Celebrating the holidays hadn't been significant or meaningful in either of their lives for a very long time, but if there was ever a year to celebrate, it was this one. Wyatt was determined to do everything in his power to give Emma a true holiday experience. So far, Thanksgiving had been the best he had had in over a decade, and Emma learned the joys of a giant turkey submerged in scalding grease.

The next afternoon he had dragged her out and got her that Christmas tree after all. He made a whole day of it where they strung popcorn, glittered pinecones, and tied dozens of little red bows on the branches. They had chosen white lights, and Emma picked out a glittery snowflake for the top. He had even convinced her to hang two stockings over the fireplace and put a large wreath on the front door.

Wyatt was so proud of his little bird. She had done very well with the new furniture deliveries, instructed where she wanted things placed, and barely shook as she guided strangers around. While the majority of the space was extremely minimalistic, Emma was slowly leaving her mark, and Wyatt's emotions were all over the place as he finally got to see this house turn into a real home.

Not having actual muscles or needing sleep, he never thought about sitting or lying down, but now with comfy places to do just that, he found himself lounging more regularly. He even laid next to Emma when she slept, often watching her drift off with firelight dancing in her eyes. Staying was mostly to wake her when she had the nightmare, but that happened less now. Even so, he continued to convince himself that was why he laid by her side, that it wasn't because he craved her nearness.

It was now December, and Wyatt felt like long forgotten dreams were finally coming true... mostly. His unspoken sentiment was shared by Emma who didn't feel like anything was missing in her life or their odd relationship. Her only wish was to be able to give him as much as he gave her.

Emma loved having someone to cook for, but it didn't seem like nearly enough to express her gratitude. Some days it was hard to believe she had only been in this house for ten weeks. So much had changed. She never could have imagined all the pain, loss, and confusion would have led her to one of the happiest times in her life. Trying to see this very unbelievable situation through a practical lens, Emma couldn't help but realize a ghost was the absolute perfect companion for her.

Silence had always been more comfortable than sound, and she didn't mind using the tablet for conversations. Most people talked too fast anyway. As for his invisibility, she preferred knowing he was in a room, but not always being able to see him ensured Emma never felt like she needed solitude. Wyatt also kept himself busy. Touch was the only thing that left a hollow spot in her chest. Countless times she had reached for him only to grasp the fabric of his clothes or pass through him entirely.

At times, it was more than that. She tried to ignore it, but feelings were forming, a connection like she had never felt with another person. Emma tried to tell herself it was because she had never had a true friend before, but the lie felt like cobwebs in her throat, sticky and tangled. The attraction she felt was more than friendship. She told herself it was the rebound factor, her loneliness and fear creating something that wasn't there. There was no way she could allow herself to fall for a sentient apparition. Wyatt was dead, and that fact had to remain at the forefront of her thoughts.

Maybe not being able to see him or touch him was a good thing. It drew an uncrossable line and kept them each aware of their situation. Still, she knew there was love there even if it would never be romantic. Wyatt was changing her world for the better, and that meant more than she could ever define. He had become her safety net, the champion of her baby steps, and he did it all without reproach or condescension.

That night, Wyatt walked up from the basement wearing a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved thermal, pushed up on his arms. Paint and dirt marked areas of his skin, and Emma could just make out where his hands would be, the curve of his jaw, and the top of his forehead.

"Wait," she called out before he turned on the kitchen tap. "Wait," she said softer.

Walking over, Emma reached out, her hand lightly skimming over the top of his. She was close enough to feel the scratch of paint on the surface. Moving up, she lightly brushed her palm along the fabric of the shirt, following what she would assume was his neck, and cupped her hand over the dusting of wood along his jawbone. Her eyes fixed hard on the image before her, filling in the details in her mind.

"Wyatt!" Emma screamed, jumping back. "Wyatt!" she screamed again.

The clothing had crumpled to the floor along with flakes of paint, sawdust, and dirt. He was gone. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she called his name, dropping to her knees. She gathered the clothes in her lap and sobbed until something hard landed on her legs.

'I'm here.'

Emma sniffled, grabbing the tablet. Her eyes frantically searched the kitchen, but it wasn't until he pulled the shirt from her clenched fist and put it on that she saw what was right in front of her.

"What happened?" she cried.

Wyatt looked down at her distraught face, and his heart cleaved. Her reaction was more than he ever would have expected, and all he wanted was to scoop her up into his arms and kiss her until they couldn't breathe.

'Sorry I scared you, little bird. It takes a certain level of concentration to maintain my limited tangibility. The way you were 'touching' me made that part of my brain short circuit, and I became... ghostly again.'

"I caused that? I'm so sorry," she whimpered, willing her emotions to settle. He was here. She wasn't alone. Wyatt was still right here.

'No more apologies. It was the best moment I've had in years. I wish I could feel your hand. I wish you could feel mine.'

"Why do you call me little bird?" Emma asked, redirecting a conversation she wasn't equipped to have.

Wyatt chuckled, fully aware of her deflection.

'It's what you reminded me of that first night you were here. A little bird curled up in a nest of blankets. It kind of stuck.'

"Oh. I kinda like it. Just wondered where it came from."

'Do I smell toasty cheese?'

"Oh, fudge," Emma squealed, standing abruptly. She grabbed the potholder and pulled the casserole dish from the oven. The top was lightly brown, a bit more than she typically allowed, but perfectly edible. "I made mac-n-cheese ala Emma. It has aged white cheddar, asiago, fontina, and gruyere with andouille sausage and roasted red bell pepper. There's garlic asparagus on the stove and a green salad in the fridge."

'Are we celebrating?'

"Sort of. It's a thank you dinner. And I have a present for you."

'You buy way too much as it is.'

"Take your shirt off."

Wyatt's mind tripped over the command, and he wished with everything in him that her present was the thing he wanted most. That was impossible, so he knew this had to be something he could wear.

"I know you hate that I can see you chew and swallow, so I bought you this," she said, pulling a flap of some flesh-colored plastic out of a bag. "Obviously, it's not what you actually look like, but it's the most realistic one I could find."

Emma spread out the soft silicone, revealing a pull over mask that covered the entire head and neck. It was limp and soulless with two black holes for eyes, but Wyatt couldn't argue its realism.

"I found a website that does Hollywood quality masks for amateur filmmakers or cosplay. The reviews said they fit so well that many facial movements can be expressed, and eating, drinking, breathing, and vision are all easily managed while wearing it. And I know there's no hair, but I don't know what color your hair is, and well if I made you a blonde, that could be insulting if you're a brunette. Or, oh, you might shave your head or be bald. There's nothing wrong with bald," Emma babbled in panic.

This was a horrible idea. Wyatt hadn't moved to take the mask. Emma knew she had offended him, made a huge mistake by emphasizing his invisibility. Now, she had made everything weird, like he wasn't good enough as is, or worse, like she wanted to hide him. None of this had occurred to Wyatt. He simply felt weird wearing another man's face.

'Who is he?'

"Oh, um, no one. They had Freddy Kruger, Lord Voldemort, a variety of terrifying clowns, and a few normal faces. It was between the Spy or the Goalie, and I went with the Spy. Apparently, professional athletes have a perpetual scowl. I'm sorry. This was stupid. You don't have to use it. We should eat," Emma stammered, gesturing to the table.

Wyatt laughed because that's all he really could do. Being a ghost was one hell of a strange existence, but if he wanted to be seen or in this case not seen, a frighteningly realistic silicone head was as good a way as any.

'Thank you, little bird. It's perfect. Let's test it with dinner.'

When Wyatt pulled it on, Emma beamed, and that made the whole thing worth it. The girl was beyond easy to please, and for the millionth time he thought Todd had to be the dumbest man on earth.

Four days later, Emma woke in a predictable funk. There was another reason she had always been content to let the holidays pass her by. December eleventh, a day she both hated and secretly wished was something she loved. A day that no one ever remembered. It had gone as all the others—yoga, meditation, shower, breakfast, work. She did the laundry, changed the sheets on the bed upstairs, and put away all their clothes.

Wyatt had one drawer in the dresser, and Emma smiled every time she folded his socks. He wore them because he liked the feel against the hardwood floor, and for some reason that made her happy.

The only thing about living with a ghost was he was home as much as she was, so alone time had to be carefully planned. Emma didn't want him to know about this or pity her, so she waited until he was working down in the basement. As he could touch things, she had encouraged him to finish the darkroom. Secretly, she hoped he would teach her, but with everything he had done, asking for more was not going to happen.

Emma prepared their dinner, her favorite pasta puttanesca, homemade sourdough that she had been perfecting for weeks, and a small lemon cake with cream cheese icing and blueberry compote. She had no plans on cutting into it before dessert, but this was one of the few traditions in her life, and Emma wasn't ready to lose it, no matter how ridiculous it was.

Pulling out six white birthday candles, she placed them around the edges where it would be easy to fix the icing when she plucked them back out. It took four matches to finally get them all lit, and Emma smiled at the childish celebration.

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me," she sang under her breath.

The smell of sulfur wafted down to the basement, and Wyatt instantly stopped building the custom workbench. Within a blink he was upstairs, standing in the kitchen and listening to the final refrain on Emma's lips.

"Happy birthday to me," she finished softly. "I wish..."

That's all Wyatt heard before she blew out the candles and quickly snatched them from the cake. She picked off the bits of wax that had pooled at the surface and cleaned up the icing, hiding all evidence of what she had just done. Wyatt wanted to say something, but she had no idea he was there. Nothing solid could teleport with him, so popping from one place to the next always left his clothes behind. The tablet was downstairs as well.

He returned to the soon-to-be darkroom and pulled his clothes back on. What could he give her? Everything here she had paid for, but it was her birthday. He had to think of something.

"Wyatt?" Emma called, stepping into the basement. "You still down here?"

He knocked twice on the wall, and she walked inside.

"Wow, this is looking great. Are these cutouts for the tubs of chemicals?"

He knocked twice again and turned down his music.

"Your secret plan worked. I'm starting to like some of that country music you play, but I prefer male singers over female. That's weird, right?"

'Not at all, but I'm glad my devious plan succeeded.'

"Yes, very devious," she smiled. "Dinner's ready."

'Race you.'

"I'm not falling for that again," she laughed.

While they ate, Wyatt didn't bring up the private moment he had seen. They enjoyed the meal, and Emma shared that it was her favorite. Conversation using the tablet had become second nature to them both, as had the mask. After only a few days, Wyatt had come to enjoy wearing it. He hadn't noticed how it bothered him that Emma never looked directly at his face when she spoke or how she focused on her plate during meals. With the mask, she kept her eyes on his, or the space where they should be. The best part was conveying expressions. Not everything translated, but enough came through for Emma to have an idea about how Wyatt felt.

They talked about the garden she wanted to build next spring, and Wyatt was eager to help, telling her a compost pile had already been started by the hippies last year. This sparked a debate around getting some chickens, but Wyatt drew the line at goats which made Emma cackle at his reason. Even her promise to leave the goat outside didn't get him to budge.

"Whoever thought a spirit would become my best friend. Is that okay? Or is that weird?"

'Definitely weird. :) More than okay.'

Wyatt wanted to add that he wished it was more than friends, but that would only scare her away. His little bird ducked back in her shell too easily, and he always watched his words to make sure she stayed open.

They both stood to clear the table. Wyatt insisted that he wash if she was going to cook, so Emma tried to clean as she went. He scraped the plates into the garbage, and she gently placed them in the soapy water with the pot she had used. Bringing fresh dishes to the table, Emma went back for the small, round cake.

'What's the occasion?'

"Do we need an occasion for cake?"

'So it's not your birthday?'

Emma stilled, the knife poised over the top. No one ever celebrated this day with her, not even her own mother. There was something about letting someone in that made her feel vulnerable, and not in a good way. It's like the day couldn't bear one more letdown or it might cease to exist altogether. Then she might cease to exist along with it.

'Talk to me... please.'

"It's not a big deal," she said, finally slicing through the moist dessert.

'I can comfortably say I know you too well to believe that.'

Emma snorted, an indelicate form of laughter she had grown fond of over the last month. When Wyatt told her it was one of the cutest things he had ever heard, she stopped judging the sound so harshly.

"Perhaps you do. Like Christmas, it's another day that's never been acknowledged in my life. I only know it's my birthday because I found my birth certificate when I was ten. Before you go off on my Momma again, she never celebrated hers either. It just wasn't a thing.

"But the cave I crawled out of wasn't so deep that I didn't know what a birthday meant, so I started a little tradition of six candles with the song and a birthday wish. It's enough."

'Why six?'

Emma chuckled at the distant memory. "The first time I decided to do something, we had a pack of those Hostess lemon cupcakes with the cream in the middle. So I found a box of matches and tried to poke them through, but that thick fondant icing kept breaking them.

"Finally, I peeled the topping off in a single sheet. There were only seven matches left in the box. I put six in the cupcake and struck the last one to light them."

'You're incredible. And you stayed with lemon cake?'

"The lemon cupcakes were the one treat Momma kept in the house for me. She knew they were my favorite. I tried one again a few years ago. They're terrible," Emma laughed. "But lemon cake is still my favorite, the upgraded version."

'And what did you wish for this year?'

"If I tell you, it won't come true," she huffed.

'Do they always come true?'

"Not the point," Emma said sternly, arching her brow. She watched Wyatt's mask morph with a huge grin as his shoulders shook, and she knew he was laughing. He did that a lot, but she no longer thought it was at her expense.

'Pleeeeease.'

Wyatt wanted to know what her wish was because he was determined to make it come true. He also enjoyed teasing his little bird. She made it incredibly easy to do.

"No. This one is embarrassing. Now, eat your cake."

The first bite had Wyatt groaning. Getting to taste when he had someone like Emma in the kitchen was a damn miracle.

'I want to give you your wish.'

Emma read his words and choked on her food, coughing and spluttering as she reached for her water. There was no way she could ever reveal that she wished for him, but she also knew Wyatt wouldn't let things go.

"You already have," she said after clearing her throat. "I wished for a... partner, in a manner of speaking."

Wyatt could read the red on her cheeks easier than all those dirty books she had on her shelves. It seemed so obvious. Emma had been in the house for nearly three months, and he had never once heard sounds of physical pleasure. He would have to start slow if he wanted her to admit to anything.

'Little bird, did you wish for a husband?'

"I had one of those. It didn't work out so well," she snarked, shoving another bite of cake in her mouth.

'Then what kind of partner did you wish for?'

"The kind that cares whether I'm alive at the end of the day."

'Any decent roommate would do that. Hell, even a dog could provide enough love to care if you're alive.'

"Like I said, you already gave me my wish."

'What about intimacy, touch?'

"What about it?"

'Not to put too fine a point on it, but don't you miss sex?'

"Wow, that's definitely too fine a point, but no. There's your answer, so can we drop it?"

'Not that I'm an expert, but a woman disinterested in physical intimacy is typically a woman who hasn't experienced it.'

"I was married, remember? I experienced it."

'One certainly doesn't guarantee the other. Little bird, do you ever touch yourself?'

"No! That's wildly indecent to talk about as well."

'If you're twelve. You're a grown woman. Did Todd ever give you an orgasm?'

"I researched those. I have anorgasmia."

Wyatt had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. Of course his little bird researched orgasms, but what the hell was anorgasmia.

'You're going to have to define that for me.'

Emma sighed, setting down her fork. "It's the difficulty or inability to orgasm. It's actually quite common in women. Nearly thirty percent don't orgasm regularly or at all during intercourse."

'And did a doctor diagnose this?'

"Don't get smug with me, Wyatt Scott. I had all my proper medical exams."

'And the doctor said you are not capable of having an orgasm?'

Wyatt pushed because he had figured out how Emma often responded without actually answering. This was one of those moments.

"My body is healthy," she muttered, shutting down.

'So, you are capable.'

"No, I'm not. It's one of the many reasons Todd slept with Kimmy. He told me I was a cold fish," Emma said, blinking back tears.

Wyatt stood, ripped the mask off his head, and pinched the fabric of her sleeve, pulling her up. Even if it was plastic, what he wanted next would not be done wearing another man's face.

"What are you doing?"

He tugged her behind him, heading to the bedroom upstairs. After that horrifying revelation, he knew exactly what he would give his little bird for her birthday. Wyatt pulled the chain on the bedside lamp and typed out his next message.

'Take your clothes off.'

"Are you crazy? No!"

'For your birthday, I'm going to teach you how to treat your own body. Todd was an incompetent pencil dick who obviously knew nothing about female pleasure. We're going to fix that.'

"I don't want you to see me like that," she whispered, shifting on her feet.

Fuck, he wanted to hold her, to do this himself. Wyatt knew that dickwad Todd never treated her right, and that included her body.

'Like what? Naked? Little bird, if I could touch you, I would have pulled out all my best moves weeks ago. Hell, I would give anything to worship your body. You're fucking beautiful.'

'Especially now that your bones aren't showing,' he thought.

"It's humiliating. Sex was never something I was good at. Todd said I was nothing more than a warm hole."

'If I were alive, I would feed Todd his own dick. You were a virgin, Emma. And he never taught you or treated your body right to allow you to learn on your own. Now, take your clothes off.'

Emma wrapped her arms around her middle. She never should have told him that. One night, with a rare bottle of wine and she was blabbing all about how she met Todd and three weeks later he took her virginity in the locker room after his swim meet. Wyatt had been furious. Admittedly, most things about her life made him furious.

"If you laugh at me, I'll have to move. I don't want to do that again."

'There is absolutely nothing in the world that could make me laugh if you're naked on that bed. I'm getting hard just thinking about it.'

Her cheeks went hot, and she knew they were blazing. Wyatt had a way of speaking that was both crass and incredibly sexy. No man had ever talked to her that way.

"How is that even possible? There's no blood in your body."

Wyatt laughed. Emma was exactly the type to think critically even in a moment like this. He couldn't explain it, but the equipment worked, though there was nothing to ejaculate. Wyatt had jerked off to thoughts of Emma more than once, and it felt good every time.

'Let's start slower. Lay down on the bed.'

Emma carefully backed up and lowered herself to the mattress. If Wyatt were here in the flesh, this probably would have happened already. Then he would know just how broken she was, and she would be moving to Nova Scotia. This was the very last thing she wanted for her birthday, well sort of. It had been her wish, but she wished for a tango of two and a body that acted like a porn star instead of the Virgin Mary.

'Just try touching yourself over your clothes. Do you like your nipples squeezed or massaged? When you run a hand between your gorgeous legs, does light pressure feel better? Or do you like it hard?'

Wyatt groaned when Emma slowly started to explore, her delicate hands hesitant even as she ran them lightly over her knit sweater. He would offer her privacy but correctly assumed she wouldn't go through with this without supervision. Still, he was very patient, typing one-word directions—faster, harder, softer, lower, squeeze, pinch, push. After a while, her little body began to squirm, and he knew they were getting somewhere.

'Unbutton your jeans and slip your hand inside.'

This time she didn't argue even with the timid insecurity shining in her blown-out eyes. Watching her pop open the button and slide the zipper down had Wyatt resituating himself, and he briefly wondered if Emma could see how full his jeans had become. Luckily, she was doing her best to avoid looking anywhere in his vicinity.

'I wish I could kiss you. Slip my own hand between your legs and tease your soft flesh. Is your hand over your panties? Or are you touching your slick skin?'

"Um," Emma swallowed hard, her cheeks burning but not as much as the heat between her thighs. Even without his touch, this was the hottest and most embarrassing thing she had ever done. "I um, I just moved them to the side."

'Good girl. Are you wet?'

"Not really," she admitted. Choosing to take the next step on her own, Emma pulled her hand free and began to shimmy her jeans and thong down past her hips. Wyatt respectfully turned to face the window, but that's not what she wanted. She wanted to feel his eyes on her. She wanted someone to see her and find her beautiful. "You, um, you can watch if, um, you know, if you want."

His head whipped back around, and his gaze zeroed in on the immaculately trimmed patch of soft brown hair. Of course his little bird would be refined and perfect even after months of celibacy. She was his every fantasy brought to life even as her hand itched to cover what she had exposed herself. Wyatt stood and leaned over to pull her clothing down her legs, removing it completely. He longed to run his hands up her creamy smooth flesh, to part her trembling thighs, and taste the secrets between them. Unfortunately, all he got was a tablet, and seeing as she seemed frozen in place, it was time to use it.

'You'll need to spread those stunning legs of yours, little bird.'

"Fuck me," he breathed as her knees parted. He was staring at the most perfect pussy ever created. Small, hidden behind two sweet little lips, and shaved clean other than that trim patch at the top. He wondered if it was her preference and hoped that it was. A question for another night.

'Try that yoga position you take all the time when you bend your knees like a butterfly.'

"Oh God, I can't do that. It's disgusting."

'You are so very wrong. I've never seen anything more perfect. It's as neat and tucked away as everything else you have. And I want to spread it open with my tongue.'

It was no longer just Emma's cheeks that flamed but her entire chest. She felt like her whole body was on fire. His request was equally the most disturbing and erotic thing she had ever heard. Kimmy had talked about men going down on her, but that was something Todd refused to do. He said it was only for barbarians. Yet another double standard, as shoving his dick in her mouth was something he did daily. Emma did not miss that.

Holy crap. Was she really going to do this? Emma finally decided she was and let her knees drop open, placing the soles of her feet together in the reclined bound angle pose. Wyatt nearly orgasmed just looking at her. Slick pink folds revealed themselves, and he had never wanted to touch or taste something so badly in his life... or his death.

'Fucking perfect. You. Are. Perfect. Downright edible art. I want to pull you apart and bury my face in your sweetness. Shove my tongue inside you just to drink from the source.'

"Please, please stop writing stuff like that. I don't know what to do with it."

'You read it all the time. Where do you think I learned what to say?'

Emma's hands covered her face, and Wyatt laughed, knowing this was so far out of her comfort zone, it had a different zip code. He didn't care. Emma needed this.

'Slip your finger down there, let it push between your plush little lips. Dip it inside and tell me if you're wet.'

Emma groaned, and not in the sexy way, but the 'I'm paying my overdue taxes while getting a root canal' way. Still, she obeyed his written command, and a surprised gasp left her lips.

"I... I am," she admitted.

Wyatt could see that she was, and watching Emma touch herself was the very best thing he had ever witnessed.

"Wyatt, um, this is too awkward to do alone. You... I... Well, it's not like I can see you, but... well, would you?"

'What are you asking little bird?'

He had an idea, but there was no way he would act on it until she spelled out her request.

"Touch yourself," she blurted.

Thank fuck. He undid his buckle and opened his jeans. If he had known whatever clothes he died in would be on him for eternity, he never would have bought those 'Take the Bait' fisherman's boxers. The first stroke of his palm made him moan as his eyes stayed glued to the slender hand exploring new territory.

'Run your finger around the edges in circles.'

"The edges of what?" Emma asked breathily. "On the outside?"

'Around your clit, baby. Try different speeds and pressure.'

Emma followed his directions and was shocked to feel the first tingles spark through her lower belly. Everything Todd had done sat somewhere between uncomfortable to painful, but this, this was something else. She wanted to go back in time and smack her momma for telling her masturbation was self-rape and would scar her sexually. That stupid comment was the real scar, all because her mom didn't want to deal with the question.

'Whatever you're thinking, stop. Try running two fingers up and down the center, but lightly. You may be too sensitive for a heavy touch.'

"Ahhh," Emma cried out, her back involuntarily arching off the bed.

'That's it, little bird. Just like that.'

Not touching her was torture, but stroking himself helped.

'Now mix the two moves, around the edge a couple times then up the center. Start slow and build up speed.'

...                  ...                    ...

'Yes, like that. Don't muffle your voice. I want to hear you gasp and scream. If you need a name, call mine.'

Emma's voice was never heard during intimate acts. There had never been a reason. She was either biting back discomfort or fighting a yawn, but not tonight. Wyatt wanted to hear her, and honestly, Emma wanted to know what she sounded like. So, she didn't censor herself.

Her hips began to buck, her body chasing this foreign sensation. It was too much and not enough all at the same time. It felt like her heart was beating too fast, but with each wave of torturous nerve spasms, it would stop completely. Emma's body wanted to rock but then the feeling would become too much, and her muscles would tense. How could she make it stop? This was agony.

'Take your shirt off and play with your breasts.'

Removing her hand from between her legs made Emma whimper with need for something she couldn't define, but she trusted Wyatt to get her through this. If only he could assist... Emma willingly yanked the sweater over her head and flopped back, returning to the pulsing throb between her legs. Wyatt wanted to peel that little lace bralette over her perky, round breasts and suck a taut nipple between his teeth. Instead, he was stuck with a tablet.

'Pinch your nipples, tug a little, and cup your entire breast giving it a squeeze.'

"That sounds awf... oh... wow, yes, wow, yes," Emma chanted, following his instructions over the scrap of fabric that covered her. She grabbed her breast much harder than she ever would have imagined would be pleasant... oh, but it was.

'More pressure on your clit. Try flicking it softly or putting all four of your fingers together and rubbing vigorously side to side. PLAY WITH YOURSELF. EXPERIMENT.'

"Oh God, Wyatt, I feel it. Wyatt, oh, my. Holy, wow, yes, Wyatt," Emma screamed, and his name on her lips sent him over the edge right beside her.

This was unlike anything Emma had ever felt. Her whole body convulsed before going taut, involuntary spasms taking over. She couldn't even breathe as wave after wave of tingly sensations rolled through her. White sparks floated in front of her eyes, and her mouth hung open with a not so silent cry of pleasure. Her muscles released, and she melted into the bed unable to do more than roll her head to the tablet, propped on what must be Wyatt's chest where he lay beside her.

'Good girl.'

"I got my birthday wish," she whispered, tears falling from her eyes.

"Not quite," Wyatt muttered. "Even if I have to wait for the next life, I'll be sure you feel me one day, little bird."

⚞❖⚟

Wyatt had created a ravenous little monster, but he had zero complaints. His woman was still shy, so he did his best to not be some creepy voyeur. But Emma woke with her hand between her thighs, craved her own touch in the shower, and found she slept best after giving her body the release it craved. Her delectable cries of pleasure were now a song that played often in the house, and eavesdropping suited Wyatt just fine.

It wasn't long before she knew many ways she liked to be touched, and while she hadn't yet been brave enough to ask, the few times Wyatt had been around always made it ten times better.

"Wyatt?" Emma called after she had finished her evening run on the treadmill. She heard the knock on the office wall and found him sitting in the leather armchair with a very worn copy of Circe by Madeline Miller. It had long been one of her favorites.

She waited until he lowered the book, the pages closing around what she assumed was his finger to mark the spot. This conversation had played out in her head for the last three days, and it was taking every bit of her courage.

"Um, Wyatt, I uh want to try something, and wow, this is harder than I thought." Emma turned her back to him and stared out the window in front of her desk. "Would you consider or, no, um, would you like... no. Let me put it this way. I'm going to shower. The door will be open."

Emma ran from the room like her feet were on fire, but Wyatt moved faster. The book he had been reading slipped from his hands, and his clothes deflated in the chair. A smirk slowly climbed up his cheeks, and he felt like it was his birthday, Christmas, and Valentines all wrapped up in one. Emma, completely and totally naked. One blink later and he was turning on the shower before she ran inside.

"You're here," she smiled nervously.

"Of course I am, little bird. It wasn't even a question," Wyatt said to himself with a grin, adjusting the temperature. It wasn't easy. He could feel hot and cold but neither bothered him, no matter how extreme. Still, there was some fuzzy memory of what felt nice, so he went for that.

The shower was completely forgotten when Emma began to take off her clothes. He loved the days she ran. Tight sports bras and loose joggers made her an athlete's wet dream or his, apparently.

"Oh holy fucking hell on a postcard," Wyatt rumbled when Emma peeled the bra over her head.

He had seen the delectable treat between her thighs, but her breasts were still a mystery, and all of her, well that was enough to nearly make him come in his imaginary pants. This literal scenario had played out in his fantasies many times, only he had a body as physical as hers.

There she was, bare from tip to toe. Emma was even better than he had imagined. The sexiest pink nipples puckered in the December chill and stood straight out on her perfectly round breasts. Just a handful for most men, he imagined they would be a touch less in his giant palms. God, what he would give for one touch.

Emma's nerves kicked into overdrive, and while she couldn't see Wyatt, she knew he was staring at her. She quickly jumped in the shower and squealed when the water scalded her flesh. Backing up, she darted her hand to the side to turn on a bit more cold as Wyatt slipped in behind her.

"Wyatt?" she asked softly.

He knocked twice on the shower wall and picked up Emma's loofah. Running it under the water, he added a couple pumps of her sea salt and clay body scrub and reached out, swiping it down the side of her stomach.

"Oh, wow. It's almost like feeling your touch," she said with her eyes wide.

The next twenty minutes were the most intimate either of them had ever spent with another person. Wyatt gently lathered every last inch of her. He had tried to touch her through her clothes, but she didn't notice anything. What they needed was an object to feel, and that let Wyatt know exactly what he would be ordering for under the tree.

He scrubbed her back, then her front, paying special tribute to both of the beauties that stood up for him. Working down the outsides of her legs, he dropped to his knees and decided this was hell. Not being able to press his face into her hot, wet center and eat until she could no longer stand on her own was the very definition of damnation.

Emma was convinced Wyatt was a god or at least an angel. Were there orgasm angels? The way he swiped the loofah back and forth between her thighs brushed her clit with just enough abrasion to cause her to jolt, chasing the friction. She wasn't sure if that's what he intended, but Emma wasn't about to lose this kind of feeling from Wyatt's touch.

"That's right, little bird. This one is mine," he said when Emma's hips began to rock.

Fuck, he wanted to flip that little nub with his thumb, press into it with his palm, and suck it right between his teeth. He knew she would taste as sweet as she smelled. Her aroma had become his drug of choice, calling to him every time she played with herself.

Wyatt told himself to be grateful for what he could do, considering he was incorporeal, and decided to be the very best intangible lover to ever exist. Using the loofah to spread her legs wider, he gently swirled it around, grabbing the bar of soap to tease her breasts. Emma was bucking and moaning, her hands splayed out on the shower walls. The steamy air was filled with cries of pleasure, sounds he was responsible for.

"Yes, oh yes. Wyatt... Wyatt," she shouted, sliding to the floor in a boneless heap.

It was a good time to be dead.