

“Oh really?” Trevor smirked, eyefucking her slowly. “What do you plan to do to me? Besides doing more coke, obviously.”

Hetty leaned up and kissed him slowly, allowing her lips to slide against Trevor's, her jaw tilted to deepen it further with a moan. After too brief a time, Hetty pulled back, smirking as Trevor's lips chased hers with a whimper of protest. “Give me more cocaine and I will ‘rock your fucking world’.”

He fumbled with his pocket, helplessly chasing her lips. “You can have all the drugs you want.” He held her hips close to his, immediately desperate.

She snorted the next line right off his hand and waited for him to take a hit before she pulled him by the lapels and devoured his mouth.

The coke sizzled down the back of his throat, deepening the kiss. Trevor softly bit Hetty’s lower lip, urging her to devour him more.

A raw whine of need rumbled deep in Hetty's chest. She pushed him down onto the bed and hiked up her skirts before moving to straddle his lap.

Trevor’s heart was throbbing, Trevor’s cock was throbbing, every synapse and nerve ending alight with a primal need to be inside her. He lined himself up with her entrance, fingers clutched to her hips. “Fuck, take me.”

She rolled her hips down, tight wet heat pulling Trevor in, and in, and in. “Oh God, you feel so good, pet.”

Trevor whined in response, thrusting upwards in tandem with the roll of Hetty’s hips. “Fuck please, yes. I need you. I need you.”

She reached down to clasp that immaculate jaw in her hand, fingertips pushing into the hollow of his cheek. Pressing her body along his, her hips pistoning down in a brutal pace, Hetty let out a low moan against his lips. “You always fill me so well, Trevor,” she breathed, cunt clenching around him in teasing pulses.

The lewd, low tone of Hetty’s voice boomed against the nerves of Trevor’s spine. His cock ached with each squeeze of her muscles around him. “Hetty, fuck, I’m already so-”

She sat up and stilled her hips, her hands resting against his thighs. “Oh not yet, you naughty little thing. I intend to ride your cock to my satisfaction.”

Trevor whimpered in response, coke brain forgetting he was being punished. He writhed in response. “Please. I won’t-just please, please…”

She reached down under her skirts, fingers playing against her throbbing clit. “Nnngh, not yet darling,” she murmured roughly, twitching hips holding herself just over the tip of his cock.

Trevor’s thighs shook beneath her, shaking hands reaching up to offer Hetty assistance. To make himself useful. He wanted to fuck her, touch her, anything. He groaned, watching the glorious sight of Henrietta Woodstone touch herself on top of him.

She pulled his hand to her clit, knowing his sure touch would send her over the edge. “Yes, please, touch me, fuck me, I need you.” She slammed her hips down onto his cock, impaling herself fully once more.

A guttural moan tumbled from Trevor’s mouth, cock overwhelmed and pulsating within her. His hips stilled, hyperfocused on the circular movement of his fingers on Hetty’s clit, soaking in the fluttering of her eyelids and her open mouthed arousal. He breathed heavily against his own aching need.

Warmth flooded her system, her legs quivered beneath her, fingers twitching against Trevor’s chest as she rose and fell on his cock with abandon. “Please…please don't stop,” she groaned, red crown of curls thrown back in pleasure.

Trevor growled, and flipped their positions, pressing Hetty down into the mattress. He pulled out carefully, basking in the high-pitched whine Hetty emitted. “Not so funny when the tables are turned, is it~?” he asked with a raised brow. Before any more demands could fall from Hetty’s lips, Trevor dove between her thighs, lips and tongue working against her sensitive clit.

Hetty screamed, hands shooting to Trevor's hair, holding him against her. “Oh, oh shit, Trevor, Trevor!”

He hummed, the tip of his tongue circling where he knew Hetty was most sensitive. His darkened eyes looked up at her, daring her to attempt a coup. Hetty swearing always meant he was doing his job very fucking well.

“You loathsome…nngh…ahhhh, please…”

He backed away with a deep chuckle, eyes still trained on hers. “Mmm, I love teasing you.” He grazed his lips against her throbbing clit. “It sucks ass to wait, huh?”

She growled, eyes narrowed. “You absolutely cheeky brat!” She reached down, fingers tangling in his hair. “Put that silver tongue to use, Lefkowitz. Now. And I'll let you spill your filthy seed so far in my cunt that I can taste it.”

He gasped, arching against the pull of his hair. Trevor lost all words, all actions. Hetty’s dirty talk made him melt. Right into her hands. He nodded, pressing his lips back onto Hetty’s clit.

Hetty praised him, words slurring together in the wake of her pleasure. She felt his fingers prod against her entrance before three pressed inside, spreading her open. He curled his fingers against her trembling core, and Hetty felt lava pool in her stomach. A scream of Trevor's name ripped from her throat as she came wetly around his fingers, her body vibrating, white exploding behind her eyes.

He continued to move his fingers through her orgasm, lips still caressing her clit. His cock burned with desperate need at Hetty screaming his name. Still, he breathed through his own need to cum, fully aware of Hetty’s instructions. Watching her unhinged pleasure had him on the edge.

Heart racing in her chest, Hetty slowly came down from bliss. She smiled softly at Trevor, reaching down to caress his jaw. “Always so good, darling…” she praised, fingers softly trailing the line of his cheek.

Trevor leaned into her fingers, a shiver running down his spine at the praise. He softly kissed her thighs. “I could do more.”

“Oh I'm counting on it~” she replied with a wink before opening her arms. “Come here, dearest.”

Trevor once again nodded wordlessly. It was like witchcraft how easily Hetty shut him up. He crawled across the bed and straight into her arms.

She wrapped herself around him, boldly pressing her hips down to rub her slick slit against his cock. “Take me,” she breathed.

Trevor nodded, holding her to him with one arm and edging towards the end of the bed with his other. He planted his feet over the side of the bed, bringing Hetty to the edge with him and holding her hips against his. Trevor rubbed his throbbing cock against her slit, basking in the intense arousal. He lined himself to her entrance, gradually pressing himself within her.

Hetty pressed herself down against him, their renewed connection stoking the fire within her. “That's a good boy,” she murmured lowly. “I love feeling how hot and hard you are for me, makes me feel nngh so, so good.”

“Fuck” Trevor groaned as his cock entered her further. He buried his head into her shoulder, fingers clenched around her hips. He began thrusting his hips to meet hers.

“Yes, yes, darling…right there, oh you feel so good inside me…” She bore down against him, rolling her hips in time with his thrusts. She reached between them, fingers caressing her oversensitive clit. “Shit yes, right there, don't stop please don't stop…I'm going to cum again, fuckfuckfuuuuck.”

Trevor sped up his thrusts, his own cock rigid and ready to cum. “Please, Hetty, please can I…please…”

She grinned widely in response, half of her tempted to tell him no, to see how wild she could truly make him, but the other more pressing side of her was desperate for his release. “Yes, Trevor, you may.”

Tears peaked at the edges of his vision, relieved. He rammed himself into Hetty, hard cock bubbling and ignited with pure lust. “Thank you, fuck, thank you, I want to…”

“Yes, my sweet boy, pump your seed inside me, fuck you feel so good…shit I'm—” She threw her head back, cumming again on his cock.

With Hetty’s screams of release, Trevor came hard, filling her with himself as she demanded. “So good, Hetty, fuck.” He continued to thrust deep within her.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close, overwhelmed by sensation. “Darling, oh darling,” she sobbed into his neck.

He kissed her head, holding her close to him through his last thrusts. “You feel so good, so good.”

As they fell together in a heap, Hetty could still feel a prickly energy running amok through her veins, and it wasn't long before her pulsing cunt began to squeeze him deliberately in teasing waves.

Trevor gasped. “Again?~” He whispered by her ear, already grinding against Hetty in steady movements.

“Mmm, yes,” she moaned, arching against him. “Never want to stop.”

“Me neither.” He growled, holding her hips firm against his increasing thrusts. His teeth grazed against her jawline.

“See, we could've been doing this for ages, but someone had to nnngh bogart the coke!” Her nails dug into his hips and she ground down against him.

“We could have been doing this for ages but someone didn’t like me.” Trevor teased. Fuck, he really wish he could fuck her against the door right now.

Hetty slowed her thrusts, blue eyes meeting brown. “Well, I like you plenty now,” she murmured, leaning up to drop an admittedly chaste kiss to his lips.

“I’m glad.” Trevor smiled, catching his breath and also grateful that his cheeks were red already. He thrusted deep within her, needing her in every way.

“Though,” she moaned with a wicked smirk. “You do make it difficult sometimes~”

“Am I making it difficult right now?” Trevor caught Hetty’s lips with his. He sped up his thrusting significantly.

She grunted against his lips, eyes rolling back. “N-No…in fact I find you —Oh God— most ag-agreeable present-nnnhh-ly.”

“Oh, we-ah- should never stop- then.” Trevor slid the tip of his tongue along her lips playfully, hands bringing Hetty’s hips crashing downwards against his thrusts.

She screamed in pleasure, losing the ability to give a sarcastic comeback. Heat flooded her veins once again, thighs trembling as she wrapped them around his waist. He tore at the buttons of her jacket, breasts bouncing beneath the thin chemise that lay within.

Trevor moved his hands to her nipples, circling them with his thumbs. He slowed his hips to a steady grind, thrilled to witness Hetty come undone from his teasing.

Hetty's hand moved to one of Trevor's covering her breast, with a moan she lifted his hand and brought his index finger to her lips. She sucked his finger into the warm cavern of her mouth, tongue working against the tip as steadily as her cunt pulsed around his cock.

“Oh fuck…” Trevor groaned, cock twitching with each pulse of Hetty’s cunt. He reversed his pace, desperately needing to fuck her once more. “No fair.”

Her eyes glimmering as she looked at him, teeth grazing the underside of his finger. She winked, reaching down to grip his ass, pulling deeper, rougher, faster against him.

Trevor shivered, melting into Hetty with ease. He pressed against her firmly, practically rutting within her.

At one sharp movement of his hips, Hetty's finger slipped between his cheeks, the tip ghosting against his entrance.

A high pitched gasp poured from Trevor’s lips, eyes rolling backwards in his skull. He slapped a hand over his mouth, willing himself to shut up.

Hetty was about to apologise when the needy whine left Trevor's throat. Her eyes widened, finger returning to circle his entrance again, prodding in time with the stilted thrusting of his hips.

“Hetty-ah!” He grasped her shoulder, moans almost ear-splitting. She was fucking him with her finger. Trevor’s nerves ignited, cock instantly buzzing with molten heat. “ I - I’m fffuck I’m going to—”

She pushed her finger in and out slowly, too high to care about propriety. Hetty kissed his temple, delighting in his moans and gasps. “I wonder~” She pressed another finger into his tight heat, curling upward towards his belly as she had felt him do many times before.

Trevor instantly came, fast and deep inside Hetty. He went limp onto her shoulder, his arms latching desperately around Hetty. “Fuck.” Tears rolled down his cheeks.

She held him close, slowly pulling her fingers out as his thrusts stilled inside her. She could feel his cum drip between her thighs, soiling her skirts beneath her. “My God that was hot.”

He shook against her, probably the most overwhelmed he had ever been post-sex. Trevor squirmed against her, kissing her cheek, her mouth, her jaw, everywhere and anywhere to feel closer. “Y-yes. Yes, so hot.” He took deep breaths against her chest.

She caressed up and down his back, massaging his shoulder and neck as she whispered praise against his jaw. “I still feel all tingly.”

He nearly whined from her trailing fingers. “M-me too.” Trevor turned his head, chasing her mouth with his. “So intense…so good.”

Hetty's eyes fell closed, allowing the sense of comfort and bliss to permeate her being. She pet his hair gently, chuckling to herself. “You know, for as angry at you as I was earlier, it was probably for the best that you waited. This…right here with us, this feeling…I wouldn't trade it for a million pounds of cocaine.”

Trevor looked up at her, eyes wide and grin beaming. He loved when she let her walls come down. “Me neither.” He felt the same exact way. And her saying that in her own Hetty-ish manor was more overwhelming than cocaine sex.

She hid her flushed face in his neck. She shivered as he slipped out, Trevor shifting to lay beside her.

He rolled onto his side, resting his head in his hand to get a better view of Hetty. He brushed a rogue curl from the middle of her forehead. “You good?”

“More than,” she laughed softly. “So, have you always enjoyed a bit of sodomy, or was that coke-fueled?”

Trevor took a deep breath, wincing. He couldn’t lie to her now, especially not after being coked up. “So you know how Isaac…likes guys, is gay, right?” He started slowly, “Some people, like women and men, everyone, doesn’t matter. Like…me, I am some people. I’ve done it with men before.”

“Oh! Fascinating,” Hetty sat up, looking down at Trevor as she asked questions at rapid fire. “Do you have a preference one way or the other, or is it an even split? Can women have this preference? I know Flower seems not to care one way or the other…I have so many questions!”

Trevor laughed. “Baby, woah woah woah.” He sat up, picked up her hand, and kissed it gently. “I will answer all those questions, I’m still just processing the fact you’re so chill about it. Wow. Okay. So, I personally have no preference girls just tend to be hotter, yes women can also have this preference. Hit me with anything you wanna ask.”

“Out of all the things that have changed since my generation, this is the least of my concern,” she replied with a wave of her hand. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You once spoke about an orgy in college, is that where you discovered your preference, or have you always known? I don't think I've ever been attracted to another woman.”

“While that was fun and, yes, men were involved, I think I always sort of knew. I don’t know, all people in the movies I watched were pretty. Guys just seemed to gravitate towards girls so it was more like a baseline.” He shrugged. “But, I definitely played around in college. That is where I first experimented. And in clubs with a select Leaman crew.”

“Let me guess, my horrid great great great great grandson did not make that list?” she snuggled back into his embrace, laying her head on his chest.

Trevor winced. “No, he was not, sorry.” He wrapped his arms around her. “If it helps, it was a very, very exclusive list.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes at his concern. “Oh please, he was a scoundrel, I wouldn't want to go to an event with him either, and I had to go to events with Elias.”

“Oh, if we were still alive, I’d take you to all the best events, literally any event you wanted to go to.” Trevor grinned. “Like if we were both alive today, right now, as we are. We’d have fun. You’d see the best restaurants, clubs, shows, and museums that Paris has to offer. That’s where you’d wanna go right?”

“Yes,” she breathed, touched that he remembered. “Or rather, oui, monsieur~ Have you ever been to Paris?”

“Yeah, once for work. It was only for two days, it went by in a flash. But it was a fantastic city. I’ve always wanted to go back for a week at least.” Trevor shrugged. “Plus, I don’t know French that well.”

“Tu ne parles pas français? Pourquoi pas?! C'est une langue magnifique!” Hetty giggled at his look of consternation. “Oh, je suis vraiment désolé…que tu sois si stupide~” She deposited a sweet little kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Hey! Did you just call me stupid?” Trevor’s mouth gaped playfully. “Um, pardon moi, but voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir.”

“Est-ce que tu me demandes de passer la nuit avec toi ou tu désires plus de coït?” she asked with a cheeky grin.

“I have zero clue beyond ‘night’, ‘with’, and ‘desire’.” He laughed. “Do you speak perfect French? Like fluently?”

She shrugged, “I wouldn't say fluent, but passable conversationally. I asked you if you meant for us to sleep together as in slumber, or if you desired more sex.”

“Both, obviously.” Trevor squeezed her hand, winking. “I have more cocaine if you need inspiration.”

“Insatiable,” she teased, walking her fingers up his arm.

“You were pretty insatiable yourself.” He countered, smirking. “How many times did I make you cum?”

“At least four, though that last orgasm seemed to go on forever.” She snuggled further into his embrace, throwing her skirts over Trevor's legs like a blanket.

“Mmm, good. You deserve to be fucked senseless like the queen you are. I’m glad I can always be of assistance.” He helped her maneuver her skirts into their usual blanket position.

“A queen, huh?” she asked with a soft giggle, hiding her blush against his chest. “That's certainly a new one.”

“All women deserve to be treated like royalty. That’s the Trevor Leftkowitz promise.” He kissed her forehead. “And factoring in how Elias treated you like dog shit, you are due for extra Queen-like pampering from T-Money. That’s a guarantee.”

“You're ridiculous~ isn't it a woman's job to take care of her man? Not the other way around.”

Trevor shook his head, grin widening. “You’re cool with bisexuality, but draw the line at feminism, and I’m the ridiculous one? No, no, sweetheart, this,” he pointed between the two of them, “is mutual. We take care of each other. It’s teamwork.”

She sat up slightly, looking him in the eye with a wide grin of her own. “Say it again, the term of endearment.”

“What, sweetheart?” He cocked his head. “Is that one new? Eh, makes sense, it has a modern ring to it. You like that one?”

“It was around in my time, but…well you know, blah blah blah poor excuse for a husband, blah blah blah no affection left for me once he was done with his paramours.” She cuddled back into his arms, her own wrapped around him. “I do think my mother used such a term for me and my sister before she was sent away.”

“…Sent away?” Trevor repeated softly, both needing to know what other historical hells haunted Hetty, but also full of dread before she even said anything.

“My father had her institutionalised from the time I was 12 until her death. Hysteria,” Hetty replied matter-of-factly, only the barest twinge of sadness leaking into her tone.

“Hetty that’s…awful.” There had to be stronger words. Trevor knew enough about history to know “hysteria” was the Trojan Horse for getting women to fall in line. He wasn’t sure if Hetty knew that. He held her hand in his and didn’t want to ever let go. “What was she like? Your mom.”

A little furrow cut between her brows, blue eyes looking down at the pattern of Trevor's tie before trailing to their joined hands. “I…don't remember much of her… She had my colouring, father always hated my hair, I think because he was worried I had inherited her temperament as well…”

“Anyone worried about your firey, wonderful temperament doesn’t deserve you. Or your mother.” Trevor tried to remind himself of the gap in time, how things were like back then, but it’s impossible when someone affected by the horrors of said history is sitting right there. Especially when it’s someone you love. “You’re my equal. You know that, right?”

“I know it in theory,” she murmured softly. “It's difficult to place my understanding of it in practice. Alberta and Samantha have taught me quite a bit, and goodness knows Flower's hand in my corruption…but it's difficult to unlearn a lifetime of fear. We weren't equal back then, far from it, and the only evidence I needed for that came from my mother's sad, but resigned, expression the night the doctors came for her. Father held that possibility over my head for years, and then Elias did the same. How could I possibly be your equal when men had the power to send away any woman who disagreed with him?”

Trevor stayed silent a moment, willing away the tears that welled in his eyes and threatened to fall. He knew even in his day men were shitty to women. While they couldn’t send them away, he witnessed Ari call his exes “bitches” to their faces, how frat bros used to catcall freshmen girls and take advantage of how drunk they were, and how they were his Leaman “bros” because absolutely no woman would ever be hired. Hell, some of the shit Sam read on online showed that even today is a fight for women. His own father, who he looked up to for his family values, love, and respect towards his mother, cheated. “That’s a fair point.” He stated quietly. “I want to hear all of your opinions, always. We can start there.”

She smiled softly, eyes a little watery, but the deep painful ache in her chest that usually accompanied thoughts of her mother was lessened considerably by Trevor's words. “I think it's safe to say that I will always tell you exactly what I think~”

“Good.” Trevor kissed her hand again. “Keep putting me in my place…sweetheart.” He grinned.

Hetty buried her giggle and flushed cheeks against his chest. “I regret telling you I favored that one.”

“I don’t.” He laughed, holding her close against him. “You’re cute when you blush. Such a sweetheart.”

“I hate you,” she mumbled, face still hidden, cheeks almost the same colour as her hair.

“That’s becoming more and more of a lie every day.” Trevor’s fingers traced circles on her back. “You engaged with pillow talk and pillow talk has brought us to the inevitable conclusion.”

“Me telling you I hate you is the inevitable conclusion?”

“No!” He frowned, looking somewhat like a kicked puppy. “I was gonna say getting to know each other and you becoming more comfortable talking about yourself.”

At his tone Hetty lifted her cheek to observe him. She leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before settling down again. “I do feel comfortable talking with you. It's nice. You're nice. This…with you and I…is nice.”

Trevor smiled. “It’s very nice. I always have a great time with you.”

Hetty allowed her eyes to drift shut, the cocaine having metabolised in her ghostly system a lot sooner than it might have in life. “J'aimerais coucher avec toi, ce soir… et toutes les nuits suivantes.”

“I have no idea what that means, but knowing you, I’m guessing that’s kinda the point.” He kissed the top of her head. He would always find a way to kiss her. “I’m assuming it was sweet. So, me too.”

“Bon,” she murmured sleepily into his chest. “Tomorrow, more cocaine, s'il te plaît.”

“You can have all the cocaine you want forever.”

“I'll hold you to that promise, beloved.”

Trevor felt a rush of warmth and smiled down at her. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Chapter Text

“So…if I wanted to look up stable boys…is that in there?” Hetty asked, eyes trailing up to the ceiling before she steeled her nerves and her gaze locked on Trevor's own. He sat at the antique desk in the library, Samantha's lap computer open before him, and casting the room in a bright blue glow. It was midnight, the house dark and quiet all around them.

“You can look up quite a lot more than just stable boys on here,” Trevor replied looking at his lover with a leer. 

“Unclothed stable boys?” she asked in a hushed whisper, scuttling around the desk to his side as if such a sight were at this moment on his screen. 

“Uh, yeah.” Trevor scoffed, already stabilising his hand to press the letter “S”, leaning back in the chair. “If you can think of it, a porno exists for it.”

“Porno?” she asked, a nasal quality entering the medial vocalic ‘r’, an interesting quirk of hers Trevor noticed when she was mocking something modern or beneath her. “Define it.” She knew the root probably shared a similar root with the word pornography. A vernacular shortening of it, no doubt, but what did it mean in the modern context? Surely not a scandalising portrait, or lewd play.

“It’s a movie,” Trevor grinned, starting slowly, his hand still shaking above the “T”. “That is just people having totally real sex. And you can find them on the internet.”

Ah, so rather the two combined. Interesting. “People make movies of themselves having intercourse? Like prostitution? Is this legal?” She pressed herself against his side, her chin tucked over his shoulder as she watched him work. 

“Mostly, yeah.” Trevor shrugged. He shook his hand in front of the keyboard after the “L”. “It’s a lot easier to get a hold of now. We used to have to go to seedy video stores.” 

“Was it the porn that caused the video stores to be in poor taste?” she laughed softly, unable to imagine what a video store could possibly look like. A charity bizarre with stalls packed with the video cassettes she had seen on the television program How ‘Bout Those 90s! was the closest she could get. 

Trevor turned and looked up at her from the office chair, nodding. “Mostly, yeah.” He grinned, turning back to the keyboard. They were now on the second “B” after the first space. It felt like a new record. 

Hetty’s lip twitched and she turned her cheek to press a kiss against his, dragging her lips up the sharp line of his jaw to his ear, she nibbled on the sensitive lobe before murmuring, “Is this what you do when I'm not available? You watch these filthy movies and touch yourself?” 

Trevor froze, hands slowly retreating from the keyboard. “Stable Bo” was left forgotten in the GoogleSearch. “Maybe. I’ve gotten some ideas from it too. Do you wanna try some out?” 

Her eyes were glimmering in the low light as she looked at her beloved, she threaded her fingers through his hair. “What did you have in mind?” she asked in a breathless whisper. Trevor took Hetty's hand in his, kissing the pad of each finger before his lips followed a small trail up the back of her hand, her wrist, her forearm, until she was planted in his lap and his mouth touched her shoulder and jaw. “T-Trevor~! I doubt this buffoonery was in your illicit internets!” 

“Well,” Trevor leaned in, his hot breath brushing her ear, “I was thinking we could test out if Desk becomes Floor.” He grazed his lips along the edge of her jaw. Trevor missed fucking over a table, a desk, any flat surface that wasn’t a bed. And what a gift it would be if he could do that with Hetty. It would feel different somehow.

“Ohhh~” she giggled. “I've never done that!” She looked over his shoulder at the desk that, in life, had seen the bulk of her family's business dealings. The near empire of commerce, and all the things she shouldn't touch, or meddle in, or know about. And she was going to fuck on it. “Do you think we could, we won't go through it?” 

“There’s one way to find out.” Trevor moved to Hetty’s lips, kissing her slowly. Even though it was past midnight now, and the other Ghosts and Livings were surely asleep, they were playing public sex Russian roulette, but Trevor wasn’t worried. He was too smitten to care.

Trevor rose smoothly from the chair, effortlessly cradling Hetty in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. For a fleeting moment, she revelled in the quiet thrill of his strength, never believing she could grow tired of it. Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes, he set her down gently, pressing a feather-light kiss to the tip of her nose. A soft laugh escaped her lips as her back went through the ephemeral edge of the desk. His arms circled her waist, drawing her closer, and he leaned in once more, reclaiming the warmth of her mouth. He could have spent the entire day lost in the softness of her kiss, the world outside fading to nothing.

She groaned, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. She hopped up onto the desk, her bustle bunching up behind her, phasing through the still-open computer as if she wasn’t even there. “Oh! I suppose that answers that!” 

“Mmm…I was hoping this would be the case.” Trevor hummed against Hetty’s lips. He pressed his body against hers, spreading her thighs. Trevor weaved his arms around her back, kissing her deeply. 

She wound her arms around his shoulders and hooked her legs around his hips. “You make me feel so clingy~Like some sort of creeping vine. It's very shaming.” 

“And I love clinging to you, nothing shameful about liking touch.” Trevor kissed a line down her jaw. He whispered, “What if you went over the desk?”

She leaned back to look into his eyes, her own glimmering mischievously. The laptop caught between them now made for an awkward bedfellow, as it was lodged in her incorporeal rib. She hopped off the desk, as he moved to give her space. “Are you able to shut it?” 

“Oh you know T-Money brought the magic!” Trevor grinned, eyes twinkling in the light of the screen. He slid around the table and braced his feet into the rug. He took a breath, bouncing from foot to foot for his warm-up. Trevor brought his elbows back then launched his palms against the laptop case. It shut with a little click as he made his customary T. 

Hetty rolled her eyes in feigned annoyance. “Yes, yes, get back over here and ravish me before the new day breaks, hmm?” 

Trevor put his hands up in faux surrender, sauntering back around, He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her back in for a kiss he wanted to last for hours. He teased her lips with his, Trevor’s fingers delicately rolling Hetty’s skirts up her thighs.

She loved when he grabbed her, or used his strong hands to move her about. She knew she had him wrapped around her finger, but there was something so enticing about stirring such passion in the young man that he could not help but put his hands all over her. She moaned against him as he manoeuvred her back near the desk, gasping as he turned her around to face it, his hot lips now brushing that sensitive spot behind her ears that sent shivers down her spine. 

“Bend over, Hetty,” he murmured gruffly, large hands splayed over her bodice.

As she moved to comply, she pressed a palm down on the desk, and gave a whoop of surprise as she phased through it, cursing her incorporeal forms once more as Trevor caught her around the waist to prevent her from falling through it entirely with her momentum. She huffed, cheeks red with embarrassment. “How are we meant to do this?” 

“Hold on.” Watching Hetty’s hand fall through the table set his brain into overdrive. He needed to fuck her over this desk. He let go of her waist, shuffling within the desk, then taking a step back. He swiped his hand through the surface of the desk, then hiked the sole of his foot up, meeting a solid surface. “So that’s Floor.” He took his foot off the desk, figuring there was some sort of universal ghost reset for this. Then, he placed his knee on the desk surface, meeting Floor again. “Yes! I knew it!” Trevor shifted his knee off the desk’s surface and turned back to Hetty, a wild grin beaming on his face. “Touching first with our hands won’t work, you have to sit or kneel on a flat surface first to make it Floor. This can work if we play our cards right.”

She was hot and bothered enough to try anything, and so when he moved, she hiked her skirts up and lifted one knee in a most undignified position and placed it upon the desk’s surface, Trevor helping to keep her balanced with gentle hands on her hips. When she didn't fall through she pressed a tentative hand to the surface feeling the solid wood for the first time in 130 years. “Oh, Trevor, you brilliant degenerate!”

“I certainly am brilliant.” Trevor devoured the sight of the opening in her bloomers, already damp, her skirts sprawled on each side of her blue-green bodice. “You’re such a pretty sight, sweetheart.” He nearly growled.

She let out a filthy moan, resting her flaming cheek against the cool wood. Her dripping pink entrance quivered at his words, the honey in his tone, the feeling of his hot hands against her exposed inner thighs. He knelt behind her, teeth sinking gently into the round curve of her ass. She yelped briefly before stifling the sound behind her fist. She gripped the edge of the desk and whipped her head around to glare at him, cheeks as red as her hair, but her cunt was soaking the expensive wood beneath her. “The gall–!”

“The cheek !” he murmured, teeth grazing her ass once again, darkened eyes flickering up to meet hers. Trevor bit her once more before kissing and licking a calm, steady trail up her thigh, tasting the droplets of slick sliding down to meet him.

“Oh–ohh, darling ,” she breathed, fingers twitching around the bevelled edge. She pushed up just a bit with her knee, wanting his mouth closer to her pulsing need. 

He casually kissed her upper thigh, then hovered his mouth above her slit. “Do you want this?” he whispered. He brushed the tip of his tongue against her folds for a millisecond before pulling away.

“Y-yes, now, Trevor,” she commanded, though her tone was breathy and her authority was belied by the desperate twitch of her hips. 

“As you wish.” Trevor arched his tongue within her slit, tracing her wetness up to her clit. He pressed a prolonged, tongue teasing, kiss around the sensitive bud. 

Hetty gasped and groaned, the buzzing hive of her thoughts finally quieted by the pleasurable fog pulsing up from her core. She could feel every stroke of his tongue, the small, rhythmic circles that teased her trembling need. “Nnngh, darling…you’re going to drive me mad…” she whimpered as two of his fingers entered her with a greedy curl. 

He replaced his mouth with the pad of his finger against Hetty’s clit, continuing the slow, circular movements. Trevor smoothly stood up, his fingers still scissoring within her gently. He leaned his body over hers on the table, pressing kisses along her fabric-covered spine. “Are you ready for me?~”

“More than,” she managed to groan, piecing two words together through great effort. She rolled her hips back against him, growling as she realised she had very little control in this position. 

Trevor moved backwards, grasping Hetty’s hips with one hand. He indulged in running his hard, throbbing cock against her cunt. “Fuck, you’re gonna feel so good.” He sighed, lining his swollen tip against Hetty’s slick entrance. Trevor gently pressed himself within her, beginning slow, careful thrusts.

She felt the wonderful stretch of his hard, thick cock entering her and pushed back against him greedily. “Yes, yes, yesss …” She wiggled slightly as he bottomed out, their hips locked together as the tip of his cock nearly nestled against her womb. “So deep. ”

Trevor moaned at the heat between them, already pulsing in tandem with her muscles. “Fuck, Hetty… ” He tightened his grasp on her hips, steadily increasing the roll of his own. 

A nearly feral growl left Hetty's lips as pleasure coiled in the pit of her belly. Her nails would be leaving large gouges into the wood were it not for their inability to interact with the mortal plane. “Is this…nngh…everything you remember?” she grinned, looking back at him as she squeezed her inner muscles teasingly.  

“No-agh- better….” Trevor moaned, raking his fingers down the fabric and boning of her dress. And that was true. There was extra spark this had with Hetty that in past times definitively was not there. The way she looked at him. Heat bubbled at the thought. He began to increase his speed, calculating his thrusts in time with the clench in Hetty’s muscles. He looked down at their joined bodies, the sight of his cock ramming into her slick pink cunt, the wetness shining along the shaft as it disappeared going in and out of her. It drove him wild. 

She tried to stifle both the flush his words caused in her cheeks, and the needy whimpers and groans his cock was ripping from her throat. If she were not careful, the sound of their passion could travel right up the staircase and into the main hallway. She clenched around him at the very thought, the molten heat pooling in her stomach threatening to erupt through her veins. “Harder…ngh yes, oh you have the most wonderful ideas…”

His cock ached within her, heat fizzling at every one of her gasps and moans. “Fuck… need you.” Trevor growled, pulling Hetty’s hips firmer against his gradually widening thrusts, fucking her deeper, harder, feeling the desk beneath them creek. 

“Have me, take me, fuck me,” Hetty babbled, reaching beneath herself as she rested more weight up on her knee, to touch her throbbing clit. “Oh yes, Trevor right there, I'm so close, right there yes, yes, fuckyoufeelsogood…fuckme yes, yes!” 

Trevor wrapped an arm around Hetty’s torso, lifting her thigh and balanced his knee on the desk. “Wanna cum in you…” His hips thrusted hungrily, the pull of his arms pressing her firm against him. Trevor could feel the pulsating buildup as his cock twitched even as it slammed inside her. 

Hetty’s vision went white, entire body drenched in heat and pleasure, pulsing around Trevor's cock as she whimpered and sighed his name into the wood like a prayer. She continued to rock against him, greedily stoking the flame, chasing the brightness that only he could bring behind her eyes. “Yes, yes don't stop, cum inside me, fill me–fuck me, Trevor, yes, yes, good boy, my darling boy you feel so fucking good.”

He obeyed, the desperate throb of her muscles forcing his bubbling heat to erupt inside of her. He fucked her desperately to earn more moaned praises, his warm cum continuing to fill her with every thrust. “Fuck, want to keep going, fuck.”

“Think-nnngh, think you can~” she challenged, throwing a lustful look over her shoulder as she deliberately tightened her over-sensitive muscles around him. “Come on, my good boy, I was promised to be fucked through this desk …” 

Sharp shocks of arousal ran the length of his spine at her powerful, silk-strung words. Trevor’s fingers sank into Hetty’s hip and thigh, pulling her rough against the pounding of his hips. “Yes…I can I can..” Trevor groaned, cock still spurting inside her, muscles spasming and ready to reharden in response to her continuing pleasure. 

The feeling of him stroking the hyperacute walls, the tender, almost painful ache of him still stretching her fully, filling her to the brim, as she pushed her body to respond in kind, was unlikely anything Hetty had ever experienced before. It was overwhelming, all-encompassing, all-consuming. 

Trevor rode the waves of his euphoria. He wasn’t sure if he no longer had a refractory period or this was just that hot. His rocked his still-swollen cock hungrily within Hetty’s cunt, cherishing the throb of her around his muscle, the never ending wetness.

She could feel herself climb close to those peaks of ecstasy again. “Gods, so quickly,” she gasped, clinging to the desk, body on fire.  

Trevor held Hetty’s hips firmly against his, causing her to roll and squirm against him with a needy whine. His hand came around her thigh, and he could feel himself sliding in and out of her messy pussy, his cum sticking to his fingers as he brought them through the slick to grind against her clit.

 “This-ah-love feeling you- fuck -“.

She bucked against him, her orgasm shocking her system with a half-stuffed cry, electricity convulsing through her thighs, and leaving every part of her outer limbs numb. 

One thrust, then he exploded within her, moaning as the deep cavern of euphoria evolved beyond something he had felt before. He rode their orgasms, hips still melding against hers.

She came back to herself slowly, chest heaving beneath her corset. Carefully, Trevor pulled out and allowed Hetty to lower her leg. Though, unfortunately for her, that meant that the desk was no longer Floor, and her torso –resting boneless and utterly satiated– fell through, causing her to plant her face into the carpet beneath the desk. 

“Oh no.” Trevor winced, swinging his leg off the desk. He crouched down, taking her hands to help her up. “You okay? Your leg kept it Floor.”

“Whoops,” she murmured, embarrassed, cheeks now rosy for an entirely different reason. She patted her hair, though she had no need, it had returned to its completely coiffed position the moment she hit the floor. “Guess you um…really did fuck me through the desk.” 

“Ha! T-Money wins.” He gently slid his hand around her waist. “Though, getting to fuck you over the desk was my real win.” He winked. 

She tucked herself against his side, resting her head on his shoulder as she laughed lightly. “It certainly was an unforgettable experience.” She looked back at the desk, one of the last vestiges of her time, and smirked. Then she noticed something that caught her eye, the desk was moved a good foot from where it had previously sat by the fire, the carpet rumpled beneath the claw-foot ends. “Trevor, look!”

Trevor’s jaw dropped. “No way!” He turned back to Hetty, grin beaming. There was absolutely no way Trevor could push it back into place. He could straighten the edge of the rug out maybe . “Let’s hope Mom and Dad don’t notice.” 

Hetty bit her lip to stifle the uproarious laugh bouncing around her ribs, eyes dancing with mirth. “I won't tell if you don't~” she responded with a delicate peck to the end of his nose. 

“These lips are sealed.” He placed a hand on hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Except for you, of course.”

“Thank you for another educational evening.” She cupped his cheek with a warm smile before standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Have a good night, Trevor.” 

Trevor gave a light bow of his head. Having watched loads of Bodices and Barrons , it was the polite thing to do after a perfect night. “Good night, Hetty.”

Chapter Text

“A 500 year old virgin.”

“43 times, that's a very real number.”

“You know, all of this could be solved with a threesome.” 

Sasappis sulked, arms crossed over his chest as he walked the corridors of Woodstone Manor. There wasn't anything wrong with respecting the women of his village, their courting traditions. He admitted to being curious, he'd watched a myriad of couples over the years, he knew the mechanics of the act inside and out (no pun intended) but something was preventing him from making the move. He had seen 500 years of assorted stolen glances, whispered promises, every touch charged with meaning. Enough to fill a hundred stories. He knew the rituals, the expectations, the steps that led from curiosity to desire, and ultimately to something deeper. And yet, when it came to taking that leap himself, some invisible barrier kept him rooted to the ground, his feet refusing to move forward. 

There was Jessica, but the logistics of doing it in a car were unknown to him, and they hadn't made it past second base. Though, it was a glorious second base, if Sasappis did say so himself. 

No, there was nothing for this problem but to face it head on, he decided. After the debacle with Thor and Flower and the awkward albeit sweet offer Flower had made, Sass decided enough was enough. Thor had been trapped in purgatory for a millennia with no end in sight, himself more than half that time. Perhaps he had been deluding himself into thinking the right person would come along, a perfect romance, the story he'd wanted with Shiki, but it was just as likely he was holding himself back from experiencing anything at all. Keeping himself stagnant—afraid to feel. He knew of a couple who had some experience overcoming such obstacles. He crossed the threshold of the TV room. “Hey, bro. I need your help, but you can't tell anyone .” 

Trevor lounged on the couch in his room, basking in the perks of being alone and the only ghost who could control the TV. He just finished a rewatch of The Cutting Edge when Sass walked in.

“Yeah, man! What’s up?” Trevor swung his legs to a sitting position, crossing them at the knee to hide…well everything.

Sasappis sat down heavily on the sofa, elbows resting on his thighs. He let out a deep breath, back resting against the cushions as he allowed his head to touch the hard wood, gaze shifting upward for just a moment. Well, here goes everything . “I've never had sex.” 

“Well…yeah.” Trevor rested his arm on the back of the couch, eyebrows furrowed at Sass’ despair. As if this was some big secret. “You stated you had sex exactly 43 times. People who’ve had sex don’t report the number of times like tally marks.”

Sass slowly lowered his face, looking ashen, eyes wide. “ What ?” he asked incredulously. “You knew? Does anyone else know? Does Hetty know?” 

“Oh, no, of course no one else knows, that’s your business. They don’t get to know that. I’ve just had enough experience that I know the tell-tale signs of a virgin.” He replied quieter, shrugging.

He breathed a little easier, unclenching his fists from where they sat pressed against his thighs. “It's just…well, it's one thing to be a 25 year old living virgin, and another thing to be a 500 hundred year old eternally cursed one.” 

Trevor shook his head. “You’re not cursed. You just haven’t found the right ghost…or ghosts to do it with yet.” He added the last part, grinning, after a drawn out pause.

“I don't want to have a threesome with Thor and Flower,” Sass replied, unamused. “I've known Thor too long, it would be…weird. To say the least. Plus, I don't want to be used as a crutch later if Flower starts to get cold feet, know what I mean?” 

“Whoa, who said anything about Thor and Flower?” Trevor scoffed. “They’re too wild for you, it’s your first time. You need a pair with more elegance, more precision. If you’re up for it.” 

“You're not even gonna wait for me to ask, are you?” He rolled his eyes, though a large part of him was relieved Trevor just seemed to get it . “And it isn't going to be weird for you? That I'm a guy, or that we're friends…like you're being very chill.” 

Trevor stared at him. He’s told his college stories a thousand times at Pete’s show and tell thing. “Bro…I’m bi. My college experience? Orgies, group sex, the whole shebang. I’ll be alright, but will you be okay?” 

“I think so,” he replied honestly. “All I know is I'm done waiting. You gotta clear it with Hetty first, though.” 

“Done.” Trevor grinned, looking Sass up and down, before standing up. A man about to lose his virginity deserved a little flirtation for build up. He left to find Hetty, leaving Sass stunned on the couch.

Hetty was sitting in the shaft of afternoon sun, eyes closed as she basked in the warm rays. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap and a little smile touched the blossom of her lips. As Trevor approached, Hetty opened her eyes, lips upturning more fully at the sight of him. “Hello, handsome.”

Trevor returned her smile. “Hello, sweetheart.”  He sat down on the couch across from the shaft chair, not wanting to interrupt this once a day experience by blocking the sunlight. He knew how coveted the shaft was and especially how much Hetty looked forward to it. “I have a proposition for you. A favor for Sass, actually.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. Not an unheard of pairing for mischief, but an odd one. “Sass usually tries to avoid your more crude band of merrymaking, what favour does he need?” 

“Well, in the time Sasappis has both been alive and dead he has never had sex.” Trevor explained, hand gestures enunciating his words. “So, I figured we could help him out.”

“Does Sasappis want to have sex?” she asked with a slightly confused and pinched expression. 

“Yes. With us.” He pointed between the two of them. “The three of us.” Trevor placed his foot on his knee, knowing full well Hetty would take notice regardless.

She licked her lips, turning to face him fully, her legs crossed at the knee, elbow resting on the arm of the chair, she looked the picture of nobility as she looked down her nose at him. “Why us? Surely he is closer with Thorfinn, and I cannot imagine Flower turning down that opportunity.” 

“Nah Thor and Sass are too close as friends and it’s his first time, that won’t end well. Plus, Thor and Flower are a little too wild for him.” Trevor explained, soft brown eyes then meeting hers. “He needs a controlled approach.” 

A slow smirk touched her lips as she surveyed him, amusement flickering in her sharp gaze. He sat forward on the sofa, his posture unusually stiff, hands folded in his lap with a studied patience that betrayed his eagerness. His eyes, dark and intent, were lowered, but she could feel the weight of his anticipation in the air between them. 

He wanted this. Desperately.  

Had he come straight to her from his conversation with Sasappis, the words still fresh in his mind, the idea taking root before he even fully understood the implications? She tilted her head, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him shift slightly, his fingers tightening around one another.  

“And what,” she finally murmured, her voice silken with intrigue, “do I get in return for acquiescing to this very unusual request?”  

Her tone was light, teasing even, but the question was anything but idle. She intended to savor this moment—his hesitation, his offer, and, ultimately, his surrender.

“My T.V. time for a week and whatever else you desire, obviously .” Trevor’s eyes glistened, locking with Hetty’s. For some reason, his eyes were her weakness, and Trevor had no qualms about using that to his advantage.

Her lips twisted, Hetty sucking on her cheek for a moment, as if his large doleful eyes weren't striking the very core of her heart. “Your T.V. time for a month, and my choice of positions within the threesome, and you have yourself a deal.” 

“A month , babe? Really?” Trevor frowned, brows furrowed. He would do it for Sass. He sighed,  “Fine. Any position your heart desires and my T.V. time for a month. It’s a deal.” 

“Good boy,” she smiled. “You may tell Sasappis to meet us tonight in our room at quarter to midnight.” As if to dismiss him, she turned her chin back toward the window, eyes falling shut to bask in the light once more. 

That evening, Sasappis, feeling far less brave than he had that afternoon, sneaked down to the basement and into the storage room before he could talk himself out of it. He spotted Trevor on the bed, lounging easily on the firm-looking mattress; his legs were crossed at the ankle, hands resting comfortably behind his head. Hetty had yet to arrive, but that was all right. Sasappis’ gaze travelled the length of Trevor's body; the soft glow of the lamp cast shadows along the sharp angles of his face—his strong jawline, the high cheekbones. His dark lashes were thick against his skin, his lips full and slightly parted, as if caught between words and silence. Sasappis always preferred Trevor this way, even when he was living. He had seen him countless times before, in laughter and frustration, in hurried moments and quiet ones. But somehow, here, in this stillness, him saw differently. The way the light played across his skin, the way his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm—it was all suddenly mesmerizing. His beauty wasn't just in the symmetry of his features, but in the way he existed, effortlessly, continued to exist even now—without a seeming care, and yet Sasappis knew that beneath that nonchalance held one of the purest hearts he had ever met. And it was sexy . 

His gaze drifted downward, past the broad lines of his shoulders and the sculpted plane of his abdomen, to where his legs stretched out before him. His cursed nudity was at last a blessing as Sass’ eyes roved over the powerful contours of his thighs—long, lean, and defined. The muscles beneath his skin shifted subtly with each movement, the play of light accentuating every carved detail. His calves tapered with an effortless elegance, strength and grace intertwined in the way they rested against the bed. There was something about the sheer ease of his posture, the way he owned the space without trying, that made it impossible to look away. 

Trevor woke, eyes half-lidded, to Sass thoroughly examining his thighs in mixed terror and impatience. Sass’ eyes roamed thoughtfully across each individual muscle. Trevor swore he could feel the trace of his irises across his skin. He fought against the twitch of his mouth, needing to see what Sass would do. Trevor assumed this was just for one and done sex because he had to, no other choice. But , his attentive looks, as if Trevor were a work of art, a story that needed reading. Sass found him attractive . He kept his voice low. “Like what you see, Sasappis?~”

Sass startled, scowling as he looked up at Trevor smirking over at him. “Ah, so much better when you're silent.” 

“Feel free to silence me~” Trevor smirked. Sass had agreed to this. “It’s all you, bud.” He shrugged, turning to his side and resting his head on his elbow to see Sass’ reactions to him flirting.

The storyteller narrowed his eyes, feeling a faint blush rise in his cheeks as the other man looked him up and down. “Is that how it worked with Hetty?” he asked with a smirk, sitting on the bed, pushing him over from his nonchalant position with his hip. “You appealed to her desire to shut your mouth~?” 

“Yes, actually. It’s the T-Money Special.” It was Trevor’s turn to blush. Obviously Sass was always quick with the comebacks, but he could use that power to flirt ? With zero previous practice? Come on! “It works every time. Clearly~” 

Sas tilted his head. Interesting. He leaned in, deliberately close yet not quite touching, an irritatingly effective technique he'd learned from Jessica, and then pecked a soft kiss to the end of his nose. 

“Mmm easy, bud. I know you’re excited, but don’t tempt me into making out with your handsome face before Hetty gets here.” Trevor grinned, tingles trailing down his spine at how eager Sass was. And at how well he was carrying out his own foreplay. “You’ll get me in trouble.” 

“So that's your dynamic. might've guessed,” he laughed, warm hand touching Trevor’s knee. 

Hetty poked her head in, spotting the two men on the bed, their backs to the door. She smirked, noting how close they already were before striding inside. “My, my, beginning without me~” ”

“ He started it!” Pride beamed within his tone. Trevor looked Sass up and down, a smirk on his face. “Very well, I might add.” 

“ He started it,” Sass taunted, frowning, arms crossed over his chest, as Hetty watched, amused. “Child.”

Hetty crossed the room in three quick strides, plucking Trevor's tie up and pulling him to his feet. “You're blaming him? Come now, darling, that's hardly sporting.” 

“I was praising him. I was impressed.” Trevor said less boisterously, distracted by the way Hetty forced him to his feet by his tie. “He’s a good flirt.” 

Hetty's attention turned to Sass, looking at him appraisingly. "Unsurprising, in a way, he's always been a great observer of people. Though, it isn't difficult to rattle your cage.” Her playfully mean gaze snapped back to his, fingers twirling his tie. 

Trevor gasped, jaw dropping. “That’s not… always true.” He scoffed, eyes looking up from Hetty’s fingers to meet her eyes. “I’ll be a handful if it means I get to hear that cute noise you make when you get flustered~”

Sass always enjoyed stirring up drama with Hetty, and what better way to raise someone's blood pressure than between two silver tongues? With one fluid movement, Sasappis stood from the bed behind Trevor, tucking himself against his back warmly. He pressed a feather-light kiss behind his ear and whispered. “Hetty's here now, bro . I thought we were going to begin?” 

Trevor bit back a second gasp, but was positive the sudden clench and melting of his muscles against Sass had given him away. Fuck , Trevor underestimated him. The nerves on his neck shivered beneath Sass’ whispers, the perfect soothing voice for a storyteller. “Aren’t I supposed to be teaching you?”

“Yes, I thought so too,” Sass rejoined, nibbling on his ear as Hetty kissed along his jaw on the other side. 

With a gentle hand, Hetty guided Trevor's chin to the left, pushing his lips closer to Sasappis’ own. 

Trevor gazed past his shoulder into Sass’ eyes. He glanced at his lips, eyes flickering back to meet Sass’ once more. Trevor closed the space between them, softly kissing Sasappis, keeping the movement of his lips slow enough to last all night.

Though Jessica had been his first kiss, he certainly had learned quite a lot. He softened his lips, kissing Trevor back with equal leisure. Sass’ fingers ghosted along Trevor’s jaw before settling at his cheek, the warmth of his palm grounding them both. With gentle insistence, he guided Trevor to turn fully toward him, deepening the kiss with a quiet confidence.  

Like a dance, Hetty had stepped back, her movements as careful and deliberate as they always were. The air between them was thick with anticipation, charged with an energy that sent a shiver down her spine. As Trevor slowly turned into Sass’ embrace, his body yielding to the pull of the moment, Hetty felt her breath catch. It was more thrilling than she had expected—more intimate, more electric.  

The way Sass’ strong hands cradled Trevor’s face, the slow, reverent press of their lips, the unspoken hunger that simmered just beneath the surface—it all sent a wave of heat through her, pooling low in her belly. She pressed her knees together, her thighs quivering with a rush of something she was quite familiar with, something heady and overwhelming.  

Trevor’s hand grasped Sass’s hips instinctively, gently pulling their bodies flush to each other. He trailed his hands upwards, wrapping an arm around the small of his back and the other around his shoulders, already yearning to feel the warm, strong skin beneath the tanned animal hides. Trevor deepened their kiss, humming against Sasappis’ lips, teasing the tip of his tongue against the soft pink skin. 

Trevor’s gaze shifted to Hetty, feeling the absence of her lips against his neck. Her enraptured, wide-eyed expression, hungry. Pure heat ran down his spine from just her stare. He didn’t expect Hetty to enjoy this as much as she seemed to be. He winked at her.

Sass playfully nipped Trevor’s bottom lip as he pulled away, the brief sting leaving a tingle in its wake. His dark eyes, heavy with heat, followed Trevor’s gaze toward Hetty. A slow smirk curled his lips as he reached for her, fingers gliding over her delicate hand before gently tugging her into their embrace. With a tender touch, he brushed a stray curl from her cheek, his fingertips lingering against her flushed skin before he dipped his head, capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.  

Hetty let out a soft squeak, the sound swallowed between their shared breath. Her palm rested against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his unnecessary breath beneath her fingertips. The silky strands of his long hair brushed against her skin, contrasting with the firm press of his lips—different from Trevor’s touch, yet equally intoxicating. A shiver ran through her as she melted into the kiss, savouring the new sensation, the thrill of something both unfamiliar and deeply pleasurable.

Trevor stared at the heat within Hetty and Sass’ deepened and smouldering kiss. A twinge of jealousy stirred in his gut, a sharp pang that made his breath hitch—but it was fleeting, dissolving into something far more intoxicating as his gaze roamed over the sight before him. The subtle heave of Hetty’s chest, the soft, shuddering exhale that parted her lips before they melted against Sass’s again, sent a jolt of fire through him. Her elegance was effortless, the way her lips arched and moulded against Sass’ as if savouring every second.  

It was enticing. Maddening.  

Trevor felt himself sinking, felt the telltale pull of something dangerous and delicious, a trap he had no desire to escape. His pulse quickened, heat coiling in his stomach as he yearned—not just for them, but for the sheer, electric intensity of it all.

Hetty pulled away slowly from their kiss, looking at Trevor with a soft smirk, then back to Sass as her arms draped over both their shoulders. “Have you thought about what you'd like to try, Sasappis?” 

Trevor’s jaw dropped, eyes flickering to hers. What happened to their deal ? He found realization within the warming blue of her eyes. The corners of his lips curled into an excited grin. Good for her. 

“Or perhaps, are there any hard nos?” She took his hand in hers and led him to the bed. “After our first tryst, Trevor insisted on this little chat, and though I detested every vulnerable second of it, I will admit it was helpful, especially for someone of my limited experience.”

“But you had had sex before, Hetty. You'd mothered children,” Sass pointed out, as he sat by her side, Trevor joining with a slight hop onto the mattress. 

“Well,” she smiled, looking at Trevor as she reached for his hand. “I quickly learned that there is quite the difference between sex for procreation and sex for pleasure .”

Trevor’s features softened into further joy at her words. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. He would save the more sentimental stuff for a later pillow talk. “What makes you feel good, Sass?”

“Well, Jessica and I didn't get past kissing and some over-the-clothes touching…” Sass’ gaze flickered down to Trevor's bare thighs again, running the length of the firm muscles before they snapped forward once more. 

Trevor hummed, intently watching the path of his gaze against his skin. “Do you want to touch me Sass?~”

His pulse jumped in his throat at Trevor's tone, and he nodded as his hands came to rest against the other man's sculpted thighs. Sasappis shifted, now resting slightly between Trevor's knees, fingertips caressing slow circles that teased their way up and over the outer thigh working their way inward. 

Henrietta, meanwhile, had gone around the other end of the bed, shifting Trevor forward so that his back was resting against her with her sitting to support Sass’ exploration. 

Trevor’s muscles spread, then melted into a forest of igniting nerves beneath his curious and cautious touch. Heat simmered within his cock, growing as each of Sass’ fingers teased closer. He leaned lightly against Hetty, neck arching to see the darkening of her pupils.

Hetty played with his hair, peppering kisses against his temple as she watched Sasappis inch ever closer towards the slight tenting of Trevor's button-down shirt. Trevor’s breath hitched, but there was no urgency in the moment, no rush. Just a slow unravelling. As Sass’ fingers wrapped around Trevor's cock, Hetty pulled her love into a kiss. 

Sasappis let his fingers explore, felt the heat of Trevor’s arousal against his palm, firm and pulsing with each subtle twitch of need. His grip was unschooled but steady, the rhythm deliberate, measured off Trevor’s reactions: the slight shift of his hips tilting forward in a silent plea for more, the soft, breathy sighs which escaped Trevor’s parted lips, each one a quiet surrender, a sweet offering to the pleasure curling between them. Hetty’s teal silk cascaded around them, cocooning them in its cool embrace, a striking contrast to the heat simmering between their bodies.  

A smirk flickered at the corners of Sasappis’ lips as he let his thumb brush over the sensitive head. He gathered the faint bead of slickness there and spread it in slow, torturous circles. The reaction was instant—a sharp, shaky inhale, followed by a low, desperate exhale, Trevor’s body trembling just slightly under the teasing pressure.  

Above them, Hetty watched with quiet delight, her fingers threading lazily through Trevor’s hair as she pressed another kiss to his temple. “Such sweet little sounds,” she murmured, her voice warm and indulgent, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through him.  

Trevor watched Sass continue to languidly swirl circles around his sensitive head with his thumb, stroking the base of his hardening cock in tandem with his free hand. Hetty’s voice fluttered in his ear. Her sweet, dark toned praises in an overstimulating harmony with Sass’ exploration of his arousal. Trevor’s voice rattled as a moan escaped his lips. He felt his face growing red, realizing this was the first time Sasappis had seen him and heard him like this . Hetty seemed to be having a similar realization, her low chuckle teasing in his ear.

Sasappis looked up at Trevor, smirking at his red cheeks and the way he bit his kiss-swollen lips. It felt good to have the over-confident frat bro on the back foot like this. “How about this,” he murmured conversationally, turning his attentions to Hetty as he languidly stroked Trevor’s aching member. “I fuck him and he fucks you. That's possible, right?” 

Heat radiated straight down to Henrietta’s toes, her 

fingers curling against Trevor's shoulders as a mewling purr rumbled in her chest. She looked at Trevor for confirmation, admittedly unsure about how such a thing might be done. 

Trevor’s eyes widened, nearly whining at Sass’ suggestion. This could very much be done . Trevor hadn’t had the pleasure of actually being the lucky Pierre before, but this was a night of exploration for all parties, it seemed. Pleading eyes looked up at his lover and he nodded wildly in confirmation. His cock throbbed in overwhelming need to be taken by both of them in this way.

Hetty laughed at his eagerness and shifted slightly to kiss down his jaw and neck. “Use your words, you overeager harlot.” She gave his hair a playful tug, teeth grazing his pulse point. 

Sass took his cue from Hetty, speeding his strokes, his other hand kneading and rolling his sac before curious fingers sunk lower across his perineum toward his twitching entrance. 

Pleasure buzzed down his spine at Hetty calling him a slut in her older, prudier way. “Please, please. ” Trevor whined. Sass’ fingers brushed against the delicate and sensitive skin, Trevor’s hips urgently rolling in time with the other man’s strokes. 

Sass looked up at Hetty, dark eyebrows raised as his finger teased the tight ring of muscles. Hetty licked her lips, fingers wrapped around Trevor's chiselled jaw, her eyes twinkling in the low light. She reached down, stilling Sass’ hand and bringing it forward. Trevor whined as his cock was left bereft of touch, Hetty's smirk only widening at the sound. She brought Sass’ fingers to Trevor's lips, both men watching her movements with rapt attention. “Be a good boy, Trevor, and open wide.” 

Sass might've found the tone a little simpering, but the feel of Trevor's hot tongue against his fingers shot immediately to his dick, the sensation so shocking, all he could let out was a soft little, “Nnngh…” as Trevor worked his tongue around him. 

Trevor hummed around Sass’ finger, his lips sliding and sucking slowly down to the knuckle to make another sweet sound overflow from Sass’ mouth. Trevor’s darkened eyes flickered to meet his, wondering what sounds the ghost would make if Sass’ fingers were his cock instead.

Sass’ knees nearly buckled beneath him, his other hand steadying himself on Trevor's chest. Trevor opened his mouth, laving up and down the digits as he gripped Sass’ wrist firmly, making sure to sweep and swirl his tongue around, up, through, and back down three fingers with a sloppy sound before pulling off with a wet pop. 

Hetty felt her heart might beat straight out of her corset, the organ rattling around the steel cage like a trapped butterfly. She tried not to rock against the rounded heel of her boot pinned beneath her dress and the mattress, creating a delicious friction between the wet silk satin and her clit. 

Trevor began turning to kneel on his hands and knees, but before all Sass could see was his bare, muscular ass, Trevor leaned forward and captured the other man’s lips hungrily. He teased at Sass’s lower lip with his teeth before leaning back. “I’ll tell you exactly what to do. Don’t worry, you’ll do great.” Trevor winked, facing his body towards Hetty’s gaze, her skirts splayed before him. Again, he leaned in, his lips brushing against her reddening cheeks and whispered. “See something you like that made you move like that?~” Before she could reply, he sank onto his hands and knees in front of her.

“Rather a few things,” she murmured, spreading her legs as she gathered her skirts behind herself. She knew her thighs were slick with arousal, and she was unashamed to admit the sight of the two of them together was quite a bit more provocative than she had first assumed. 

Sass sat back on his knees as Trevor and Hetty got into their new positions, palm pressing against his own aching need as Trevor's ass was presented to him. Sasappis reached out, kneading the round flesh.

Trevor pressed his ass against Sass’ hands. “You’re gonna get me ready. Press one of those wet fingers inside me, slowly . Then work your way up, hot stuff .” A teasing lilt to his voice as he gave the -already talented- 500-year-old virgin instructions. He looked up at Hetty briefly and then shifted his eyes to her drenched bloomers and her throbbing clit, soaked and ready for him to tease through the very convenient hole. 

Sass chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, laced with amusement as he rolled his eyes at the pet name. His touch was deliberate, fingers ghosting down Trevor’s lower back before splaying over the curve of his ass, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he slowly parted his cheeks.

With a teasing slowness, Sass traced a single fingertip against the twitching entrance, feeling the way it fluttered beneath his touch. He circled the tight ring in lazy, patient strokes, coaxing it to relax, his breath warm against Trevor’s skin. A shiver coursed through Trevor, his body instinctively responding, and with the barest pressure, Sass let his finger slip past the initial resistance, the heat of Trevor’s body pulling him in.  

Trevor sighed, grinding his ass back against Sass’ finger to coax him further. “Very good, now try two.” Balanced on one hand, Trevor brushed his own fingers against the wet fabric on Hetty’s thighs. He ran his thumb calculatedly downwards, teasing the perimeter of the seam separating her bare skin.

Hetty moaned softly, her hands coming up to caress Trevor's face gently. She rolled her hips against his touch. 

Sass pulled his finger out, circling with two fingers, feeling more resistance. “I worry it's a little dry…” He spread his cheeks, fully exposing his hole before he spat directly down and rubbed with two fingers. The muscle began to relax and Sass pressed two fingers inside slowly. 

“Mmm…well done. Fuck me with your fingers for a bit…” Trevor rolled his hips against Sass’ fingers. A low buzz of arousal spread with the stretch of his entrance. Trevor teased the tip of a finger against the skin of Hetty’s labia, leisurely drawing them upwards and around her clit.

“Stop teasing me, Trevor, being distracted is no excuse,” Hetty commanded with a soft growl. 

Sass stretched his fingers, rolling and curling them in Trevor's tight heat experimentally. It was thrilling to watch them go in and out of Trevor's entrance, hearing his soft little sounds, and then Hetty's selfish murmur. He wondered if he could stir up a little more trouble.

His other hand caressed around to Trevor's front, wrapping around his cock once again to stroke in time with the movement of his fingers. 

“Oh fuck !” he yelped, the sudden added stimulation sent shockwaves fluttering down Trevor’s nerves. His body shook, including his calculated hand twitching just as his thumb was caressing her clit.

Hetty whined softly, hips grinding against the teasing touch. She looked over Trevor's shoulder to see Sass smirking at Trevor's reaction. What fun! She thread her fingers through Trevor’s hair, giving a firm tug back to gain his attention on her, his hand dropped to her hip to steady himself, dark eyes blown wide with lust as they stared desperately into her own. “Since Sasappis seems to need your instructions no longer, why don't you put your mouth to better use, hmm?” 

“I don't know, Hetty,” Sass cut in smoothly, though the deep rumble of his tone indicated he wasn't as unaffected as his cadence suggested, “I'm not sure the frat bro can handle two things at once.” 

“Of course I can. Who is the only one with threesome experience here?” Trevor scoffed, fully aware that Hetty’s firm grasp on his hair, his head wrenched back with his neck exposed, clashed with his taunting comeback. 

“Touché,” Hetty murmured, pushing his head closer to her quivering wetness. “Time to put your mouth where your money is.” 

Trevor arched a brow at her, his expression laced with smug satisfaction at Hetty’s verbal confirmation of his skills—something she had, on more than one occasion, deemed magical in their past dalliances. The weight of her praise settled comfortably in his chest, but he didn’t dwell on it long.  

Her hand threaded through his hair, fingers tightening as she guided him forward, pressing his mouth flush against her soaked folds. The heat of her arousal pulsed against his lips, her scent—a mix of sweetness and something intoxicatingly familiar—filled his senses, making his blood thrum with need. 

Trevor hummed in satisfaction, the vibrations rippling through her as he parted her with his tongue, dragging it slowly along the slickness pooling between her thighs. He pressed teasing, lingering kisses against her clit, flicking his tongue over the swollen bud before trailing down to her soaking entrance. His mouth worked with practised precision, savouring the way she tasted—warm, rich, intoxicating.  

Above him, Hetty trembled, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps, her body arching into his touch as if silently begging for more. Trevor smirked against her heat, pleased with the way she responded to him, the way she always had—utterly and completely.  

Sass watched them for a moment as he continued to stroke in and out of Trevor's hole, his other hand working his cock with a languid rhythm. As Trevor pressed two fingers inside Hetty, Sasappis pushed three inside Trevor, wondering if the increased trembling in his thighs, or the uptempo pulsing in the organ in his hands meant he was getting close. 

Trevor moaned against Hetty’s clit, heat swelling in his abdomen with each stroke and curl of Sass’ hands and fingers. The tremble within his body surged upwards into his hand, his own fingers twitching as they curled against Hetty’s muscles.

Each measured stroke of his cock brought him closer and closer to an edge. The delicate sway of Sass’ skin against his was calculated and teasing. His bro seemed determined to make him fold. And they would need lube. Trevor’s fingers synched with the movement of Sass’ fingers within his ass and grip against his cock. 

Hetty's fingers clenched in Trevor’s hair, hips rolling down against him greedily. She could tell by the trembling in his touch, and the breathy little moans escaping his throat that he was close. “You always feel so good, darling,” she praised softly, grinding down against his tongue. 

Trevor’s tongue lapped against the grinding roll of Hetty’s clit. He moaned at her praises, swallowing the taste of her. With one last slide of Sass’ increasingly agile fingers, Trevor came into his hand.

With a final kiss to Hetty's nether lips, Trevor slowly pulled away, smirking at the needy little whine that left her throat. He turned his cheek, looking over his shoulder at Sass, eyes smouldering as he looked at the tenting in the other man's… “What do you have going on there, Sass? Is it like a loincloth situation, or—?” 

Sasappis rolled his eyes, though the subtle twist of his lips betrayed his amusement. “Yes, it is,” he murmured, his voice carrying a dry edge of sarcasm. As he pulled his sticky hand away from the other man, he held it up, tilting it slightly to examine the way the dim light caught the sheen of semen clinging to his fingers. The fluid glistened, and stretched in thin strands between his digits before breaking, leaving a warm slickness against his skin. He flexed his fingers, feeling the texture as he withdrew his touch from Trevor with deliberate slowness, his movements unhurried.

Shifting his focus, Sasappis reached down and parted the layers of fabric between his tunic shirt and breechcloth. Breath came a little heavier as he wrapped his coated fingers around himself, slicking his cock with the remnants of their shared heat. The sensation sent a subtle shiver through him, a small sigh slipping past his lips. Meanwhile, Trevor positioned himself more fully between Hetty's legs, the redhead already shifting eagerly, rolling her hips in a slow, languid motion that sent a ripple of anticipation through them all. 

Trevor smirked, enjoying the needy shutters in her voice, the twitching of her hole ghosting against his head. “Absolutely stunning .” His voice a low growl as he pushed his head slowly inside her.

The familiar stretch of him felt heavenly as he pushed slowly inside her, a delicious ache blooming with every inch that filled her. Hetty wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her fingers tracing the ridges of material beneath his jacket as she pressed her lips to his jaw, then lower to the curve of his neck, savouring the way his pulse hammered against her mouth. His hips met hers, a perfect flush of heat and want, but he didn't move—not yet. She wiggled beneath him, a soft, impatient whimper leaving her lips when he refused to take the hint. But then she felt it—something deeper, a subtle pressure that wasn’t just him, a slow, insistent push forward. Sasappis. 

A shiver ran through her at the realization, heat pooling low in her belly. Never one to be patient, Hetty tightened her muscles around Trevor’s cock, drawing a strangled noise from his lips, his breath hot against her throat. She smirked, her nails digging into his shoulders as she whispered, “How does he feel, beloved? Do you feel him stretch you open, even as you do the same to me?” The words dripped with wicked delight, her body pulsing around him, revelling in the layered sensation of pleasure, of connection, of being utterly, deliciously filled.

“He feels incredible .” Trevor steadied the tremor in his breath, careful to not convey the all-consuming and overwhelming heat balled up inside of him at being both filled and filling. He could feel Sasappis’ legs shaking behind him. His fingers were sunk into Trevor’s sides, his hips flush against the younger ghost, unmoving. The first-timer must be feeling a plethora of new feelings. It was time for Trevor to introduce even more. He leisurely rocked his hips backwards, feeling the stretch and slide of Sass’ hard cock inside him. It had been decades since he was last fucked by a dick, and Sass’ was a lovely reintroduction, so far. “I’ll fuck myself on your cock for you, if this is too much~”

Sass’ grip tightened on Trevor’s hips, fingers digging into firm flesh as he fought to steady himself, his jaw locked tight. The heat between them was unbearable, his body taut with the effort of restraint. A low, shuddering breath left him as he pressed his forehead against Trevor’s shoulder, desperate to regain control. “Just give me a second, Trevor,” he murmured, his voice strained, each syllable edged with barely contained need. His chest rose and fell in short, uneven pants, his pulse hammering in his ears.

Hetty, sprawled beneath them, watched with hooded eyes, her lips curling into a lazy, knowing smirk. She loved seeing this impatient, bratty side of her lover—especially since, for once, it wasn’t directed at her. She wiggled her hips, arching beneath them, pressing up in a slow, teasing roll. 

“Take your time, then, newbie~” He teased, continuing to rock against the other ghost’s cock, training his eyes back onto Hetty. “And what are you smiling at?” Trevor smirked, grinding his hips forward in the return movement of his ass against Sassapis, Trevor’s cock sliding teasingly slow against her aching muscles. 

“You,” she replied breathlessly, cupping his cheek. 

Sass lifted his head from between Trevor's shoulder blades, his breath warm against the expensive fabric. His gaze flickered down, catching the besotted look exchanged between the pair beneath him—a silent conversation of want, devotion, and desperation, and something deeper that he didn't think they had neither name nor knowledge of.

His fingers curled into the sheets as he withdrew, just a fraction, teasing, testing the edge of his own restraint. The absence was a whisper of sensation, a fleeting moment that left them all yearning. Then, with a measured thrust, he sank back in, shuddering at the heat that clenched around him. A low groan escaped his lips, swallowed by the humid air and the muffled cries of the lovers tangled beneath him.

Trevor moaned with Sass’ careful thrusts, his head falling forward against Hetty’s shoulder, his own thrusts synced, filling her with matching heat. He turned his head, keeping his friend’s confidence boosted the only way he knew how: more teasing. “‘Atta boy, Sass. Think you can keep up with us~?”

Sasappis growled, thighs already trembling with desperation as Trevor's tight heat clenched around him. He sped his thrusts, punctuating each with a downward grind. He raised one leg from its kneeling position, planting it beside Trevor's thigh. 

Hetty threw her head back, her hands following quickly to muffle the loud, breathy moans falling from her lips. 

Pure molten arousal sizzled and filled Trevor’s muscles with every slide of Sass’s throbbing, fairly decent-sized cock. Trevor’s hands fell to the sides of Hetty’s head. “Yes, like that, yes! ” He moaned his praise, the force of Sass’ determined and strong thrusts ricocheting his own throbbing cock within Hetty’s heat.

They continued thrusting in a perfectly timed rhythm, each movement sending shudders of pleasure through Hetty’s already overstimulated body. The delicious slide of Trevor’s cock pulling out was immediately followed by the firm, insistent thrust of Sass pushing in, stretching and filling her in a way that left her breathless. Every slick, deep stroke sent a shockwave of sensation curling through her, her nerves burning with pleasure so intense it bordered on unbearable. She moaned, writhing beneath them, her body trembling between their relentless pace.  

The hand whose palm wasn’t currently muffling her cries, lodged firmly between her teeth to keep herself grounded, fumbled blindly down her silk bodice and wrestled fervently through layers of skirt, her fingers seeking the swollen, aching bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. The moment she touched it, liquid heat roared through her veins, turning to fire in her belly, her body tightening like a bowstring. Her breath hitched. Pleasure nearly stole her voice, and she barely managed a ragged gasp before words tumbled from her lips in a broken, desperate whimper, “Oh, darling… I don’t think I—oh, fuck—”  

Her body clenched around them, the rising crescendo of pleasure teetering on the edge of something devastatingly sweet, threatening to consume her whole.

Hearing Hetty swear with such wanton abandon, her usually refined voice now rough and breathless with pleasure, sent a jolt of pure need through Sass. Her cheeks were flushed a deep rose, blue eyes wide and dark with raw desire, lips parted as she gasped through the pleasure wracking her body. The sight of her unravelling pushed Sass over the edge. He bit down hard against the stiff shoulder pad of Trevor's suit, muffling a ragged groan as his hips snapped forward in three desperate, stuttering thrusts. A deep, filthy moan escaped him as he came, pleasure rolling through him in waves, leaving him shuddering against Trevor’s warm, steady presence.

Trevor’s body trembled violently, his muscles taut with the overwhelming sensations flooding through him. The sudden rush of wet warmth spreading deep inside him made his breath hitch, a guttural moan escaping his lips as pleasure crashed over him like a tidal wave. The raw, unrestrained groans of his lovers surrounded him, their voices thick with ecstasy, fueling the fire burning deep in his core.  

Hetty’s inner walls fluttered around him in tight, rhythmic contractions, her body clenching greedily as she rode out the aftershocks of her own release. The molten heat of her slick depths squeezed him with such intensity that he had no choice but to surrender. With a strangled cry, his climax tore through him, a shuddering wave of bliss that left him breathless. His hands dug into her thighs, his hips jerking in helpless, instinctual thrusts. 

They collapsed together in a pile of limbs, Sass taking the space in the middle with Trevor and Hetty resting against his chest on either side. They caught their -admittedly unnecessary- breaths, each grinning ear to ear. 

“How was that for a first time?” Trevor winked, tracing a finger down his chest and to his ribs. He glanced up at his friend's face, genuinely searching his features for how he was feeling. Sass deserved a safe, but not coddling experience. This was nothing to be ashamed about. Trevor wouldn’t let his bro think of his first time as being shameful. He hoped he succeeded. “Teasing aside, Sass, I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did,” he replied honestly, tone soft and sincere. “I would say…thank you? but that feels weird, so…” He sat up and placed a gentle kiss on each of their lips before scooting out of the bed. He looked back as they immediately formed an embrace and chuckled to himself as he phased through the basement door. He wondered if they realised yet how hopelessly in love they were. 

Chapter Text

Trevor had spent months obsessing over this, throwing himself into research, planning, scheming, and purchasing—every detail accounted for, every variable considered. It had to be perfect. It had to impress. It had to satisfy his gilded age girlfriend, whose particular brand of greed extended to more than just material wealth. Hetty liked control, extravagance, and excess, and Trevor? Trevor liked giving her exactly what she wanted.  

Now, finally, everything was set into motion.  

“I am never opening packages for you again,” Bela grumbled, tossing the box aside like it had personally offended her. 

Nestled within the packaging was a highly specialised grinding device, custom-designed with Hetty in mind. Given the unique circumstances of being, well, dead , they were rather limited in their options for entertainment of the personal variety. But Trevor, ever the problem solver, had spent weeks conducting experiments. After a few strategic tests, a bit of hush money slipped to Bela, and a whole lot of thinking outside the box, he’d cracked the code.  

The rules of ghost physics were weird, but one thing was clear: objects attached or secured to furniture were considered Horizontal Plane or Floor and thus became solid. A simple extrapolation of his ability allowed him to tweak this effect just enough to support a vibrating mechanism. It was the perfect loophole—one that, if executed properly, would revolutionize ghostly pleasure forever.  

U said youd open & set it up 😊, B - Trevor texted as quickly as he could. 

“A deal's a deal,” Bela laughed with a shrug, gaze lingering into the open air. “Hope Hetty realises she's one lucky lady. How has that been?” 

🥵👏❤️❤️❤️

“ Awesome, super happy for you. Also, the thing I will now delete from my brain is done, and you owe me so much money!” 

Yea yea, sent you the $10k already 💸. Enjoy the new Gucci 😎

“Oh, honey, no. Mama’s getting Prada.”  

Trevor smirked, sending back a few approving emojis as she sauntered off, no doubt already picturing her next purchase. Honestly? Worth every penny. He turned his attention back to his masterpiece, admiring the soft silicone mounds.

Peacock blue—he hadn’t picked the color at random. There was something filthy in the contrast he had planned, something intentional . The deep, lavish blue had always suited her, like the silk of her favorite dress or the cold flash of her eyes when she was about to put him in his place. It was a color with weight, with history, with sharp edges. Regal. Dominant.

But baby pink?

That was the shade he couldn’t stop thinking about. The soft, flushed heat between her legs, the way it would look streaked wet and swollen, glistening under the low light. He wanted to see it— really see it. The obscene contrast of her cunt, flushed and needy, pressed against the smooth, artificial blue of the toy he’d made for her. The two colors weren’t just complementary—they were striking . Unnatural. Debauched.

He wanted to see her, beautiful and naked—or maybe even better, in that innocent little white chemise that barely hid anything, with those cotton stockings hugging her thighs just right. She would spread her hips, the blue shimmering while her soft pink clit throbbed . He wanted her to grind against that color, to leave it slick and messy, make it fun. That was the point. Not elegance. Not aesthetics. Enjoyment . Trevor wanted her to have this pleasure for the sake of itself. Without strings, or judgements. Something simply for her. 

Let the blue remind her of her power. He only hoped she would indulge in sharing the decadence of the pink with him. 

—

“I have something for you.”  

Hetty turned at the sound of Trevor’s voice, her gaze settling on him with polite curiosity. He was smirking, that usual air of self-satisfaction pervasive, but there was something else—an undercurrent of excitement, anticipation. He was up to something.  

She arched a perfectly sculpted brow, folding her hands before her. “Oh?”  

She knew Trevor was a clever young man in his own peculiar, modern way. He was resourceful, cunning, and maddeningly persistent when he set his mind to something. But the logistics of gift-giving among the dead? That was a challenge even she couldn’t quite imagine him overcoming. And yet, here he stood, practically vibrating with pride, as if he’d cracked the secret to alchemy itself.  

Hetty’s gaze flicked over him, taking in the way his fingers twitched, the way his weight shifted from one foot to the other. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “Well, then,” she drawled, tilting her chin ever so slightly. “I must admit, you have piqued my interest. Where is this something you have for me?” 

He turned on his heels and strode forward toward their spot in the basement, their room, their place. He knew she would follow, he did not even need to hear the click of her heels to know it. When they arrived at the room Hetty did not immediately see the chair nor its passenger. 

Instead, her gaze settled on Trevor, a slow, knowing smirk curling her lips. “Did someone just miss me?” she teased, amusement laced in her tone.  

Trevor chuckled, relishing the game. He stepped aside with a flourish, revealing the chair tucked further back in the room—its polished wooden frame betraying nothing of the sinful little secret it now held. Nestled against the seat, waiting like an invitation as they approached, was his creation.  

Hetty’s eyes flickered between Trevor and the contraption before her, curiosity burning within their depths. The chair itself was unassuming—wooden, without arms and well-worn, the kind one might find in any respectable 19th century home—but it was the device nestled against the seat that drew her attention. Smooth blue silicone, molded into a strange and undeniably modern shape. A stark contrast to the world she had once known, but one she was certainly willing to embrace.  

“And what, pray tell, is this?” she asked, her voice measured, but with an unmistakable edge of intrigue.  

Trevor grinned, his hands sliding into his pockets as he rocked on his heels, knowing he had her exactly where he wanted. “A gift. For you,” he said smoothly, then, with a lazy smirk, added, “And kinda for me too, in a way.”  

Hetty arched a brow, already enjoying whatever devilry he was about to suggest.  

“It’s like the washing machine,” he continued, stepping closer, voice dropping just enough to send a pleasant shiver down her spine. “You sit on it, it vibrates, you pleasure yourself…” He let the words hang in the air before finishing, his smirk deepening. “And if you’re down, I’d really like to watch you pleasure yourself.”  

Hetty barely registered her own reaction before it overtook her—cheeks blooming pink, breath hitching as delight flooded her senses. Her hands flew to her mouth, then just as quickly reached for him, arms thrown around his neck in a rare display of unchecked excitement.  

“Oh, you clever thing!” she gasped, pulling back just enough to cup his face, her eyes practically sparkling. “Does it really work?!”  

Trevor let out a pleased laugh, his hands settling at her waist as he looked down at her, impossibly smug. “Babe, I tested it like, a lot . I mean, not personally, not this one anyway… but—listen, ghost physics are weird, but I figured out the rules. Trust me, this thing? Solid . And it vibrates.”  

Hetty exhaled a soft, breathless laugh, stepping away from him only to trace a fingertip through the device. A proper, well-thought-out, utterly decadent gift. He had gone through so much trouble for her, had turned his undeniably sharp mind toward something entirely for her pleasure—and he wanted to watch ?  

Oh, this was a man who understood what it meant to court a lady.  

Turning back to Trevor, she straightened her posture, smoothing her skirts with a practiced grace. “Well then,” she murmured, voice rich with anticipation. “I suppose there is only one way to properly express my gratitude.”  

Trevor grinned, taking a step closer. “Oh yeah?”  

Hetty smirked, fingers trailing up the buttons of his suit jacket as she leaned in. “I shall have to demonstrate just how very, very pleased I am with my gift.”

—

Pleasure, to Hetty, was not simply a thing to be experienced—it was a thing to be mastered , controlled, savoured. She had spent her life understanding the intricacies of power, the delicate balance between indulgence and restraint, and she applied that knowledge here as she did with all things. The art of pleasure was no different than the art of conversation at a grand ball, the layered seduction of a whispered promise behind a lace fan. It was meant to be teased , stretched until the very limits of endurance frayed like the finest silk, but never— never —rushed.

So when she finally lowered herself onto the seat of her new favourite chair, settling in with the kind of deliberate poise that had once made gentlemen weak at the knees, she did not take what was offered to her. No—she claimed it, owned it, bent it to her will with all the hedonistic greed of someone who knew exactly what they were owed .

Trevor, eager and expectant, had perhaps foolishly imagined she would demand he crank the device up to its highest setting immediately, that she would ride it hard and fast, gasping his name as she shattered apart under the weight of sensation. But Hetty was not a woman to be hurried.

No, she started on the lowest setting.

A barely-there hum, a whisper of vibration, just enough to tease where she needed it most. She let out a soft, pleased sigh as she settled in, her fingers smoothing down the front of her skirts, not to adjust, but simply for the pure luxury of the moment. She rocked against the gentle pulse beneath her, slow and indulgent, rolling her hips just enough to feel the pressure, to enjoy it without succumbing to it.

Trevor, who sat on the bed, arms crossed, was already going mad. “Babe,” he groaned after a few moments, watching as her lashes fluttered, a small, knowing smile curving her lips. “You do know it has higher settings, right?”

“Oh, of course,” she murmured, voice like honey, eyes half-lidded in bliss. “But why ever would I rush? The anticipation is everything , my dear boy. You may turn it up to a two, please, but no higher—ooohhnnng.”

And so she continued—rolling, grinding, sighing softly as the pleasure built in slow, luxurious waves. She moved with a practiced grace, hips shifting in fluid, almost hypnotic circles, never giving herself too much, never letting it tip over the edge. The sheer control she possessed was breathtaking , a discipline honed over years of knowing exactly what she wanted and exactly how long she could stretch out the wanting before the need became unbearable.

Trevor had never seen anything so goddamn beautiful in his entire (and post-) life.

Her cheeks were flushed, her breath coming a little quicker, but she was nowhere near done. If anything, she seemed to be settling in for the long haul. Minutes passed, then half an hour, then—God help him—more. She remained on that same teasing, torturous setting, sighing as she rolled her hips lazily against the steady, unwavering hum.

Trevor was losing it.

“Hetts,” he said again, voice strained, his fists clenched at his sides. “Babe, please . You’re killing me.”

Hetty merely turned her head, blue eyes bright with amusement, with knowing . “Am I?” she purred, tilting her head ever so slightly. “How delightful.”

She could go on like this forever, he realised with dawning horror. She liked this. Liked the slow burn, the long denial, the exquisite torment of stretching out her own pleasure. She wasn’t even trying to get herself off—she was simply enjoying the sensation, reveling in the anticipation, in his growing frustration.

She was a greedy , wicked thing, and she was savouring this gift as if it were a fine wine meant to be swirled, tasted, considered before ever being swallowed.

Trevor swallowed hard, watching the slow, hypnotic grind of her hips, the occasional flutter of her lashes, the way her lips parted just slightly on a sigh. He was aching for her, but she was utterly content, purring in pleasure as she drew it out, rolling herself against the seat with a patience that would drive a lesser man to madness.

He wasn’t sure who would break first.

But looking at the way she smirked at him, all smug satisfaction and unhurried indulgence, Trevor had the distinct, devastating feeling that it would be him.

“Mmm, I’m quite flushed,” Hetty murmured, her voice low and silk-smooth, as her hips finally stilled. Her fingers rose with deliberate grace to the row of buttons lining her fitted jacket, each movement unhurried.

Trevor, already trembling with anticipation, practically launched off the bed. “Let me,” he breathed, reverent and breathless, dropping to his knees before her.

He worked feverishly, tugging at layers of silk and lace, trying to strip her down to the ethereal wisp of her chemise. Her dress—voluminous and stubborn—kept threatening to spring back into its ghostly fullness, so he stuffed it down, pinning it in place beneath her delicate boot. The heat coming from her was unreal, like her whole body had caught fire from the inside out.

As he crouched to tuck the fabric, his eyes caught something that made his breath hitch. Hetty was leaking through the chair, the evidence of her prolonged, torturous pleasure trickling down in translucent shimmer. Trevor groaned aloud, nearly undone just by the sight.

“Holy shit , Hetty,” he gasped, staring, mesmerised. “You’re drenching the floor…”

She didn’t answer at first, just tilted her head back with a soft sigh, her expression utterly smug, drunk on pleasure and power. He couldn’t help it—he reached up through the chair (being a ghost was sometimes cool), and pressed his fingers between her trembling thighs, brushing over her slick, swollen lips that pulsed desperately against his touch.

A strangled sound tore from her throat, part gasp, part groan, as her knees parted just slightly—an invitation, or perhaps just a slip in composure.

“Ohhh,” Trevor whispered, half-laughing, half-awestruck. “I bet you’d cum just from my fingers…”

And then, just like that, the air shifted.

Hetty opened her eyes, the heat there sharp and commanding now, a glacial sort of fire. Her back straightened, chin lifted, the queen returning to her throne after indulging her knight’s fantasy for just a moment too long. Her fingers curled against his chin, pulling his gaze up to meet hers, the pin-pricks of her nails pressed into the hollows of his cheeks. 

“ Back ,” she said coolly. “On the bed, pet .”

Trevor froze, the words hitting him like lightning, his knees weakening as his fingers slipped away.

“And turn it up to four ,” she added, lips curving into a wicked, knowing smile as she adjusted herself against the device with the poise of someone who knew exactly how devastating she was.

He obeyed without a word, heart hammering in his chest as he stumbled back to the bed, arousal pulsing through him like a fever.

She wasn't just in control—she was control. And he was more than willing to let her take it.

She watched him with a heated, half-lidded gaze, her body loose and languid, the picture of indulgent ruin. Trevor felt rooted to the spot, transfixed. From where he sat, he could see it now—clear as day—the slow, steady drip of her slick seeping through the chair, darkening the expensive fabric of her once-immaculate dress. Lace and silk, hand-stitched in a different century, soaked and clinging to her thighs. And yet, she didn’t seem to care.

Not one bit.

The Hetty of old—the socialite, the mistress of appearances, the queen of Newport etiquette—would’ve been horrified at the desecration of such finery. But this Hetty? The one rolling her hips just barely, eyelids heavy and lips parted in a dazed, sinful smile? She couldn’t be bothered.

Who needed to think right now?

Wasn’t it lovely—no, divine —to simply feel ?

Because that, that was the sensation Hetty had truly been chasing her entire life. Not wealth. Not status. Not power. But freedom —the absence of worry, of expectations, of the tight, breathless anxiety that had haunted her since she was a child in crinoline, primmed and pinned into place.

And here, now, she’d found it.

The hum of the toy beneath her, warm and steady and low, had dulled every sharp edge in her mind. Her thoughts had quieted, like a storm retreating from the coast. Trevor’s gift— his attention, his presence —had done what no doctor, no drug, no whispered promise from wealth had ever managed.

He made her forget .

Forget the shame, the losses, the dead winter mornings, the tears she'd never let fall.

Here, there was only the heat in her belly, the lazy, rolling rhythm of her hips against the pulse of pleasure, and Trevor watching her like he wanted to worship at her altar.

Here, she wasn’t Hetty Woodstone, the ghost of a failed dynasty.

She was a woman, utterly and deliciously free .

Trevor was shaking.

The tension coiled in his body was unbearable—hot, tight, pulsing through his every nerve like fire. He knelt at the foot of the bed, hands fisted against his thighs, eyes locked on Hetty like a starving man watching a feast he wasn't allowed to touch. She was magnificent, radiant with indulgence, her body moving in slow, deliberate rolls of pleasure, her fingers tangled in her own hair, lips parted in bliss. And that look —that hazy, half-lidded gaze she cast down at him from her perch—was killing him.

He knew better than to touch himself. God, he knew .

She’d made the rules crystal clear. Her dominance wasn’t loud or cruel—it was velvet over steel, her control precise and inescapable. She expected obedience, demanded restraint, and Trevor had learned the hard way that breaking her rules came with consequences. Delicious, devastating consequences.

But right now? Watching her like this?

It was torture.

He could see the glistening between her thighs, could hear the faint, wet pulse of her against the toy, and it was driving him mad . His cock throbbed, aching, begging for relief. The need was dizzying, a constant pressure that made it hard to breathe, to think —but the thought of disappointing her was worse. The idea of reaching down without her say-so, of betraying the trust she'd placed in his restraint, made his stomach twist with shame.

Still… still… fuck , it was tempting.

His jaw clenched as another wave of desperation hit him, and he bit back a groan, rocking slightly where he knelt. The friction alone made him shiver, made him need .

He looked up at her, voice raw, wrecked, trembling. “Hetty,” he whispered, “may I please… touch myself?”

She didn’t answer right away, and that silence broke him.

“I— I can’t,” he begged, shame burning in his cheeks. “I can’t take it—please, I need to—please…”

His fingers hovered, trembling, not daring to move an inch further without her word. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. She held all the power, and he loved her for it. He needed her words like air.

“Turn it up to five .”

That was all she said. Calm, languid, like it cost her nothing—like she wasn't destroying him with every word.

Trevor let out a choked sob, strangled at the edges, barely holding back the flood of need that threatened to crash over him. Every nerve in his body felt flayed open, exposed to the heat radiating from her— Hetty , radiant and untouchable, riding the edge of her own indulgence like it was her throne.

He reached for the remote with trembling fingers, the coolness of the metal biting against his skin as he pressed it— click .

Level five.

The sound Hetty made was reedy, like the sound of bells on an unexpected breeze as the vibration surged beneath her again, threading through her body like a current. Her back arched as the pleasure whispered up her spine. The thin linen of her chemise clung to her skin, sheer with sweat, moulding to the elegant contours of her body like it had been painted on by desire itself. The damp fabric framed every curve—the delicate slope of her breasts, the tense rise of her ribs, the subtle trembling of her abdomen as she held herself in that exquisite place between restraint and ruin.

And there it was again— that color . That maddening, breathtaking pink .

Trevor’s mouth went dry.

It bloomed across her chest like a secret written in heat—rising over the tops of her breasts, feathering across her collarbones, curling up the side of her throat like spilled wine on porcelain. That was the color he'd fantasized about. Not just the flush of arousal, but the evidence of unravelling—the proof that beneath her polished control, she was burning .

He wanted to live (relatively speaking) in that color. He wanted it across his tongue, on his fingers, smeared along his cock.

The hard peaks of her nipples pushed insistently against the soaked linen, the friction no doubt exquisite as her hips began to shift with greater urgency. Every roll, every rock of her body was like a hymn to self-control, to teasing the edge without falling over it. She moved with a grace that was infuriating, magnetic, kadosh .

And he? He was nothing but a witness to her slow-motion surrender, aching and helpless, straining at the seams of his own restraint.

She looked at him then— really looked at him—and Trevor felt like the air was punched out of his lungs. Her eyes were glassy with pleasure, but sharp with knowing. Her smile widened, wicked and fond all at once.

“G–good boy,” she purred, voice syrupy and edged with breathlessness. Her gaze pinned him in place, dark with hunger, warm with something deeper. There was heat, yes, but threaded through it— approval . Pride . Ownership .

“Come here, love.”

Trevor stumbled forward like a man coming undone, his knees barely holding him upright. His legs were shaking so violently he nearly collapsed, catching himself only when he fell into her outstretched arms.

She caught him effortlessly, guiding him down to her lap with one hand in his hair, cradling him close, her other hand lazily stroking down his back. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in, body pressed against the trembling force of her pleasure, his own need radiating off him.

“You feel that?” she whispered against his ear, voice husky. “That’s what devotion earns .”

Her scent overwhelmed him—faintly of lilac and heat, of old lace and new sin. Her body was molten, slick with arousal, the toy still buzzing between her thighs, and he could feel every tremor she was riding through.

He buried his face against her chest, panting, desperate, entirely hers.

“Shh,” she whispered, pressing her lips against his temple, her own voice shaking with ecstasy. “You're doing so well for me…”

And just like that, he could endure it again—because her words were better than any release.

Her fingers moved through his hair in slow, reverent strokes, the kind that weren’t just soothing—they were claiming . Hetty cradled him to her chest like he was something precious, her voice a low, honeyed murmur against his crown. She buried her nose against his temple, inhaling the scent of him and his warmth like it grounded her in the sea of sensation rising through her.

Her hips moved faster now, no longer lazy or teasing but needy , urgent . She rolled them in quick, tight thrusts against the vibrating delight beneath her, the toy’s insistent hum buzzing up through her bones, and Trevor’s weight against her thighs only heightened it. The friction, the resistance—it all worked together, bringing her to the brink in relentless waves.

“You’re so good to me, my sweet love,” she whispered, each word a breath, a moan, a praise . “My darling boy…”

She thrust up into him just as she bucked down onto the toy, body caught in a rhythm that was growing more erratic by the second, more desperate. Every movement was a cry for release she still held just barely out of reach.

Trevor clung to her, his own body locked in a storm of arousal that blinded him. The pleasure radiating off her, the sounds of her voice, the wet friction of her grinding—all of it overwhelmed his senses. He could barely breathe through the haze of it.

“Nnngh… mommy …” he whimpered, voice fragile, shattered, his entire world condensed to the heat of her and the praise she wrapped him in.

Hetty’s breath hitched. That word always sent something hot and primal surging through her. She clenched around nothing, the toy grinding mercilessly against her swollen clit as she trembled under the weight of it all. Her thighs shook. Her back arched. Still she held him—close, tight, hers .

“Yes, precious,” she breathed, voice thick and trembling. “I’m here. You’re so good for me… so good …”

Her body stuttered beneath him, the once-controlled movements falling apart into instinctual spasms of pleasure. She bucked harder, faster, the toy relentless now, sensation peaking so sharply she could barely hold on. Her fingers tangled tighter in his hair as her eyes fluttered shut, lips parting in a soundless moan.

It was overwhelming. Beautiful. Pure.

And through it all, Trevor stayed in her arms—devoted, obedient , blind with need and trembling in her orbit, utterly undone by her pleasure. 

“Oh, what a good boy,” Hetty murmured, her voice dripping with warmth and satisfaction as she began to float down from the dizzying height of her climax. Her skin was flushed, her hands gentle as she touched him.

Soft, warm fingers ghosted along Trevor’s flushed cheeks, brushing back strands of his damp hair. The pads of her fingers moved down to his jaw, then traced the shape of his lips with a slow devotion. From there, she drifted lower, trailing along his throat, down the trembling lines of his chest, the rise and fall of his breath frantic under her delicate touch.

She touched everywhere she could reach—his sides, the soft dip of his waist, the place just above his hip where he was most sensitive. Her palms moved with dedication, her fingertips drinking in the heat of him, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed beneath her. It was not just a reward—it was reverence.

“You're trembling,” she whispered, half a smile tugging at her lips. “All that for me?”

Trevor made a desperate, broken sound in response, overwhelmed by the tenderness of her hands and the sheer intensity of being seen , touched , claimed by her in this moment.

“Get on the bed, my sweet,” she said next, her tone shifting into something firmer, richer—still tender, but carrying that familiar authority that sent a bolt of heat through his already wrecked body. “You’ve more than earned a reward.”

Trevor didn’t hesitate. He scrambled up onto the bed, limbs still unsteady, his heart galloping as he collapsed against the sheets, panting and wide-eyed, waiting for her.

Hetty followed, graceful and slow as her dress rematerialised back onto her form. Her eyes locked on him with hunger and adoration intertwined. There was no rush in her step—just intention. She placed one knee on the mattress, her hand sliding up his thigh as she climbed over him.

“You’ve been so patient,” she purred, her voice liquid and low, “so obedient… so good .”

She leaned down slowly, deliberately, savouring every inch of the moment. Her fingers returned to cradle Trevor’s jaw; her touch feather-light, as though he might shatter beneath her if she held him any rougher.

Then she kissed his forehead—not as a passing gesture, but as a seal, a mark of adoration. Her lips lingered there for a beat too long, and her breath was warm against his skin as she whispered, low and intimate, “Now, let’s see just how beautifully you fall apart… for me .”

Trevor whimpered, barely holding himself together, his body pulled taut as a bowstring.

Hetty pulled back just enough to look down at him, her gaze molten and unflinching. With one hand braced beside his ribs, she reached the other down between his legs and slowly, sensually, ran a single finger up the length of his cock. It jumped beneath her touch, already aching, already leaking, the sheer buildup making every nerve in his body scream for release.

She tilted her head slightly, that devastating little smile playing at her lips, knowing exactly what she was doing to him. Her voice was light but commanding as she said, “Cum for me, my love . ”

There was no hesitation. No resistance.

Trevor obeyed— instantly .

His entire body seized, back arching off the bed, a strangled sob catching in his throat as the pleasure tore through him like lightning. But no scream escaped. No sound dared break the spell she had cast over him. His mouth fell open, but it was silent—his orgasm crashing over him in an overwhelming wave, powerful and perfect, leaving him trembling, blinking up at her like he’d just glimpsed heaven.

Hetty watched with the satisfaction of an artist admiring her masterpiece. She leaned down once more, her breath brushing his ear.

“Good boy,” she whispered, her tone dripping with praise, her fingers still stroking softly down his spent body. “ Mine. ”

Trevor lay utterly boneless beneath her, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He was still somewhere deep in the haze, floating in that quiet, vulnerable space where thought slipped away and only sensation remained. Hetty could see it in the way his fingers curled weakly in the mass of incorporeal bed, in the tremble in his jaw, in the faint furrow of his brow as the world began to creep back in around him.

She shifted carefully, curling her body around his, drawing her skirts up over them like a protective shield. Her hands were warm for once and gentle as they smoothed through his hair, down his back, across the expanse of his chest—grounding him, reminding him he was safe, that she was here .

“You’re alright, my love,” she whispered against his temple, pressing a soft kiss there. “I’ve got you.”

Trevor let out a quiet sound, something like a sob or a whimper, and melted further into her arms. She held him tighter, wrapping him in every ounce of tenderness she possessed. Gone was the commanding fire in her eyes; now she looked at him with nothing but love and pride.

“You were perfect,” she murmured, brushing her thumb across his cheek. “So good for me. I’m right here, darling. You don’t need to rush back.”

And so they stayed like that—bodies tangled, breath shared, hearts steadying together in the quiet. Hetty whispered sweet things to him, praised him softly, stroking and cradling and kissing him until the tension left his limbs and he was simply hers again, whole and safe in her arms.

Trevor let his head rest against her chest, listening to the soft, phantom rhythm of a heart that hadn’t beat in over a century. And still, somehow, it comforted him. He’d made this toy for her—designed it with a smirk and some schematics, thinking it’d be fun, hot, maybe even a little silly. He’d wanted to spoil her, to give her something no one else could. But Hetty—God, Hetty had taken his gift and turned it into something else . Something deeper.

She didn’t just use it. She made it meaningful. She let him watch , let him care , let him hold her and be held in return. She praised him, guided him, cradled him like he was worth more than any treasure she’d chased in life.

And in that quiet, when her fingers brushed tenderly through his hair and her voice whispered only for him, Trevor realized something simple and stunning: she’d given him back more than he’d ever expected. She’d turned his gift into something that couldn’t be bought or built.

He looked up at her—this sharp, brilliant, solid gold woman with her legacy of fire and pride—and smiled, soft and full.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words falling out unguarded.

Hetty’s lips quirked, surprised but not unready. Her fingers curled around his cheek.

“I know,” she whispered back. “And darling, I love you, too.”

Chapter Text

“What did you mean when you said ‘this one’?”

“Hmm?”

They were resting comfortably on the bed; Trevor's head lay heavy against Hetty’s chest, his cheek pillowed as her fingers moved absently through his hair, stroking slow, indulgent circles against his scalp. The motion was tender yet claiming all at once, a slight pull at the end of each rotation.

“You said you had tested my gift,” she replied, voice edged with pointed curiosity. “ ‘But not personally— not this one’ . What did you mean by that? Are there others you have tested personally ?”

The question hung between them like a silk noose—soft, but impossible to ignore.

Trevor stirred. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed himself upright, propping one arm behind him with theatrical laziness, though his spine had gone stiff with the smallest twinge of alarm. A guilty, impish smile crept across his mouth.

“Caught that, didja?”

“You’ll find not very much gets by me, dearest.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. Busted.” His voice dropped into a low, conspiratorial murmur. “There was one. Maybe two.”

Hetty raised a single eyebrow.

He shrugged. “I mean, look—I had to be sure they worked. Quality control, you know? Safety protocols. And…” He faltered for a half-second. “...Curiosity.”

“Curiosity,” she repeated, her fingers now idly toying with the buttons of his shirt. “About my pleasure, or your own?”

Trevor’s breath caught, just a little. He looked down at her hand, then back up into her face. She wasn’t teasing, not exactly. She was drawing him out, peeling him open with that careful precision he was still so baffled she had only learned recently.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” he admitted, the bravado in his voice softening, curling in on itself like a scorched edge. “The newest one. The one with the—uh—y’know.” He gestured vaguely with his hand, fingers fluttering as if the motion might summon a more graceful way to describe it. “The deluxe edition.”

Her lips twitched—just the faintest movement, a hint of amusement restrained to something far more calculated.

“I very much do not know,” she said smoothly.

Trevor flushed a brilliant vermillion, the colour creeping up from his collar like shame made visible. His dark eyes flicked around, scanning for something— anything —to look at other than her. The ceiling. A crack in the wall. The hem of her sleeve.

Hetty clicked her tongue, a sharp, elegant note of impatience. Her fingers, still twined in his hair, resumed their slow, rolling strokes—but now with a subtle shift in rhythm. A little more deliberate. A little too soothing.

He tensed.

“So if my understanding is correct…” she began, voice low and warm as honey, curling around his nerves with serpentine grace. And though the tone shot straight to his dick, Trevor knew— knew —he was in trouble.

“You made me a gift,” she continued, still stroking his scalp with that maddening quietus, “and then selfishly hoarded it… when you discovered how much joy it could bring you ?”

“Er—when you say it like that , it sounds bad,” he mumbled, shrinking slightly against her.

Her smile deepened, slow and wicked, and she shifted just enough to bring her mouth closer to his ear—close enough that he could feel the shape of her breath against his skin, warm and cruelly controlled.

“Oh, darling,” she whispered, “it is bad. That’s what makes it so terribly revealing .”

Her fingers moved now—not just in his hair, but lower, trailing down the side of his throat, nails barely grazing the skin. His pulse jumped beneath her touch.

“You didn’t just test it out of scientific curiosity,” she said, each word a nail tapped into his spine. “You used it. Repeatedly. Greedily.”

He gave a strangled little laugh. “Okay, well hold up—now when did I say that ?” he asked, trying desperately to save face.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. She merely shifted again, bringing her thigh flush against his hip, her hand trailing down his chest now, feather-light, as if she owned him and was reacquainting herself with a favourite possession.

“A simple test run, I wonder,” she murmured, “Or something more… elaborate?”

She leaned in then, her breath warm at his ear, her voice like silk sliding over sin.

“Did you picture me?” she whispered. “Did you think about how I’d look… taking what you made for me? Or were you imagining what it would feel like if I watched you instead?”

He exhaled sharply, the sound shaky and very nearly a whimper. Her fingers splayed flat over his ribs, grounding him with heat and proximity.

“Is that where you got the idea for the gift you so generously bestowed upon me? You wanted me to watch you fuck yourself on my toy and thought, ‘Mmm, I'd like to watch Hetty too’?”

Trevor shook his head so quickly it nearly dislodged her hand from his hair, a high, helpless whine catching in his throat. “Wanted to watch you, only you, I promise! One had nothing to do with the other. The toys were separate ideas. I was going to give it to you, Hetty, I promise, but—”

“You liked it too much?”

“Yes. I mean—no! I was worried you’d like it too much! That you’d like it better than me ,” he blurted, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could leash them. His eyes met hers. “That you wouldn’t need me. That I’d be replaced by something I made. That you’d stop looking at me the way you do after…”

He trailed off, breathless, the confession hanging between them like smoke.

Hetty studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she shifted—not away, but closer. She sat up, brushing his hair back with an almost maternal softness, her fingers threading through it like she was untangling a fragile thought. Her gaze burned, but it was a steady, warm fire now—not one meant to punish, but to illuminate.

“You fool ,” she whispered, and he winced as though the word were a slap. “No,” she murmured, gentling, the syllable drawn out. “Darling, come here. ”

She cupped his face in both hands, thumbs resting just beneath the sharp line of his cheekbones, and pulled him toward her again—not with force, but with undeniable intent. Their foreheads brushed, noses nearly touching. Her voice dropped, low and fervent.

“No clever contraption could ever replace the real deal, Lefkowitz. No piece of machinery, however fine you make it, whatever magic you imbue it with, will ever be you. ”

He let out a trembling breath.

“Your hands, your touch, your kiss,” she went on, “can never be replicated.”

A pause. Then, with wry fire in her eyes: “ Will I be punishing you for hoarding pleasure in my absence? Absolutely. Will I be replacing you with my new favourite chair and whatever other devil machine you have stashed away?” She leaned in and kissed him—firm, certain, tender. “ Never, beloved.”

She pulled back just an inch, just enough to look him in the eyes again.

“You’re stuck with me, Trevor.”

Part of Trevor’s punishment was a fortnight of forced abstinence—fourteen full days of aching, swollen denial. Hetty’s ruling had been final, coolly delivered from the edge of their shared bed with the smarmy glee of a monarch. She hadn't raised her voice, hadn't leaned on threats. Just smoothed her skirts over her lap, looked him in the eye, and said it like it was her divine right: "Two weeks. No orgasms. No touching. No pleading. You will sleep beside me every night. And you will suffer beautifully, or suffer worse."

And the worst part? She kissed his cheek afterward. Sweetly. Like she hadn’t just sentenced him to fourteen days of slow, exquisite torture

And so each night, Trevor lay stiff upon the rack as she curled up against him, her body all silk and warmth and intentional proximity . She liked to press her thigh between his legs. She liked to sigh contentedly in her sleep, shifting just enough that her skirts brushed across his cock like whispered temptation. She liked to wake up, smile lovingly, and pretend not to notice how ruined he looked.

He didn’t dare touch himself.

Not after she made him promise aloud.

“Say it, Trevor.”

“I promise I won’t come without your permission.”

“I didn’t say ‘permission.’ I said without me.”

By the eleventh day, he was barely coherent—red-eyed, trembling, flinching whenever she adjusted her position too quickly. And then, came the final instruction:

“Bring me the toy. The one you hid from me. I want it delivered to the basement.”

Trevor had hope. Hope that the end of his torment was near. That Hetty would finally use the damn thing. On herself. On him. On them . It didn’t matter. Anything would be better than this infernal edge he was perpetually stranded on.

Though it would require another costly favour from Bela.

“ Dude ,” Bela muttered, squatting beside The Chair in the basement as she locked in the final component. “This thing is huge . No way Hetty is this much of a size queen.”

Trevor stood nearby, shifting awkwardly, sweat prickling at the base of his spine. He wasn’t sure what made it worse—how massive it actually looked, or how casually Bela was manhandling it.

The base was nearly identical to Hetty’s original grinder—ribbed, low-sitting, with subtle motorized ridges—but this one had upgrades. A matte navy finish. Stronger suction. And rising from its centre, the showstopper: a thick , veiny silicone cock that wobbled slightly as Bela jostled the base into place. It was a generous eight inches, realistically shaped, and girthy. Trevor trembled as he remembered what it felt like stretching him open, reaching those most sensitive spots inside himself.

He swallowed.

Hetty was going to destroy him.

“w.e. the 👑 wants,” he texted, eyes glued to the floor, after he hit send in the follow up: “she gts.”

Bela snorted, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “You’re so whipped. Is she making you ride this first, or is it for her?”

Trevor didn’t answer. Because the truth was—he didn’t know.

That was Hetty’s game.

And that was the last bit of punishment still to come. No pun intended.

“Oh it's like that, is it, pretty boy?” Bela laughed at him.

“ She's 🚗 me 🤪 🔥😵🥵”

“The only solace a bro can offer in these trying times,” Bela sighed dramatically, her voice dripping with sarcastic gravitas, as she uncapped a small bottle and poured a generous dollop of clear liquid over the head of the dildo. “Is lubrication.”

Trevor tried not to moan just looking at it.

“I’ll expect the money in my account,” Bela said, sing-song, stepping away dramatically. “Okay byeeeeee! ”

She tossed the lube bottle over her shoulder with all the careless flair of someone who didn’t have to think twice about consequences.

Trevor didn’t have time to move.

The thick plastic bottle clipped straight through his shoulder blade and burned —a sudden jolt of cold fire zapping through ectoplasm like static shock amped to ten. He yelped, lurching sideways and grabbing at the spot as if he could soothe it. He rubbed his shoulder like it mattered, scowling as the phantom ache fizzled slowly.

And now, on top of everything else—two weeks of denial, the humiliation of this chair, the glistening lube dripping obscenely from the toy—he had shoulder pain .

It was petty. It was stupid. And it was exactly the kind of cherry-on-top Hetty would savour.

Especially if she noticed .

Which, of course, she would.

Because she noticed everything .

Hetty arrived not a few moments later, phasing through the door with a smile as she surveyed the scene. She let her gaze drift slowly across the room—first to the toy, then to the floor where the lube bottle lay discarded, and finally to Trevor, standing to the side with his hands clasped in front of him and guilt swimming in his eyes.

She tilted her head.

He didn’t breathe.

She didn’t say a word about the flinch. About the way his jaw twitched when he shifted. About the pain flickering just behind his eyes like smoke trapped in a bottle.

Instead, she smiled.

Hetty circled the chair like a sculpture on display. Each step was measured, each glance calculated—but inwardly, her mind was stuttering.

The phallus strapped to the centre of the navy base was… substantial.

Too substantial.

Her lips parted slightly, just for a moment. She hadn’t imagined it would be that large when she’d ordered him to retrieve it. She certainly hadn’t anticipated the girth —the thick, veined shaft arcing proudly from the centre of the rig, glistening still with the lube Bela had generously applied. She blinked.

And then blinked again.

He had fit that inside himself.

Trevor stood off to the side, arms rigid, eyes downcast, breathing uneven. He was visibly sweating despite not being alive. His hair was a mess, his lips bitten raw, his posture uncertain—like he wasn’t sure whether he was about to be praised or punished again.

And still, as if by reflex, his voice broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Barely audible.

She didn’t respond.

Didn’t hear , at first.

She was still doing the math (nevermind that she had never been allowed to study the subject) in her head—height, angle, width, what sort of flexibility was required for this maneuver? She couldn't decide if she was scandalised or impressed.

Or both.

“Hetty?” Trevor’s voice wavered, breaking through her thoughts again, a little louder now. “I’m really, really sorry. For keeping it from you. I just— I didn’t want to lose you.”

That pulled her focus, and her eyes slid slowly back to his.

He looked wrecked. Open. Soft. Earnest in a way he couldn’t fake if he tried.

Hetty took a breath, gathering herself, smoothing the flicker of heat—and astonishment—behind her gaze. “I heard you,” she said at last. “But I needed a moment to… process.”

Trevor blinked.

She let her eyes drift back toward the toy, just briefly, and then back to him.

“You… tested that?” she asked, carefully.

He nodded, sheepish. “Four times.”

“ Four— ” She cut herself off. Closed her mouth. Pressed her lips together until they formed a very thin line.

A long silence passed.

Then, quietly: “I see.”

Another beat.

“Are you trying to kill yourself again, darling?” she asked dryly. “Or just committed to breaking your own spine in pursuit of pleasure?”

Trevor flushed a deep crimson, eyes wide. “I—I just—I wanted to make sure it worked!”

“Oh, I’m sure it worked,” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to him.

She turned slowly, facing the chair again, arms folding over her chest, chin tilted just a fraction higher than usual—as if she were evaluating a piece of estate furniture rather than a silicone phallus lashed to a ghost-compatible pleasure throne. But Trevor knew her. Knew the little tells.

The way her eyes lingered too long at the base. The way her nostrils flared—just slightly—as if the thought of sitting on that thing was giving her pause. The way she hadn’t moved again for a full minute.

Trevor straightened, just a little.

She was hesitating.

“You okay there, sweetheart ?” he asked, voice still quiet, but with a flicker of something that hadn’t been there in days—confidence.

She blinked, slowly, the name catching her attention as much as the tone.

He took a step closer. Just one. Enough to be felt.

“Looks a little big, doesn’t it?” he asked, eyes on the toy, but voice clearly aimed at her. “I mean, I managed it. Barely. But if it’s too much for you …”

Hetty’s head turned like a cat clocking the twitch of a tail. Her eyes landed on him with dangerous precision.

But Trevor didn’t flinch this time. His face flushed, yes—his body still aching, of course—but for once, he was the one watching her squirm , if only for a second.

And she was squirming. Internally, at least.

She arched one brow, expression cool. “Is that provocation , Lefkowitz?”

Trevor’s smirk lingered—cocky, glowing, bratty as hell.

It lasted about ten seconds.

“Do you know what I love about your little outbursts, darling?” Hetty asked, tilting her head just slightly, voice calm as ever.

Trevor blinked. “Uhh… the, uh, honesty?”

“No,” she said, matter-of-factly, not even looking at him. “The certainty .”

She turned then, fully, her gaze locking onto his like a hawk pinning prey to the ground.

“The way you speak like you haven’t been broken by this toy already. Like your legs didn’t shake when you brought it down here. Like you didn’t whimper when Bela so helpfully lubed it up.”

Trevor’s mouth opened. Closed. The smirk died on impact.

“Which is why,” she continued, stepping closer now, her heels echoing like a drumbeat against the basement floor, “you’ll be the one riding it today.”

His heart plummeted.

“Wha—what?”

Hetty stopped just in front of him, lifting her hand to press one single fingertip against his chest.

“You think me hesitant,” she said, tone still even, still perfectly measured. “And you’re right . Not out of fear. Not out of modesty. But because I wanted to savour this.”

She leaned in, her voice dropping in that way that always went straight to his cock. “ You are the show, Trevor.”

He swallowed hard. His thighs twitched.

“I—I thought maybe—”

“ Oh , I know what you thought,” she said sweetly, brushing a nonexistent wrinkle from his shirt. “That you’d found a crack in my resolve. That you’d rattled me.”

Her eyes flicked toward the toy, then back to him, glinting with wicked satisfaction.

“But you forget, darling—I like seeing you ruined. I live for it, and you are being punished for a reason.” She stepped back with a flourish, gesturing toward the chair like a magician revealing her next trick. “Strip. Mount it. Take it like you did in secret—but this time, you’ll look me in the eyes.”

Trevor’s knees buckled slightly. “ Yes ,” he surrendered, fingers already trembling at the knot of his tie. When he got it off he tied it around his thigh before beginning to undo the buttons of his shirt. He raised his gaze to Hetty's, knowing that if he didn't perform to his utmost, surrender to her with sincerest devotion, that he could split himself open on that cock for as long as it took Moses to reach the promised land, but she would never let him cum.

Molten black abyss met icy blue steel across the room, charged and full of desire already, hungry for more as Trevor pulled off his coat and shirt as if it were one layer, tucking them both beneath his feet before doing the same with his tie.

Hetty's eyes roved over his form as she made herself comfortable on the bed for her show. The tight wiry muscles from a life of sports and general recreation. The planes of his pectoral, flexing in the low light, goose flesh rising to the surface under her scrutiny. He could practically feel the feather-light weight of her touch from her gaze and his cock pulsed, pleasure pooling in his core warmly. He turned, making a show of hiking a leg up on the chair and bending over, thus making the chair Floor, and giving Hetty the show she wanted.  He placed a hand on the cock, and stole some of the lube. 

He looked back with a cheeky wink before spreading his cheeks for her and slipping two fingers inside.

“Whore,” she chastised, no malice or edge to her tone. She might as well have been commenting on the weather. “Look how greedily your hole sucks your fingers in. Are you certain it was only four times you indulged in this monstrosity of a machina ?”

Trevor’s eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering as he whimpered. He couldn’t answer. Not with words.

But his body spoke for him.

With every twitch of muscle. Every stretch. Every lewd sound of his fingers working himself open for her .

Hetty watched, thighs pressed firmly together, but it did little to quell the heat —the slick, insistent throb between her legs. She could feel it, already dripping down her thigh beneath the cotton stockings.

In life, Hetty had never imagined acts like this. She had never dared. She’d been raised to believe men were creatures of thrust and sweat and grunts, that sex was something to be endured behind a closed door, never to be spoken of, certainly never witnessed .  No one had ever told her a man could open himself like this, willingly, beautifully— shamelessly . That a man could stretch himself for her pleasure, fingers slick and disappearing into that tight, perfect little hole while looking back over his shoulder like he was the dessert course.

Trevor made it art.

He was a vision: spread wide, glistening with effort, and completely unashamed. The way he worked his fingers into himself—deliberate, unhurried—was sinful in the most captivating way. His muscles flexed and rolled with every movement, his thighs shaking slightly under the effort to keep still, to show her everything . His fingers curled inside him, knuckle-deep now, pumping slowly in and out, that pink little ring clenching and sucking him in like it had missed being filled.

Trevor moaned again, deep and needy, hips grinding down against his hand. Two fingers became three—then four—and still his greedy little hole fluttered around them, hungry for more, faster, harder.

Hetty’s mouth had gone dry.

Her nipples, beneath the layers of silk and lace, were stiff peaks of sensation, aching with every shallow breath she took. She sat forward slightly, shifting on the bed under the pretense of adjusting her posture—but really, it was because the fabric was starting to stick to her. She could feel it pooling, hot and liquid, between her thighs. Every throb of her clit sent a fresh pulse through her, and she welcomed it. Let it build. Let it burn.

This was hers . He was hers.

Her good boy . Her sweet whore. Her masterpiece of depravity and devotion, baring himself in ways she hadn’t known a person could .

And gods, she wanted more.

She wanted to see his fingers replaced by the toy. Wanted to see him struggle to take it. She wanted to watch his eyes roll back the moment he bottomed out, and she wanted to deny him the orgasm he so clearly ached for, just to hear him beg again—ruined, reverent, and wrecked in her name.

Her breath hitched when he moaned—high, soft, and needy—pushing his fingers in with a curl. His cheeks were flushed, sweat beading at his temples, his cock bobbing helplessly beneath him.

“Now,” she said. “Mount it. Slowly. I want to see it all.”

“Babe, fuck , please—I’m gonna blow my load, you're making me lose my mind— please, please let me cum, just once,” Trevor gasped, his voice ragged, half-sob, half-prayer. “Then I promise—swear to God—I’ll ride that cock like a good boy.”

His legs were shaking, his breath shallow, and he was seconds from dropping to his knees, crawling across the floor to her—if not for the fact that doing so would cause his clothes to rematerialise. As it was, he turned back to her, hand twitching toward his aching cock but not daring to touch it. He licked his lips, throat dry, mouth open in a pitiful little pant.

His cock throbbed— angrily , urgently—each pulse almost painful now, so hard it curved toward his belly with a twitching need that made him wince. Pleasure had long since crossed the line into something deeper, blinding —a pressure inside him that pushed behind his ribs, fogged his thoughts, left his knees weak and his vision swimming. It was so much, too much, and perfect .

He was burning.

But not afraid.

Even in the dizzying edge of it, where he couldn’t find the words to describe the heat Hetty inspired,  he knew he was safe. He had a word, if he needed it. A way out. A line Hetty would never cross.

But he didn’t want out.

“Please…” he whimpered again, more breath than sound, as his body trembled in place. “Please…”

Hetty rose slowly from the bed, her heels clicking against the stone. She didn’t loom. Her voice alone would strip him bare.

“Oh, my sweet,” she crooned, brushing finger down the curve of her own bodice as she smiled with indulgent cruelty. “ No. ”

The word landed like the toll of a bell.

For a moment, there was nothing.

Just ringing in his ears. A buzz in his spine. The cruel throb of denial pressing hot between his legs.

His mouth opened. Closed. He blinked.

Then—her voice again, steel beneath silk.

“ Now mount it. ”

Trevor's body moved before his mind did, jerking forward as though pulled by invisible strings. He straddled the chair once more, legs wide, knees braced, feet still firmly placed over his clothing. The cock sat beneath him—slick, thick, prurient in its readiness. His hole clenched instinctively, already twitching from the memory of his own fingers, from the stretch still lingering in his body.

He hovered above it, panting, his thighs shaking with effort.

His chest heaved.

His heart pounded.

And then, with a trembling exhale, Trevor began to lower himself down.

The blunt head pressed against his rim, and he whimpered—high and sharp—because it was too much, again , still, always. He eased down, inch by agonizing inch, and every nerve lit up like wildfire. His mouth fell open, eyes rolling back, a strangled sound bursting from his throat as the shaft split him open all over again.

Blinding. That was the only word he had left. Blinding pleasure.

It hurt. It stretched. It seared through him like lightning and holy fire—but underneath it all was the rush of submission, of being watched , of being seen by her. It was overwhelming. A riot of sensation he couldn’t name, and couldn’t suppress.

And as he bottomed out, gasping, shuddering, completely impaled—he met her gaze again.

Eyes glassy. Lips parted. Chest heaving.

And waiting for her next command.

Hetty squeezed her thighs together, knuckles white as she watched the wanton and shameless display. Her cheeks were a flaming red, eyes wide as she watched the large cock disappear inside her lover.

“Holy fuck ,” she moaned, nearly rocking against the bed, fingers twitching as she fought the urge to touch herself.

Trevor smirked, noting the reaction. He might not be able to cum yet, but he could whip her into a frenzy, and perhaps she might forget herself. She might slip. He began a slow, almost imperceptible roll of his hips—not a bounce, not even a thrust. Just a grind . A deliberate press down to the hilt, feeling the ribbed texture at the base massage his aching taint, dragging pleasure over nerve endings he couldn’t name , couldn’t describe . He rolled again, a little slower this time, watching the way her breath hitched—how her thighs pressed tighter.

Trevor’s movements grew deeper.

Less careful.

Less restrained.

The slow, teasing rolls of his hips gave way to a more primal rhythm—his thighs flexing as he began to bounce in earnest, impaling himself again and again on the thick, merciless cock strapped to the chair. The sound of it was obscene: wet, slapping, unrelenting. Each downward thrust sent a shockwave of pressure through his core, massaging that abused, over-stimulated spot deep inside him that made his vision blur at the edges.

He moaned— loudly . Shamelessly. Letting the sounds pour out of him, echoing in the stone-walled basement like something feral.

But his eyes—

His eyes never left her .

Locked on Hetty’s with laser focus, even as sweat dripped down his spine and his hair stuck to his temples. His hands gripped the edges of the chair for leverage, his back arching, mouth open in a perfect "O" of gasping need.

But still. Always. Her.

And the longer he watched her—the tighter her lips pressed together, the redder her cheeks flushed, the way her hands trembled slightly in her lap—the more he realized something crucial:

He wasn't the one coming undone anymore.

She was.

Hetty sat frozen on the bed. Her face betrayed her only slightly, but Trevor had learned to read her far too well. Her knees were clenched together, her throat bobbing with the effort not to make a sound. Her lips were parted now, the rise and fall of her chest no longer slow and composed.

She looked wrecked .

And he felt invincible.

Even through the ache, the stretch, the searing edge of denied release, he found himself smiling. Not arrogance—not quite. Just high on submission. High on knowing that he had brought her to this point with nothing but his body and his obedience.

His cock throbbed between his legs, twitching helplessly with every downward thrust, but he barely noticed it now. The desperation was still there—but it had softened. Stretched out into something dreamlike. He’d passed the point where release felt like salvation.

Now it was just… movement. Rhythm. Devotion in motion.

He bounced harder, letting the cock fill him with every drop of force he could muster, panting her name between broken moans.

And Hetty—Hetty looked like she might combust .

Her hand hovered above her skirts now, frozen just shy of slipping beneath the folds. Her knuckles trembled. Her eyes were locked to the point where his body met the toy—watching the way his hole stretched and swallowed, watching the slick sheen of arousal coating the base, watching her lover ruin himself for her with each dizzying thrust.

Trevor let his head fall back, throat exposed, breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Fuck—Hetty— look at me, ” he cried, voice cracked and shaking. “This is yours . I’m yours. I don’t even need to come. I just need you .”

He was burning alive, riding a wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on spiritual delirium.

“That’s what makes you such a good boy,” she said, and it was meant to sound measured, composed. But her voice betrayed her, coming out soft, breathless.

He slowed the bounce of his hips, shifting into a deeper grind, rotating his pelvis in tight, aching circles that kept the thick cock pressed perfectly against the bundle of tender nerves deep inside him. It throbbed, stretching his hole wide and used , the ribbed base grinding against his taint with every subtle shift.

Trevor whimpered. He was shaking now, a mess of overstimulated nerves and ruined dignity. His thighs were quivering. His voice was cracking. And still— still —he kept his eyes on her.

She couldn’t take her eyes off his hole.

Stretched so wide, stuffed so deep , pulsing greedily around the base of that monstrous cock like it never wanted to let go.

“You’ve been so good for me,” she panted, voice dark and shaking. “So fucking perfect .”

Trevor moaned— loud , unfiltered, falling forward to brace himself on the seat, grinding in tight, brutal circles.

“You made yourself a fucktoy,” she spat, eyes wild with lust. “You built it just to fill your greedy little hole and then lied to me about it. But look at you now—bouncing like a filthy cockslut in front of me. Sloppy , dripping, needy . And still begging for more.”

“Hetty—fuck—please, please—”

“You think you deserve to cum?” she snarled. “After the way you hid this from me? After the way you fucked yourself like a desperate little bitch when I wasn’t watching?”

Trevor sobbed—his whole body twitching, the head of his cock purple and drooling. He was seconds from coming and it hurt , hurt , but still he held back, waited , because she hadn’t said the words.

She waited just a minute more, watched as he whimpered and writhed, her eyes softening, a smile touching the corners of her lips indulgently. “I forgive you.”

He froze.

“You’re still my good boy. You’re still my darling pet . And now,” she moaned, “you may cum , Trevor. Cum on that cock like the filthy  cocksleeve you are. ”

Trevor screamed .

His entire body convulsed, back arching, legs giving out as hot, desperate ropes of cum spurted from him, splattering his chest, the floor, the chair, everything. His hole clenched around the toy like it wanted to milk it dry, spasming in time with the pulsing of his cock.

He cried out again— again —moaning Hetty’s name like a litany, wrecked beyond language, nothing but sensation.

Trevor was shaking.

Sweating.

Smiling.

Utterly destroyed—and utterly hers body, soul, and fuckhole.

She stood from the bed, her legs admittedly just as shaky as his looked—her thighs damp, trembling from the sheer force of what she’d just witnessed. Still, she gathered herself with the practiced grace of a lady, straightening her posture even as her knees wobbled beneath her petticoats.

Trevor remained slumped on the chair, his breath ragged, his hair plastered to his forehead in damp curls. His body trembled, not from cold, but from aftershock —spent muscles spasming gently, thighs twitching around the slick stretch of his entrance, which still pulsed weakly in the aftermath. His cock, limp now but still red and sticky, lay across his thigh as he blinked up at her, dazed.

Hetty approached him quietly, her steps careful, reverent.

She placed a steady hand on his arm, her fingers gliding gently across his sweat-slicked skin. “Up, my darling,” she whispered. “Come with me.”

He moved without thinking—obedience baked into his bones by now. His limbs were loose, heavy, pliant under her guidance. He leaned into her touch as she helped him rise, his knees buckling for a moment before he steadied, breath stuttering as he sagged against her.

She guided him to the bed with slow, purposeful movements, her body a buffer against his limp exhaustion. As they reached the edge, his ghost-clothes shimmered softly into being, flowing back over his skin like smoke—shirting his form in familiar warmth as his knees bent and she eased him down onto the mattress.

She followed, curling in beside him, one arm sliding beneath his shoulders, the other draping over his chest, fingers resting just above his heart.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath still ragged, little shudders escaping him with every exhale.

“There, there, love,” she whispered, voice lower now, satin-smooth and warm. “Shhhh. Enough carrying on now, darling.”

Her hand traced soothing patterns over his chest, grounding him.

“Your punishment is over. You’ve done so well.”

She pressed a kiss to his temple, soft and lingering, her breath ghosting along his skin.

“Rest now.”

Trevor blinked slowly, his body already sinking into the warmth of her, but he turned his face toward hers, lips parted, voice faint.

“But… you…”

His eyes were glassy, guilt and gratitude threading through the haze.

“You didn’t—”

She silenced him with a smile, brushing a knuckle along his cheekbone.

“I can be tended to later,” she said simply. “Rest.”

And this time, he obeyed without question.

With her breath steady against his skin and her arms wrapped around him, Trevor finally let his eyes fall shut—his body heavy, his heart light.

Trevor had gone pliant beneath her touch, curled into her like a child after a storm. His body was warm and loose against her side, each breath still shaky, every bone humming with afterglow. His lashes fluttered low, his lips slack with exhaustion, a soft little whimper escaping his throat as she smoothed a hand down his chest again.

But Hetty’s own thighs ached . Her cunt was throbbing . She had watched him fuck himself raw. Had listened to the sounds of his slick hole working over that cock. Had denied herself the full satisfaction of her own orgasm to keep the focus where it belonged—on his penance.

And now, with him spent and breathless in her arms, she burned .

Not with resentment. With hunger.

She was well-practiced in holding back. Decades of it, lifetimes even. In counting seconds, in breathing slow and still, in feigning sleep for appearances, for control, for power. She had trained herself to be composed when every part of her wanted . To pause when others would take. To restrain, always.

But now—

Now she lay beside him, her chest barely rising, counting out breaths in that same old rhythm, willing her body to settle.

One, two, three…

But her heart beat too loud.

Her cunt throbbed with a dull, consuming ache, not the sharp flutter of desire before climax, but the roaring hunger of something incomplete. Something denied.

She shifted slightly—just enough to press her thighs together, squeezing tight as if her own body might offer her mercy. The friction was minor, barely a whisper, but even that sent a ripple of sensation crawling up her spine.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from whimpering.

Her core throbbed, wetness pooling slick between her thighs, and she could feel every beat of it like a drum. Her hips rocked once—subtle, unconscious—and she stilled instantly, breath caught in her throat.

Trevor stirred slightly, eyes flickering open as if some part of him felt it—that tension still wound in her core.

“Hetty?” he murmured, voice a frayed whisper.

“Yes, my sweet?”

“You didn’t… you didn’t cum.”

She chuckled softly, low and indulgent. “You are very persistent, my love.”

“I—I can help,” he offered instantly, sluggish but sincere. “If you want—I can use my mouth—my hands—”

“Oh, hush,” she cooed, stroking his hair. “You’ve given enough tonight.”

Trevor whimpered—barely awake now. Her fingers curled around his jaw, tilting his face toward hers.

“Sleep, darling, I'll wake you if I have need of you.”

He nodded, bleary-eyed.

“Good boy,” she purred. And with that, she settled beside him, letting her own ache smoulder just a little longer.

Slowly, delicately, so as not to disturb his sleep for the moment, Hetty let her hand wander beneath her skirts. Her breath caught before she even reached her destination, anticipation alone curling her spine like a violin string drawn taut.

Her fingertips grazed the soft curve of her inner thigh—already damp from the hours of restrained want—and she shivered, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she slid further.

When her fingers finally dipped between her folds, she nearly gasped aloud.

An ocean.

An absolute flood of slick heat met her there. She exhaled a warbling breath, her mouth parting in disbelief at just how soaked she was. Her cunt was swollen, lips puffed and tender, every nerve there supple with denied climax.

Her clit throbbed against the edge of her palm with the first brush, pulsing like a living thing.

Trevor was still sleeping, his arm draped across the bed beside her, his chest rising and falling in slow, deep waves. He looked so peaceful, so sweet, lips parted, lashes fluttering slightly with each exhale.

She bit down a moan as her fingers traced slow, teasing strokes through her folds—slick noises muffled beneath the fabrics of her skirt. She stroked along the outer lips first, spreading her slickness, savouring the sensation of her fingers gliding through the heat.

Then she circled her clit, and her whole body twitched , muscles jumping as pleasure bolted up her spine.

Her thighs clenched instinctively. Her hips lifted off the mattress a fraction, chasing the pressure.

Her fingers worked with delicate cruelty, curling gently to rub the swollen nub in tight little circles, every touch making her shudder. Her breath hitched. Her hips ground softly into her palm. Her inner muscles clenched around nothing , desperate to be filled, and her thighs trembled with the effort to keep still.

She was so close.

She began to rut against him, slow and shallow at first, rolling her hips in a measured rhythm. Her clit throbbed, catching on the curve of his muscle, and she moaned softly against his shoulder, letting her hand slide beneath her skirts to clutch at the meat of her own thigh.

Her arousal slicked across his skin, smearing against him with every pass. Her breathing grew faster, her pace sharper, more frenzied. She buried her face against his neck to muffle the desperate little sounds spilling from her lips—whimpers, gasps, broken pleas she wouldn’t remember later.

And then—

A shift.

A flex of muscle beneath her.

Trevor stirred.

“Hetty…?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep, rough-edged. “You okay…?”

She stilled—but too late. She was trembling, panting, soaking his leg. She didn’t speak.

Then he groaned.

And the sound went straight through her .

In a blur of instinct and urgency, Trevor moved—still half-asleep, but utterly feral. He reached around her, grabbed her hips with bruising hands, and flipped them both over, pressing her face-down into the bed with a grunt. Her skirts bunched around her waist, her legs spread wide, and she barely had time to cry out before she felt the thick press of his cock nudging at her entrance— hot , hard , and already leaking.

“ ‘I'll wake you if I have need of you’, huh?” he growled into her ear, breath hot. “Wonderful way to wake up, with you humping my leg like a bitch in heat.”

She moaned , ragged and desperate, arching her back like an offering.

“Trevor, please—”

“As you wish,” he murmured, and slammed into her.

She gasped— loud —her eyes rolling back as the stretch tore through her like lightning. He was deep instantly, bottoming out with no resistance, the obscene squelch of her soaked cunt filling the room.

He fucked her hard . No rhythm, no buildup—just rough, fast, claiming thrusts, his hips slamming against her ass as he drove into her over and over, panting, grunting, owning her.

She clawed at the sheets, gasping his name, unable to speak in full sentences. Her orgasm had been building for hours , and now it rushed toward her like a flood breaking a dam.

“You gonna cum, Hetts?” he growled, voice frayed. “Gonna cum like a filthy little pillow princess on my cock?”

“Yes—fuck—yes, please —”

He reached under her, found her clit, rubbed it once —and she screamed .

Her body snapped tight around him, spasming in waves as she came, shaking and sobbing and drooling into the mattress while he kept thrusting, chasing his own release through her wrecked, pulsing cunt.

He came with a growl , hips jerking, cock spilling inside her in thick, hot pulses. They stayed locked together, trembling and panting, her body twitching around him with the aftershocks, his arms wrapped around her waist like a tether.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn’t need to.

They collapsed, tangled, panting, soaked in sweat and cum and everything they were together and they slept.

Chapter Text

Trevor had her pinned, wrists trapped above her head in his firm grip. Their fingers laced together and became a counterpoint of strength and surrender. Her skirts were a mess of ruffled silk and lace, bunched scandalously high, her thighs spread wide to cradle the weight of him between them.

She smirked, her red lips curling with wicked amusement, a gleam of challenge sparking in her eyes. Then, with a sharp twist of her hips and a flex of her deceptively delicate-looking legs, she used the leverage of her inner thighs to throw him off balance, like a dancer executing a flawless turn with malicious intent. Trevor let out a startled grunt as his back hit the mattress, arms instinctively flailing before she caught his wrists and pinned them above his head with both hands.

Now it was her turn to loom, triumphant, astride his broad chest like a victorious huntress. Some of her curls had come loose, tumbling across her forehead, caressing the line of her cheek; his fingers twitched to touch them. Her skirts were fanned around his waist in dishevelled abandon. She rolled her hips deliberately, dragging her soaked slit along the rigid line of his cock—so close to taking him in, but just shy of mercy. Slickness painted him with every pass, and still, she refused him entry.

Trevor’s head tipped back into the pillows, mouth slack with need. A low growl rumbled from his throat, guttural and aching, but when she rolled her hips again, slower this time, dragging herself along the full length of him, a broken whimper escaped him—quiet, involuntary, and laced with desperation.

Hetty chuckled, a low, sultry sound. Her fingers tightened around his wrists, her posture radiating power and pleasure. “What a good boy you are~” she purred, the words dripping from her lips like poisoned molasses. Her voice caressed the air, satin and sin, and Trevor shuddered beneath her.

But Trevor was nothing if not a brat—a beautiful, insufferable, maddening brat—and so he surged upward with a wicked grin flickering across his lips. A flash of mischief danced in his dark eyes as he broke free from her hold just enough to drag her down into a kiss that devoured . It was messy, greedy, teeth and tongue and tangled breath, all hunger and no manners.

It broke her focus. Just long enough.

Her hips slid back in the distraction, and suddenly—gloriously—her slick, eager cunt swallowed him whole, inch by thick inch. The sensation robbed the breath from both their lungs. The kiss shattered with a twin gasp, their mouths falling open in stunned delight as her body clenched tightly around him.

Hetty moaned low in her throat, a sound of triumph and satisfaction, her thighs clamping around his hips as she began to ride him with exquisite control. Her tempo began torturously slow, hips rolling with practised precision, her tight heat gripping him with each descent. Her hands roamed over his chest, nails raking gently down the buttons of his shirt, catching on the fine fabric. 

Trevor lay beneath her like a man in worship, mouth parted, eyes glazed with bliss. His arms, now freed from her grip, flew to her waist, her bodice, her ribs—anywhere he could hold, claim, feel . But she gave him no leverage, only her rhythm. Only the maddening gift of watching her come undone atop him on her own terms.

“Hetty, please ,” he groaned, hips bucking uselessly beneath her restraint.

But she didn’t answer him—not in English, anyway. She only tossed her head back, more curls shaking loose from their ornate pins and bouncing against her neck. Her spine arched, her breasts rising high in their corseted frame as she continued her divine torment, hips working him with devastating elegance.

Trevor’s hands tightened on her waist. His jaw locked. Every pass of her body over his drew another strangled sound from him.

She was such a fucking tease. And he loved her for it.

Loved the power in her. Loved the unrepentant decadence with which she took her pleasure from him like it was owed. Like he existed solely for this purpose. She was riding him like a queen astride her tribute, and he—

He was about to blow his load faster than a Power Ranger morph sequence if she didn’t slow the fuck down .

“Fuck, Hetty,” he hissed, cheeks flushed.

Her breath caught on a laugh, but he didn't give her the chance to recover. With a growl low and guttural, he bucked up and flipped them again, his hands grabbing her thighs, his cock still buried deep inside her—and then—The world gave way .

For a moment, time fractured.

They were weightless, suspended outside between floors, between realities—between the madness of lust and the absurdity of ghost physics as they began plummeting together, a tangle of limbs, and laughter, and chaos.

Hetty’s red curls flared like wildfire in the breeze, a halo of flame against the brilliant sky. Her skirts billowed around them in a swirl of silk and lace. Trevor’s eyes locked onto hers, wide and startled, and in that split second of shared disbelief, instinct kicked in.

He moved, twisting in mid-air with a grunt of effort. He wrapped both arms around her, pulling her flush against his chest. His body curled around hers protectively, legs adjusting, arms braced, determined to take the brunt of the landing. She could feel the shift—his strength, his focus, the way he protected her even in freefall. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t practised. But it was a hero-move.

They hit the ground without a sound, rolling through the thick moss at the base of the manor, a pair of ghosts tangled in flesh and linen and earth. The breath ripped from Trevor’s lungs in a ragged gasp, his back absorbing the shock like a mattress that had very much not been designed for this kind of stunt.

But his grip never loosened.

His arms stayed firm around her, cradling her ribs and shoulder blades, his cheek against her temple, as if shielding her from the very idea of harm.

When the world finally stopped spinning, they lay in stunned silence, sprawled in a tangle of limbs across a bed of moss so thick and green it looked painted by a romantic’s brush. Sunlight filtered down through the branches overhead, dappling their bodies in gold and shadow like the universe itself had decided to spotlight their debauchery. 

Hetty, ever the quicker to collect herself, blinked back into focus with a sharp inhale. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the corset laces straining with each breath. She pushed her curls out of her face and sat up slowly, her thighs trembling faintly as she adjusted her weight.

Then she realised two things—both with equal, devastating clarity.

First: Trevor had twisted them in mid-air , cradled her like a storybook hero, and taken the full force of the fall himself. She hadn’t so much as grazed her elbow. He had shielded her and was now lying winded in the grass, flushed and dazed but still holding her like she was precious.

And second:

He was still very much inside her.

Her eyes widened. The flush that rose to her cheeks had little to do with exertion now. She glanced down and saw it—her skirts still bunched around her waist, spread in wild disarray, the evidence of their passion shamelessly visible in the afternoon light. She was still straddling him, their bodies joined, her thighs wrapped loosely around his waist like a lover’s vice.

“Oh,” she breathed, half in shock, half in delight.

Trevor groaned beneath her, eyes screwed shut. “Fuck, babe, you’re gonna kill me one of these days,” he muttered, voice hoarse with both the fleeting pain of the fall and a deep affection. 

Hetty’s gaze flicked upward, toward the grand façade of Woodstone. Rows of windows stretched like watchful eyes along the estate’s backside. At least three of them overlooked the garden where she and Trevor now lay tangled in a most compromising position.

A breath caught in her throat. She should have been mortified.

She was mortified. Or… she would have been, had she not been quite so full of cock and flushed with aching, delirious pleasure, because then came the second wave of sensation—the warm, stretching fullness of him still buried to the hilt inside her, twitching with every flutter of her inner walls. He filled her in a way that made her tremble, made her ache to be still closer, to sink her whole soul into the shape of him. She shifted experimentally, and a pulse of raw heat shot up her spine. Her breath stuttered.

Ah.

Her modesty, she realised, was built on shakier foundations than she liked to admit, but when it came to her vices, she had never been truly strong.

And Trevor, damn him, knew exactly how to make her fall apart.

She placed her palms on his chest, steadying herself, and began to roll her hips in a slow, deliberate bounce. Each downward slide coaxed a deeper groan from Trevor’s throat. Her lips parted on a moan of her own, lashes fluttering as she rocked against him, letting him stretch her open again and again, as if there were no mansion, no windows, no watching world—only the delicious friction of skin against skin, ghost against ghost, and the decadent rhythm of sin in broad daylight.

“ Oui ,” she breathed, leaning down to brush her lips against his jaw. Her voice trembled with need, the French curling from her mouth like a lover’s prayer. “ Une petite mort à la fois …”

One little death at a time.

Trevor exhaled a ragged curse, the sound tearing from his throat as his hips rose instinctively to meet the agonisingly slow grind of her body. The friction was exquisite—wet, hot, and unbearably tight—and every time she sank down, the little minx deliberately clenched around him like a velvet vice.

Hetty’s lashes fluttered, her breath catching as the pleasure unfurled deep in her belly, coiling tighter with each roll of her hips. Trevor’s hands slid to her waist, fingers splayed wide across her ribs before dropping to her hips. He gripped her there, firm and possessive, his polished oxfords pressing into the grass for leverage as he began to thrust up into her with growing urgency. Each movement was desperate, deep, his cock driving into her with a rhythm that matched her bounce—an unspoken choreography of hunger and heat.

“ Fuck , it’s so sexy when you talk like that,” he growled, voice thick with awe and lust, as her head dipped forward.

“ Baise-moi plus fort ,” she whimpered, the words slipping out. She leaned in until her lips brushed the edge of his cheek, her breath feathering hot against his skin. “ Plus profond, tout ce… nngh… que tu veux, mon amour. ”

He barely understood the words, but he understood her body—the desperate, rolling arch of her hips, the way her cunt clenched down on him when she said mon amour . He understood what she meant , and it set every nerve in his body on fire.

“God, Hetty,” he groaned, eyes half-lidded as he met her again—harder, deeper, his fingers tightening on her hips. “You’re unreal. You’re fucking unreal …”

Each thrust hit deeper, slicker, the sound of their bodies slapping together rising with shameless wet percussion into the afternoon air. Somewhere in the back of Trevor’s mind, he knew they were visible—that anyone looking out those windows could see how utterly destroyed she looked riding him in the open daylight.

But that only made it hotter.

With a grunt of effort and a flash of strength, Trevor flipped them again, this time rising to his knees and dragging Hetty down with him. He spread her thighs wide, pushing the bunched remains of her petticoats and skirts aside with unceremonious urgency. 

She looked divine.

Her hair, once pinned with meticulous care, now tumbled in wild, radiant disarray across the moss. Sunlight caught the copper strands, turning them into living fire. Her cheeks were flushed, lips kiss-bitten and parted in a silent moan, and her corset, slightly askew from the chaos, heaved with every breath.

And her eyes… her eyes.

Gleaming blue, stormy and dazed with lust, they locked with his—and for a moment, Trevor froze.

He was supposed to move. To thrust. To fuck her senseless in the grass like they were still on borrowed time, but all he could do was look at her. See her.

How beautiful she was. How utterly wild . How soft and sinful and undone. She was chaos wrapped in lace and power wrapped in silk, and she was his . In that moment, wholly and unquestionably his .

And fuck, it was hot. The windows behind them loomed like silent voyeurs—anyone in the house could be watching. Maybe someone was . That danger thrummed in his spine, made every nerve spark brighter.

He snapped back into motion.

Trevor drove into her, hard and fast, the force of his thrusts pushing her deeper into the grass. 

The wet, obscene slap of their hips meeting echoed off the garden walls, matched only by the rustling of leaves and the helpless, muffled moans Hetty tried desperately to stifle. She bit down on her knuckle, teeth sinking in deep to hide the wanton sounds pouring from her throat. Her body arched beneath him like a bow pulled taut, the muscles in her belly quivering, her breasts trembling with every impact.

Her entire being seemed to vibrate beneath him—tension and pleasure and barely-restrained abandon.

And he could barely hold it together. He was fucking her into the earth like he wanted to carve her name into it. Trevor’s thrusts grew sharper, more precise—each one a deliberate stroke designed to bring Hetty closer and closer to bliss. He watched her unravel, inch by glorious inch, until her knuckles had gone white where she bit down, eyes glassy and fever-bright beneath the curtain of sweat-damp curls.

And then, he gave her exactly what she needed.

His hand slid down between their joined bodies, slipping over the wet mess of her slick folds. His thumb found the swollen bundle of nerves at her apex, hot and throbbing with need. He circled it with practised ease, slow at first, then faster, matching the ruthless rhythm of his thrusts. 

Her legs began to tremble in earnest. Her moans escaped in strangled bursts—no longer ladylike, no longer contained—just raw, desperate sounds clawing their way from her lungs. “S-so close,” she choked, voice breaking around the words. “Please don’t stop—fuck—I’m gonna cum—fuck, Trevor, please , please , fuck me—fuck me—fuck me!”

She was pleading now, a breathless litany between sobs and moans, her carefully constructed composure shattered in his hands. He felt the shift deep inside her—the frantic pulsing, the hitching rhythm of her hips as they stuttered beneath him, the frantic squeeze of her cunt.

Her orgasm slammed through her like a lightning strike, hot and immediate and all-consuming. Her back arched, body convulsing, eyes squeezed shut as her mouth fell open in a silent cry. Her thighs clamped tight around his waist, her inner muscles fluttering wildly around his cock, milking him with wave after wave of pulsing bliss.

She was sobbing with it—soft, strangled sobs of pleasure as she rode the tremors, shaking in his arms. Her fingers clawed at the grass, searching for purchase, for anything to ground her as her world fractured apart in ecstasy.

And Trevor—watching her shatter beneath him, undone and exquisite—had never seen anything more beautiful. 

Her flushed cheeks, the tears trembling at the corners of her lashes, the way her mouth formed a perfect O of ecstasy as her body clenched around his—he wanted to frame it in memory, etch it into the walls of his mind and never let it fade. She looked wrecked. Glorious. His.

“ Fuck , babe,” he groaned, the words barely recognisable through the rasp in his throat. “You’re such a fucking smoke show when you cum…”

His hand trembled as he withdrew his thumb from her quivering clit, letting her come down in bliss while he lost all pretense of control.

He rammed into her, hard, hips snapping with the frantic rhythm of a man too far gone to care about grace. His thrusts turned wild, deep, relentless—each one landing with the wet, obscene slap of skin against skin, his cock pounding into her still-pulsing heat.

She whimpered beneath him, body still trembling from her own release, every thrust of his dragging another gasp from her slack, kiss-bruised lips.

It only took three more.

Then four.

His head dropped to her shoulder with a growl torn straight from his gut, hips jerking uncontrollably as the tight coil in his spine finally snapped. His cock plunged deep one last time, and he came with a stuttering groan—hot and helpless—filling her with everything he had.

The world narrowed to her.

To the way her body welcomed him even now—hot and fluttering around his twitching hardness, clinging to him as though reluctant to let him go. She was still trembling beneath him, her breath uneven, heart racing in tandem with his. The velvet clutch of her cunt coaxed every last pulse of his release from him, as though her body knew he had more to give. As though it refused to let their moment end.

And Trevor—blissful, shaking, filled with something far too big to name—didn’t want to leave.

He stayed buried in her as long as he could, his forehead pressed to the curve of her neck, catching the mingled scent of grass and the perfume clinging to her skin. 

Eventually, the relentless thrum in his bones began to ease, and with a reluctant hiss, he eased out of her. A faint slick sound followed, and he winced slightly, already missing the warmth, the closeness, the exquisite tension between their bodies.

Hetty didn’t speak, she didn’t need to. Her hand found his, fingers twining loosely, before she rolled to her side to face him.

With all the dignity of a triumphant sovereign, she gathered the tangled ruin of her skirts and draped them over his hips, shielding his still-slick and thoroughly used dick. The gesture was absurdly regal—gracious, theatrical, so her . She looked down at him, still flushed, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Trevor chuckled, chest still heaving with aftershocks, and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sun warm his face.

He’d just been ravished into the grass by a 19th-century ghost with thighs of steel and absolutely no shame left.

They stared up at the sky together, dappled sunlight filtering through the treetops.

Trevor chuckled breathlessly, dragging a hand through his tousled hair as he stared up at the canopy of leaves above them. “You know… not that long ago, you’d have burst into flames at the thought of anyone seeing you in such a state.”

His voice was teasing, affectionate—laced with disbelief at how far she’d let herself come undone for him, with him. Brazen in sunlight, cunt still dripping, legs splayed wide in the open air—and not a shred of her famed propriety in sight.

Hetty turned her head slowly, a faint smile playing at the edge of her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. One perfectly arched brow lifted in the practised motion of cool amusement, the kind that had graced countless drawing rooms and opera boxes, the mask she wore even now like a second skin.

“Yes, well,” she murmured, adjusting a fold of fabric over her thighs with dainty precision. “Shame, after all, is a luxury reserved for women with reputations left to ruin.”

She smoothed her skirt as if it mattered, as if anyone could unsee the glorious wreck she’d made of herself— he’d made of her—moaning into her fist, taking his cock like she was starving for it.

And yet her posture straightened just so, as if by habit, folding herself back into the woman she’d spent a lifetime pretending to be.

Trevor turned to look at her fully, the smirk fading from his lips as he studied her. Her beauty, yes, but also the effort. The quiet edges of sadness behind the dry wit. The aching elegance of a woman who had never quite been allowed to want .

He squeezed her hand gently, and watched the clouds above them, and he smiled, his heart doing a weird little kick-flip when Hetty didn’t pull away. 

Chapter Text

It had been—what? Weeks? Months? Time, in her afterlife, was an endless stretch of hours until he had taught her how it could be counted differently, measured in gasps and shivers, in the exquisite release of a well-timed thrust. And then it had stopped.

They were not speaking. Not truly. There had been no grand reconciliation, no carefully orchestrated ruse to fool the others. This was a real break—hard, cold, and final in a way she had never believed he was capable of.

Yet the proximity of him, even in passing, was its own private torment. To hear his voice in another room, to glimpse him in the hall—it was enough to make her stomach twist and her pulse quicken, a body’s betrayal of a mind that had decided she ought to be furious with him. She was furious with him.

And still she ached.

It was intolerable, knowing exactly what an orgasm felt like—and worse, knowing she could have them whenever she pleased if only she had him again. The absence gnawed at her, made her jumpy, brittle, desperate in ways she refused to name.

She hadn’t the faintest idea how to get him back.

Hetty stood at the window, restless fingers worrying the edges of her bodice. Beyond the glass, the trees swayed in the moonlight, their movement only deepening the sense that everything was shifting except her.

On the bed behind her, Flower yawned. “You’re making the window pane feel judged.”

Hetty shot her a look over her shoulder, the kind meant to cut through fog and foolishness alike. Flower was lying crosswise atop the covers, hair a wild, untamed halo spilling in every direction like a dandelion gone to seed. Her eyes, half-lidded with the weight of impending sleep, regarded Hetty with a sort of dreamy unconcern. And—most damningly—she had claimed the very centre of the bed, sprawled diagonally in a way that suggested she was far more accustomed to sleeping in a warm, tangled heap of bodies than within the polite borders of a single mattress.

“I am considering my options,” Hetty replied primly, each word measured to disguise the jolt of awareness prickling along her skin. The very idea of Flower brushing against her—accidentally or otherwise—was like pressing a live wire to her already frayed nerves. Her body was taut with an anticipation she refused to name. “I might take the chair tonight.”

Flower patted the mattress beside her. “You could just get in.”

Hetty bristled. “Flower, there is—” She stopped herself, lips pressing together. She had learned, in these last weeks, that dignity was a fragile thing. It could survive the loss of status, of lineage, of the whole elaborate scaffolding she’d built to keep people from seeing her too closely, but it had no defence against the memory of a man’s hands, warm and knowing, and the terrible wanting left behind when they were gone.

She turned away before Flower could read it on her face. “I should like a moment to prepare.”

Flower sat up, cocking her head to one side as she considered the redhead. “Prepare for what? It’s sleeping, Hetty. You just… do it.”

The words should have been harmless. Instead, they fell like stones in Hetty’s gut, dragging behind them that constant, unwelcome heat. I just… do it.

Sleep had never come easily to her—not in life, when she’d kept a vial of laudanum at her bedside to sedate herself through the long, restless hours—and not in death, until Trevor. He had offered her an entirely different solution, one that left her body limp with satisfaction and her mind quiet enough to surrender to slumber. It had been immediate, effortless, certain. A single murmur from him could pull her into that dizzying bliss she’d spent over a century believing she’d never feel, and then carry her, content and drowsy, into sleep.

The past few months had stripped that from her. The crippling insomnia had returned with a vengeance, every night a slow torture in the dark. It was one thing when Flower had been trapped in the well—at least then she’d had the solitude to pace and fume and exhaust herself into brief spells of unconsciousness. Since Flower’s rescue, she had returned to rooming with Hetty, as was the agreement after the trial. Now there was no escaping the awareness of another body in the bed—and the sharp, insistent longing for the one body that was not there.

She perched on the edge of the mattress with as much decorum as possible.

 “You’re wound tighter than a drum at the sunrise ceremony,” Flower said, smiling faintly. “What’s going on with you?”

“I am not —wound.” Hetty folded her hands in her lap. “I am… uncomfortable. That is all.”

“Touch-starved,” Flower said softly, like she was naming a butterfly she’d just spotted.

Hetty’s spine straightened. “I am nothing of the sort.”

Flower tilted her head, unbothered. “It’s okay, you know. Even the tallest trees reach for the sun.”

“I have no need to reach,” Hetty replied crisply.

“You do,” Flower said, dreamily certain. “You just think the sun should come to you. And maybe it should. But sometimes you have to step out of the shade.”

Hetty’s mouth opened to object, then closed again. She found herself glancing toward the door, as though the answer might stroll in uninvited. “I wasn’t before, or at least, I had no benchmark with which to know for certain,” she said at last, voice tighter than intended. “He—” ruined me. The words lodged in her throat. She swallowed it, along with the urge to confess how maddening it had been, learning what pleasure felt like only to lose the one person who could give it on command.

Flower shifted, coming to kneel next to her with the passive energy of someone merely curious. “You know,” she said gently, “pleasure doesn’t have to be this big, scary thing you ration out like acid at  Woodstock. It’s not going to run out.”

Hetty arched a brow. “Acid melts the brain,” she muttered, bitter.

Flower smiled, leaning in just enough for her voice to drop into something conspiratorial. “So you hide yourself forever? That doesn’t sound like the Hetty Woodstone I know—I think…I may have you confused with Sunberry…”

Hetty’s lips twitched—half in irritation, half in reluctant amusement. “I prefer… moderation.”

“Moderation is great for the carrots they used to serve in the cult. Not for feeling good.” Flower leaned in, her hand warm as it brushed Hetty’s wrist. “You talk like pleasure’s a fire you have to keep in the hearth. I think it’s the sun—everyone deserves to stand in it.”

The touch lingered. Hetty’s breath caught. She told herself it was only because she hadn’t been touched in months that it was merely the warmth of skin meeting skin, and not the treacherous, spreading heat curling low in her belly.

Flower’s voice dropped, softer now. “You could let yourself feel something tonight. No big plan. No Trevor.”

Hetty should have pulled back. She should have maintained the distance she had so carefully guarded. Instead, she found herself turning—just enough for their knees to brush. The simple contact felt perilously indulgent.

When Flower leaned closer, Hetty didn’t stop her. The kiss, when it came, was unhurried—nothing like Trevor’s dizzying, consuming intensity. This was a slow, deliberate press of lips, the sort of kiss that made her aware of every point of contact: the slide of hair against her cheek, the faint taste of mushrooms on Flower’s breath, the steady thrum of her own pulse.

When they parted, Flower stayed close, their foreheads brushing. Her hand slid slowly up Hetty’s arm, fingertips grazing through the expensive fabric of her sleeve as if memorising the shape beneath.

“You’re trembling,” Flower whispered.

“I am not ,” Hetty began, but the word broke into a breath as Flower’s palm found hers, warm and sure. Hetty’s fingers tightened instinctively, holding on like she might otherwise drift away.

“You’ve been missing this,” Flower said, not as a question but as a truth.

Hetty’s lips pressed together in a line—denial, dignity, defence all crumbling. She could feel the empty weeks like a weight in her body, the phantom echoes of every time Trevor had coaxed her to that trembling edge and pushed her over. The absence was maddening.

Flower’s thumb traced lazy circles over the inside of her wrist. “Let me show you. It won’t be the same… but it will still be good.”

Hetty’s chin lifted, though her pulse betrayed her. “As a woman, you seem to have an inordinate amount of faith in your own talents, Flower.”

“I’ve opened more hearts with my tongue than Bruce ever did with his Meteorite, and I never once made them sit cross-legged for hours.” One of her hands rose to tuck a stray curl behind the redhead’s ear, knuckles grazing her cheek in a touch that was maddeningly soft.

Hetty found herself leaning into it.

Flower’s lips found hers again — deeper now, the pace slow but with an unmistakable pull, as though she meant to unravel Hetty stitch by stitch. One hand rested lightly at Hetty’s waist, thumb stroking over the firm ridges of her stays. Hetty’s pulse jumped so violently she could feel it in her throat; her body was already remembering, yearning , desperate to be reminded how easily it once surrendered to such closeness.

She inhaled sharply when Flower’s fingers skimmed lower, mapping the curve of her hip, pausing at the pooling ruffle of her gown before daring lower still to the slope of her thigh. Hetty’s breath hitched. She watched, wide-eyed, every nerve alive with panic and hunger, as Flower lifted her skirts with the languid authority of someone who had done this a thousand times. Fingers grazed over her stockings and bloomers, the contact enough to set her trembling.

“Your underwear would be wicked fun at a bra burning!” Flower exclaimed with a giggle, leaning down to pepper kisses up Hetty’s shapely calves.

Hetty flushed scarlet, clutching fistfuls of her rumpled skirts like they might yet preserve her dignity. “This is satin cotton, you heathen! I would never burn it—even if such a thing were possible!” Her voice cracked, more whimper than reprimand.

Flower merely laughed, lips pressing hot, deliberate kisses higher up her inner thigh, each one stealing the breath from Hetty’s chest. The redhead’s protests shrivelled into silence when Flower’s nose brushed teasingly against the soft, fiery curls revealed by the slit in her bloomers.

“I don’t know,” Flower purred, voice low and sing-song, “hay un arbusto en llamas aquí abajo~”

Hetty bit down on her knuckle, desperate to stifle the moan tearing itself from her throat—but it broke free anyway, ragged and needy. Flower’s warm breath ghosted over her, searing through her composure like lightning through a dry tree.

When fingers finally slid against her slick, aching core, Hetty all but shuddered apart, her back arching helplessly against the mattress. The sound that escaped her was shameless, the culmination of weeks—months—of sleepless nights, of denial, of torment. She had never felt so utterly undone , and yet never needed it more.

No one in the house—save Trevor—had ever seen Henrietta Woodstone in such a pliable state. Flower had expected her to be tense, sure, but this was something else. Every muscle in Hetty’s body seemed strung like a bow, trembling under her touch, each gasp betraying just how long she had been holding herself taut. The woman didn’t need an orgasm; she needed twenty bowls of weed to the face just to unclench her jaw.

Flower smirked against the soft skin of Hetty’s thigh. Hot damn.

She had always known Hetty was pent-up, but the sheer desperation in the way the other woman clutched at her skirts—knuckles white, lips bitten raw—was enough to make Flower slow her own rhythm on purpose. There was no rush. Flower hadn’t lived in “rush” mode since 1964, and she certainly wasn’t about to start now.

Her tongue flicked once, light as a dragonfly’s wing, then retreated, coaxing Hetty’s hips to chase the sensation. A low, frustrated whine tore free from Hetty’s throat, muffled quickly by her own hand, as though propriety might still be salvaged.

“Easy,” Flower whispered, lips brushing her heat before withdrawing again. “You don’t have to fight me. Just feel it.”

Hetty’s whole body arched, suspended in the battle between indignation and need. She wanted to demand, to command—but every nerve was already betraying her.

Flower chuckled softly, her breath hot against Hetty’s folds. “All that tension, all that control… you’re going to make yourself sick if you don’t let go.” She pressed a kiss just off centre, maddeningly gentle. “Lucky for you, I’m very, very good at helping people let go.”

And she set about proving it—not with Trevor’s eager insistence, but with the slow patience of a woman who had built entire cult nights around keeping people hovering at the edge of bliss until dawn. Her tongue moved in languid circles, teasing the spot and then veering away, alternating pressure and release until Hetty was keening, her thighs shaking, her pride dissolving in helpless gasps.

“Please…” Hetty finally broke, voice strangled, hips lifting against Flower’s mouth despite herself. Her fingers clutched at the sheets as if they were the last thing keeping her tethered to earth.

Flower hummed low against her, the vibration sending Hetty spiralling. “That’s it,” she crooned between licks, dreamy and indulgent. “Don’t think. Don’t fight. Just be .”

Flower took her time, tongue working slow, steady strokes that sent Hetty’s composure splintering piece by piece. The longer she drew it out, the more Hetty trembled—a woman unaccustomed to surrender, now clinging to her own body as though it were betraying her at every turn.

When Flower slid one finger inside, Hetty gasped so sharply she nearly sobbed. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, but the shock of being filled made her thighs clamp helplessly around Flower’s head.

“Shh,” Flower murmured, her voice a haze of warmth against Hetty’s curls. “That’s just the start. You’ve got room for more.”

A second finger pressed in, and Hetty’s hips jerked, her breath breaking into ragged pants. The sensation was overwhelming—months of pent-up frustration, centuries of denial, all funnelled into the stretch, the press, the obscene fullness that made her stomach flutter.

By the time Flower slid in a third, Hetty was beyond pride. She was riding down onto the hand, hips snapping in wild little thrusts that shocked her even as they consumed her. Her bloomers were shoved aside in tatters of modesty, her skirts bunched around her waist, every inch of her crying out for more.

“Good girl,” Flower crooned, tongue circling her clit as her fingers curled inside, finding every place she could be touched that would send sparks across her field of vision. “Look at you… letting go. Doesn’t that feel better than guarding yourself like a locked chest?”

Hetty bit down hard on her fist, the scream tearing through her throat muffled only by her own knuckles. She couldn’t stop it—couldn’t stop the rhythm of her hips grinding down, chasing every stroke, every wet pull of Flower’s tongue until her body was alight with nothing but need.

The orgasm hit like a wave breaking on stone, violent and unrelenting. Hetty screamed into her fist, body arched, every nerve aflame as Flower stuffed her full and held her there, carrying her through the storm until she collapsed, shuddering, undone.

When she finally sagged back against the pillows, skirts tangled around her waist, sweat beading her temples, she could barely catch her breath. Her entire body sang with the aftershocks, loose and pliant in a way she hadn’t known she could be.

Flower didn’t move away.

Hetty had half-expected her to drift back onto her own side of the bed, to let the moment dissolve into the cool quiet of the night. That was what she was used to—even Trevor, for all his warmth, tended to leave her flushed and laughing under the tangle of her skirts, then lie back with his arm around her while they traded ridiculous barbs and appraisals. She always left before they could fall asleep, before she could get lost in the fantasy.

This was different.

Flower stayed curled into her, forehead resting lightly against Hetty’s temple, one hand moving in slow, steady strokes down her back as if smoothing the tension from every muscle. It was… unsettling , at first, to be held so deliberately, as though the touch itself was the point and not a means to an end.

Hetty let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.

“Better?” Flower asked softly.

Hetty hesitated, her pride tugging at her tongue. “I… suppose so.”

“Mm,” Flower said, and kept up that slow rhythm, her palm pressing just enough to remind Hetty she wasn’t going anywhere. “It’s not just about getting there, you know. Your body needs time to come down. To feel safe again.”

Hetty gave a faint, incredulous laugh. “Safe? My dear, I’m quite beyond needing—”

Flower pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes gentle but steady. “Everyone needs it. Even if they’ve never had it before.”

That struck deeper than Hetty cared to admit. She tried to deflect with a sniff, but the motion only pressed her cheek more firmly into the curve of Flower’s neck. The scent there—wildflowers and clean air, somehow—was soothing in a way she couldn’t articulate.

Flower’s other hand came up to cradle the back of her head, fingertips brushing lightly through her hair. “You don’t have to talk. Just… stay.”

So Hetty stayed.

The minutes stretched, but instead of cooling, the intimacy seemed to settle, weaving itself into something quieter and heavier than desire. Hetty’s thoughts slowed. The knot at the base of her spine eased under Flower’s patient touch. She felt her breathing match the unhurried rise and fall of the body beside her, lulled by the steady rhythm.

Her eyelids fluttered. For the first time in weeks, true sleep pressed against her. And yet, in that haze, her thoughts wandered inevitably to him. To Trevor—vexing, contemptuous, unrefined Trevor—who had shown her another way of being. His way: tangled together, lauding undignified praise against each other's lips, yes, but also whispered confidences, careless laughter, pillow talk that made her feel as though she were not simply a body but a self worth sharing.

She thought, drowsily, that if he ever offered her the chance again, she might like to try it his way. Not just the physical pleasure—though she missed it keenly, every aching night—but the intimacy of it, the terrifying notion of giving herself honestly and being accepted anyway.

Flower’s warmth was a kindness, a balm against the raw edges of her hunger, and she was grateful for it. But even in her satiation, Hetty knew the truth: Flower was not him.

And for all her mistakes, all her pride and stubbornness, she had valued her time with Trevor more deeply than she could ever have admitted aloud. Probably why you don't deserve him , she thought unhelpfully, heavy and aching, but softened by exhaustion, Hetty finally let sleep take her.

Chapter Text

Trevor couldn’t stop pacing.

It had been months since he’d told her it was over, and still his nights felt too small, too empty, too loud with every thought of her. She’d broken something in him that day—not because she’d gone after Thor (though fuck, that image alone was enough to make him want to rip his own head off), but because she hadn’t even thought to talk to him first.

She’d stood right there in the kitchen, listened to Isaac spin out his ridiculous “Thor’s girlfriends keep getting sucked off” theory—and she’d believed it. Believed it enough to gamble on Thor instead of… what? Instead of admitting that what she and Trevor had might actually mean something?

That was the knife. Not Thor. Not Isaac’s pompous little theory. Not the half-assed seduction. The knife was that she’d listened to the same nonsense he had—and still decided it was worth more than him.

So he told her it was done. No more hooking up, no more pillow talk, no more pretending it wasn’t turning into something else. He’d been furious. He was still furious. And beneath the fury sat a rawer truth he couldn’t name—not that he loved her, not that he needed her—just that it hurt. It hurt that after everything they’d shared, she hadn’t trusted him enough to talk to him, hadn’t valued their friendship enough for it to mean anything to her.

That was the wound he couldn’t dig out.

He rubbed at his temples, trying to block her out, but her voice still carried through the wall. Every laugh, every prim little sniff. Even her silences haunted him.

Tonight, it wasn’t silent. Tonight, there was a cry. A sharp, muffled one that hit his gut like a blade.

Trevor spun toward the wall. Panic slammed through him—not reasoned, not measured, just a gut-deep terror that something was wrong. After Flower’s accident, after hearing about what Hetty confessed she’d done to herself in life, how she came to be a ghost, he couldn’t shake the fear that she might break again. 

Before he could think, he shoved his head through the plaster.

And froze.

Flower was between her thighs, skirts rucked high, bloomers shoved aside. Hetty’s fists were tangled in her own dress, her face flushed scarlet. Flower’s hand was buried in her, one finger sliding deep, and Hetty’s back was arched so hard Trevor thought she might snap in half. A ragged, shameless moan ripped out of her.

Trevor’s cock was instantly, brutally, embarrassingly hard.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, jerking back a little, but his hand was already closing around himself before his brain caught up. He should leave . He had no right. They were broken up. He was the one who ended it.

And yet—

The sounds. Holy shit, the sounds. Those desperate little cries muffled against her knuckles, the whimper when Flower pushed deeper. Trevor knew those sounds. He’d earned them, over and over. He remembered the first time he made her come, how she’d screamed so loud he’d had to clap a hand over her mouth—and then she’d kissed his palm as if it were the only tenderness she dared show. He remembered the way she’d blush after, always swearing she’d never let herself be that loud again, and always breaking within minutes.

Now Flower was wringing those sounds out of her.

Trevor’s breath came harshly, his hand stroking faster. Jealousy scorched through him, ugly and raw, but right alongside it was the memory of how Hetty used to clutch at him afterwards, holding him close like she didn’t want to let go. That had been his. Hers. Theirs.

And she’d thrown it away for the barest chance of leaving purgatory. Leaving him.

The knowledge twisted in him now, sharper for what he knew—how she had ended her own life, how she’d hidden it from everyone for over a century. The pride that made her unbearable sometimes, the shame that kept her locked up tighter than anyone else in the house, the regret she carried like fine lace under her armour. Of course, she’d grasp at even the flimsiest hope of release. Of course, she’d want to be free.

His chest clenched, fury and grief choking him even as his hips jerked into his fist. She’d nearly given herself to Thor for a chance to ascend. She hadn’t chosen Trevor. Now he was stuck in this sick loop, jealous of Flower’s hand between her thighs, and terrified that if he tried to talk to Hetty about any of it, she’d laugh in his face. Tell him he’d imagined it all. That none of it had ever meant to her what it had meant to him.

And yet here he was, hard as hell, watching her fall apart for someone else and still wanting her so bad it hurt.

Flower slid a third finger inside, and Hetty gasped, high and broken. Trevor almost came right then. He remembered the first time he’d done that to her—how her whole body had gone rigid, how she’d whispered that it felt “utterly indecent” before begging him not to stop.

A fourth finger, and Hetty lost every ounce of control. She was riding Flower’s hand now, hips snapping down, skirts bunched high, her voice shredded into shameless moans. Trevor’s own fist flew, matching her rhythm, every wet sound between her thighs pulling him closer to the edge.

Every desperate cry, every muffled scream, every broken “please”—they split him open, left him raw. He should’ve turned away, given them privacy, but he couldn’t. All he could do was chase his own release, furious and jealous and aching. He remembered their pillow talk, her prim little insults softened by affection, the way she’d tucked her cold hands under his shirt like she belonged there. No one else had ever belonged with him the way she had.

And now he’d lost her.

Hetty’s climax ripped through her, body arching high, scream buried in her fist. Trevor came with her, spilling over his hand with a hoarse groan, her name clamped between his teeth.

He sagged into himself, panting, body wrung out, but chest aching worse than ever. There was nothing solid to brace against—no wall, no bed, just the hollow drift of being a ghost. He should have left. Should never have looked. But all he could think was how much he still wanted her—wanted her laughter, her softness, her stubborn pride, her heart.

And God damn it, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep away.

He forced himself to move back, to retreat, but then he heard it: Flower’s voice, low and steady, murmuring against Hetty’s hair.

“Better?”

Hetty’s breath hitched, then a faint, reluctant murmur: “I… suppose so.”

Trevor shut his eyes. He could picture it, plain as if he were still watching: Hetty curled into Flower’s arms, her body loose and pliant, her cheek pressed to another woman’s shoulder the way she used to press to his.

“Not just about getting there,” Flower went on, dreamy and warm. “Your body needs time to come down. To feel safe again.”

Safe.

The word gutted him. Because for all the things Trevor had given Hetty—laughter, orgasms, the ridiculous comfort of pillow talk—he hadn’t known how to make her feel safe. Not really. He’d tried. God, he’d tried. Through the wall, he caught Hetty’s sigh. Softer. Weaker. Sleepy.

He pressed his fist hard against his sternum, as though he could cage the hurt there. He knew that sound, too. He’d fallen asleep with her a few times after they tired themselves out, her head tucked under his chin, her whole body melting into his. He hadn’t let himself hope for more than. He hadn’t dared.

But he’d wanted it. Still wanted it.

Now she was drifting into sleep in Flower’s arms.

He wanted to break something. He wanted to pull her out of that bed and hold her until she finally believed he wasn’t going to leave. He wanted her laughter, her scolding, her warmth, her heart. He wanted all of her.

Instead, he slumped back into his own bed, sticky hand limp against his thigh as he waited for Ghost Rules to clean his mess. His chest ached like someone had reached through his ribs.

Flower had put Hetty to sleep tonight. He knew it, not from hearing her, but from the silence — the absence of her restless pacing, of her sharp little sighs, of the brittle edge that had filled every night since the breakup. 

But he knew another truth too: Hetty had never once slept in peace without him. Not in life, what she had confessed to him in sharp little fragments, that her only respite had come from drugging herself into oblivion. Not in death, where for more than a century she’d hidden everything behind the perfect mask of the Lady of the House.

He’d been the exception. Her cure. Her sedative. The only one who could quiet her mind enough to let her rest. And he’d thrown that away.

He hated her for nearly giving herself to Thor, hated that she hadn’t talked to him. But he hated himself more for ending it, for slamming the door so hard he was too afraid to try opening it again. Because what if he did? What if he reached for her—really reached—and she only laughed in his face? Told him it had never meant what he thought it did? That all those times together, all that pillow talk, every tremble of tenderness he’d seen from her had been nothing?

The thought hollowed him out worse than jealousy ever could.

And yet for all his mistakes, all his pride and stubbornness, he had valued his time with her more deeply than he could ever admit aloud.

And God damn it, he would give anything for the chance to try again.