Ghost Riding

By Foxxi Smolder

Maeve and Niko are trying to bring the life back into their relationship... literally!

Two months ago, Maeve's boyfriend Niko died in a fire. One month ago, he came back as a ghost, and now they're as happy as ever. Except for one problem: they can't touch. Maeve longs to make love to Niko again, but it's going to take some assistance. Luckily, the local occultist is willing to help her out with a jar of ectoplasm, which allows physical objects to touch spiritual beings. Now Maeve's ready to play, and the first item on her list is bending over her ghost boyfriend!

Over 7,500 words of paranormal smut, featuring ghost sex, girl-on-boy pegging and a heavy dose of romance! Mature readers only.

Excerpt:

Niko’s mouth was fully agape. Maeve relished the look of astonishment on his face, until he said, “Babe, I know we’ve established that I can’t really touch you, but I don’t think we’ll have much luck with that thing touching me either.” To demonstrate his point, he waved a hand at – and through – Maeve’s nearby desk. It passed through the solid wood like water through cheesecloth, with no resistance.

“Oh!” Maeve hit her head with her palm. “But that’s where this comes in!” She threw herself over to the side of the bed, where she reached for the jar of ectoplasm on her nightstand. Popping the lid open, she extended it to Niko, who hung back in uncertainty.

“And that is...?” he ventured.

“Ectoplasm! It’s supposed to let physical things make contact with ghosts and spirits and stuff like that. So if I lube up my little dong with it” – she gestured to the strap-on cock sprouting from between her legs – “you should be able to ride it to your heart’s content.”

Niko twisted up his face. “Not that I’m opposed to it in theory – ‘cause you know I’d love nothing more than to sit on your dick—“

She blushed.

“But do you have any idea if this is going to work?”

“Only one way to find out!” Maeve declared. And with a playful crook of her finger, she invited him to join her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Foxxi Smolder
• Release date: Oct 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463034477

Foxxi Smolder

Confirmed bacheloress by day and scribbler of indecent material by night, Foxxi Smolder has been writing sweet, smutty short stories since 2015. She is dedicated to bringing her readers works that embrace kink without sacrificing sex positivity or a sense of humor. When not writing, she enjoys tending her rose garden, doing Tarot readings for her cats, and adding to her collection of fainting couches.

Book preview

Ghost Riding

© 2019 Foxxi Smolder

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Ghost Riding

By Foxxi Smolder

It was approaching midnight, and Maeve Butler couldn’t get to sleep.

She lay on her back, spread-eagled, atop a nest of tangled sheets and blankets. A thin cotton shirt and lace panties were her only protection against the atmosphere. The ceiling fan rotated its blades slowly, shifting only dust. But her room was cold, shockingly so. It was mid-July, and outside the streets still shimmered with some of the day’s leftover heat; but inside, Maeve turned her head on her pillow, and let out a breath that she could see crystallize into fog before her eyes.

Chill touched her with cold fingers. Maeve shivered, and drew one long leg closer to her chest, but otherwise did not move. Her eyes were on the curtains. Despite the lazy fan, they fluttered as if there were a breeze. Then, impossibly, there was a breeze, gusting from the walls of the closed room towards its center, and towards Maeve.

Goosebumps chased their way down her arms. The temperature in the room had dropped dramatically, with no apparent cause. And the frigid air wasn’t the only thing that bothered her. The breeze seemed to be teasing her, grazing her ample breasts so the nipples hardened under her shirt. At the same time, some invisible force was toying with her mane of chestnut-brown, witchy curls. Like a cat with a ball of yarn, the presence raked through Maeve’s locks, pulling at them before letting them spring free.

The room was really in a state now: the curtains billowed as if a gale were somehow blowing through the closed window, and Maeve was shivering more than ever, the cold having now reached arctic proportions. Pressure appeared and disappeared on intimate parts of her, feeling first like the faint touch of fingertips on her inner thigh, then like an invisible hand circling her breast. She squirmed,