Martin awoke with a hard cock. The tantalizing suggestion of lips caressing the flared head of his erection had him sitting up in bed and staring down at his own naked body. He blinked and focused on his crotch. His cock was definitely hard, and looked wet. What the hell?
The breeze from the big bay windows blew in across him, bringing with it the salty smell of ocean and lush Caribbean vegetation. It was late in the afternoon, the sun setting in the west to his right.
He’d been dreaming. Leaning out across the bow of a speeding clipper, sails full, he’d inhaled the same Caribbean breeze he smelled now. A solid body had been pressed into his from behind, a stiff cock rubbed against the hairy crack of his butt and calloused hands reached around his waist and caressed his own erection. A bearded face had nuzzled his neck.
What was that all about? He rose, shaking his head. Then he breathed in an odd scent that inexplicably clung to his face and body. It was vaguely like body odor; did he need a shower? But it was more like coconut and the smell of sweat. Not really dirty. Just not—antiseptic. What was it?
He found himself stroking his hard-on absently as he inhaled the odd aroma, then with a laugh realized what he was doing. That’s when he noticed that all the windows were wide open.
He’d definitely closed the west-facing ones, and the blinds too, before taking his nap. That was odd. No one was in the house except him. Maybe it was a ghost.
Martin let go of his cock and laughed out loud. A ghost! He strode to the windows and stared down at the first floor patio. Palmetto fronds waved in the breeze that was growing distinctly stronger. Was a storm coming? Gazing at the flower-lined patio, he suddenly recalled the conversation he’d had that morning. Ghosts. Yes, that’s when it had come up.
“I forbid you to marry that loser. He’s after your money.”
Martin had been arguing with his younger sister. Cecilia had just laughed and patted his shoulder. She was infuriating that way. She never lost her temper, and Martin blew his top at least once a day.
“I want you to come back to Florida for the wedding. It’s next week, if you recall.” Cecilia’s melodic voice had floated on the breeze. “I also want you to sign the trust papers so Ryan and I can finish college without having to worry about money.”
“Fat chance! I told you he’s after your money—”
Cecilia was already walking down the path toward the waiting sea plane. She’d turned and waved to him, a bright smile illuminating her pretty face, blond hair blowing on the breeze. “Oh, by the way, there’s a ghost in your house. He’s a pirate, I think.”
Martin’s private plane had skimmed across a perfect sea, carrying his little sister back to the States. He’d fumed for a while, then retired to his room for a nap. Then came the dream, his hard cock, and thoughts of ghosts. Pirate ghosts.
Martin grinned as he recalled their conversation. His little sister was in love! He didn’t believe in love. All the men he fucked, he fucked. That was it. Good sex and fast getaways. No one was going to get their hooks into him like some damn pirate.
Pirates! There it was again. His sister was into all that stuff: tarot, clairvoyance, ghosts, and on top of that, she was a history major at the university. Martin pulled on a pair of swim trunks and found his way down to the sea and the little beach below his house, while he ruminated on his sister and ghosts. The reddish tinge of the setting sun glinting off the foam of the jade-blue sea calmed him. Behind him in the swaying palms, island birds twittered in counterpoint to the splashing of the surf. Except for the strengthening wind, the evening was perfect.
He was glad he’d bought the old mansion on the coast of Jamaica, he thought as he dove into the waves, even if it had been Cecilia’s idea.
Martin rose from the water refreshed, but when he glanced down at the rounded hairiness of his belly just covered by his swim suit, there was that insistent hard-on again. He was alone on an isolated section of the coast and he had no visitors planned. No one to take care of that boner. Maybe the ghost would do it for him, he thought sardonically.
