Chapter 18

Jacques went to his knees, and with one quick glance at the spectre that Ignatius could hardly fathom, the man leaned over him. “Sshh,” Jacques said, stroking his face. Oddly, his voice and touch were strangely comforting.

“Is that a chicken leg in your pocket or are you enjoying this as well?” Ignatius managed to gasp out between the spectre’s thrusts. Jacques laughed, and the sound ripped through Ignatius as much as the spirit shoved deeply into him. His hands fell away from his groin, his fingers clawing, scrabbling at the boards on which he lay. Small mewing sounds escaped his mouth. He felt battered, bruised, and not just at the point of invasion. His body and mind loosened, his legs falling back, inviting. He would have curled his body to meet that spectral piston, but the apparition had a solid grip on his hips and held him in position for its own pleasure.