Come Back to Me (A Gothic Romance)

Author: Meghan Moore

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Is she brave enough to embrace a ghostly second chance at love?

Shy landscape artist Annabelle Lancaster buys a quiet villa in Cornwall, away from the noise and crowds in London. Her neighbour Christopher Wells is equally reserved. She senses his attraction but is too timid to make an advance.

When the unthinkable happens - he dies in a freak accident - she's inconsolable with grief.

When she learns that he was in love with her and has left her the bulk of his large estate, that grief turns to despair.

How could life be so cruel to two people who lived decent lives and always tried to help the less fortunate?

But, just when her despair leads to suicidal thoughts, the unexpected happens.

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Is she brave enough to embrace a ghostly second chance at love?

Shy landscape artist Annabelle Lancaster buys a quiet villa in Cornwall, away from the noise and crowds in London. Her neighbour Christopher Wells is equally reserved. She senses his attraction but is too timid to make an advance.

When the unthinkable happens - he dies in a freak accident - she's inconsolable with grief.

Additional Info

Additional Info

Meghan Moore
Heat Level
Heat Level (4)
SpreadEagle Publications



Night has just fallen and the room’s in darkness, but it’s light enough for me to recognize the familiar face with its solemn grey eyes inches away from mine.

I reach out hesitantly to touch his face, knowing that my hand with touch only thin air.

He smiles as it connects to warm skin.

I should have been shocked, or even a little scared, but it’s what I had hoped for, prayed for.


“Yes, sweetheart.”

“This can’t be real!”

“It’s as real as you make it, my love.”

I know I’m dreaming, but it’s the most wondrous dream and I don’t want it to end.

“Please don’t leave me,” I beg, now afraid to close my eyes.

“I’ll be here for as long as you need me,” he promises.

“I want you to stay forever,” I demand fiercely.

“Forever is a long time,” he chides gently. I hear the smile in his voice. “But I promise that I’ll never leave you unless you grow tired of me.”

“I’ll never get tired of you,” I vow. “Kiss me so that I know you’re real. Make love to me.”

He moves his head closer and covers my lips with his.

My first ever kiss!

Then his tongue presses softly against my lips and I open them. His tongue touches mine and I feel an electric tingle run through my body.

I had worried that I won’t know what to do when the time came, but Christopher seems to know enough about kissing for both of us.

His tongue forces itself deeper into my mouth and I marvel at his aggression.

Somehow, I’d thought that he would kiss gently and with no tongue.

I feel his hand at my neck and then the zip at the back of my dress slides slowly downwards. He unhooks my bra and then gently urges me onto my back. I lift my arms obediently so that he could free them from the elbow-length sleeves of my thick woollen dress. Warm hands briefly cup my breasts and I realize that my bra has miraculously disappeared with the dress.

“It’s cold in here. Let me undress you fully and get you under the covers.”

I lift my hips and allow him to slip my panties down my legs and off. Then his warm body covers mine and a duvet is tucked into place around us.

He kisses me again as his fingers start to roll my nipples firmly, creating a delicious ache between my thighs. I can’t help myself squirming shamelessly against him as the rolling goes on and on.

How can this feel so familiar?

I know it can’t be.

I had longed for it, even dreamt of it on occasion, but it had never happened.

Christopher breaks the kiss and his lips make their way over my skin, nibbling as they go along until they reach my left nipple.

I gasp as it’s enclosed in a wet, hungry mouth.

The pull of his lips is maddening.

When I feel a touch on my thigh, I immediately open my legs wider needing something to soothe the ache deep inside that his suckling lips are creating.

A long finger slides inside me as a thumb slowly massages my clitoris.

My parents and grandparents had been devout Christians and though I had lost my faith when the tsunami had claimed the live of my parents and siblings, certain Bible teachings had stayed with me.

I’d never masturbated or touched any part of my body in a sexual way until Christopher had died and I’d finally thought that life meant to rob me of every bit of joy.

I’ve only touched myself on the outside, though.

Christopher’s finger inside me feels wonderful.

And I feel something building within me.

Feel myself reaching the pinnacle that had stayed just out of my reach when I’d touched myself.

The feeling intensifies and I hold onto Christopher’s broad shoulders, widening the sprawl of my legs, begging him to press deeper.

“Ah! Ah! Yes!”

His finger inside me slowly filling me with pleasure is like a balloon being slowly filled with air. I hover for a moment full to the brim and then I explode.

“Good girl,” Christopher says and holds me tenderly while I float away on a sea of pleasure.

“Did you just make me come?” I whisper against his throat, glad that the room is dark enough to cover my blush.


“How is that even possible?” I ask incredulously.

It’s a dream, but it feels so wonderfully real.

And why stop now?

“Make love to me,” I plead again.

“I have to confess something first.”

“What?” I demand as he hesitates.

I really didn’t care if he’d murdered someone or done something equally terrible.

That’s no longer important.

Not now.

All I know is that somehow, miraculously, he’s here with me and that’s all that matters.

“I play with your hair all the time,” he confesses, looping a few dark brown strands around his finger.

“Is that it?” I laugh. I did wonder why lately the ends of my hair looked as they had done when I was younger and had the nervous habit of twirling them around my fingers. I had stopped doing it when I went to university to pursue my Art degree, but thought that the stress of Christopher’s death had made me start subconsciously doing it again.

“No,” he replies. “I stand close enough to breathe in your perfume. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s the same one I was wearing that day.” The day in his kitchen that I’d stupidly acted like the blushing virgin I was…am. “The one by Bvlgari.

“It’s perfect for you.”

“You said so already.” I laugh at the repeated compliment.

“Because it’s as much true now as it was then.” He nuzzled my neck at exactly the spot I’d dabbed a tiny bit before leaving the house to go to the lawyer’s office earlier in the day. “That day it made my cock instantly hard. I almost threw you onto my kitchen floor and had my wicked way with you that night.”

“I wish you had,” I reply. I moan and rub myself against his still fully clothed body. “I wanted you to fuck me so badly.”

“I wanted to even more badly.” He bends his head, kisses me and then pulls his head away so that our eyes meet.

“Playing with your hair is the least of my confessions.”

“I don’t care what you’ve done.” I reply, pressing my centre against the hard ridge that’s poking into me below the covers. “Just take me!”

“Say it plainly, my love.” He plucks my right nipple. “Tell me exactly what you want. You’re not the saint I thought you were. I’ve heard you curse like a sailor!”

“Oh God!” I bury my face against his shoulder in embarrassment.

Cursing is one of my guilty pleasures and I indulge it when I’m alone.

But since his death, I’d been swearing at the least provocation.

“So, say it, my love.” He looks me straight in the eye. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Please fuck me, Christopher.”

“Again,” he demands.

“Fuck me, please!”


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About the Author

Meghan Moore

Meghan Alexis Moore's best-selling stories range from erotic romance to hardcore erotica and vary in length and intensity. Please take a minute to read the blurbs to see which float your boat.

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