Chapter 14: Workaholic

I waited next to my car, in front of the house, the stars just starting to appear in the twilight sky. The breeze was cold, and I shivered, thinking about going inside to grab a jacket. I had no reason to wait out here, but I was restless, anxious. Leaving Emma alone, even for an hour, felt strange. What if something went wrong? What if she just... disappeared?

Luciana's personality had clearly made my wife bolder, more confident. She'd insisted on driving back with her host's car, complaining about parking fees, mentioning a stop at a hotel on the way to collect her things.

Finally, a black Porsche Cayenne pulled into the driveway, a little faster than it should have. My wife stepped out in her new body, slamming the door with a flick of her wrist. She really looked stunning in her tailored slacks and silk blouse, her dark hair catching the last light of the day.

"Nice car," I commented.

Emma grinned. "It's a rental. I travel a lot. I'm a bit of a workaholic." She twirled a strand of her dark hair around her finger before pausing. "She is. I mean." She gave a little laugh, sounding completely unlike Emma. "Relax, Calvin. You know the drill."

"I know."

"Then lead the way," she said, gesturing toward the front door. "I'm exhausted."

I unlocked the door and stepped aside, letting her enter. She moved past me, a faint scent of expensive perfume and coffee following her. She dropped her purse and keys on the hall table with a careless grace and looked around with curiosity, just like Mandy, just like Lisa. This time, however, there was a look of assessment in her eyes, as if she were appraising the value of the furniture. A slight frown crossed her lips, just for a second, before it vanished.

"Guess Luciana is used to a higher standard of living," I said, a little defensively.

"Maybe," she admitted, walking into the living room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. "Yes. Or rather she's gotten used to it. She wasn't always like this." She ran a hand along the back of the couch, her expression thoughtful. She turned around, smiling mischievously. "Don't worry. I think it's a cozy little place."

I snorted. "Glad our own house has your approval." There was an edge to my voice that I hadn't intended.

Emma's smile faltered. She walked over to me, her expression softening. "Hey," she said, placing a hand on my arm. "It's me."

I looked down at her hand, at the perfectly manicured nails, the slender fingers that weren't my wife's. "I know," I said, my voice tight. "I know."

She seemed to sense my turmoil. She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around my waist, pulling me into an embrace. I held her, stiffly at first, then relaxing as I felt the warmth of her body, the way she molded herself against me. It still felt familiar, comforting, even if the container was different.

"Don't judge me... Luciana... too harshly," she whispered, her head resting on my chest. "She's worked her ass off to get to where she is. She's a bit ruthless but not in a Veronica kind of way. She's just... ambitious."

I sighed, stroking her dark hair. That wasn't what I wanted to hear.

"And I'm still me, Emma, your wife. And I love you, more than anything." She looked up at me, her dark eyes full of sincerity. "And I'm exhausted."

"Jumping too many times?"

"That too, but it's Luciana's exhaustion. She's been running on coffee and adrenaline for a week, on a business trip." She let go of me and stretched, a languid, cat-like movement. "I think I'm going to take a shower. And then maybe you can get to know her a little better?" she added, a suggestive glint in her eye.

I watched her walk toward the bedroom, my eyes tracing the curve of her hips, the sway of her ass in those tailored slacks. My body responded instantly, a familiar heat spreading through me. But my mind was still a mess of conflicting emotions. I was starting to miss my wife, the way she used to be, her voice, her smell, her mannerisms. This constant parade of strangers, even if they contained my wife's soul, was taking a toll.

I let myself fall onto the couch, my head in my hands. The silence of the house felt oppressive, broken only by the sound of the shower starting. I closed my eyes, trying to clear my head, but all I could see was my wife, dead in her coffin.

I grabbed my phone, needing a distraction. I had several unread messages from friends and family, expressing their condolences. Ashley's name popped up. "You okay? Haven't heard from you since the funeral. Call me."

My boss had also texted, disguising his concerns about my return to work with a thin veil of sympathy. "Hey Calvin, just wanted to say I’m really sorry for your loss. Can’t imagine what you’re going through. Take whatever time you need, though if you have a sense of when you might be back, it’d help us plan ahead. No rush, of course. Thinking of you."

I knew I had to eventually get back to some semblance of a normal life, but what did that even mean anymore? I felt like I was still grieving, though not really. The process was broken. I'd said goodbye, and then she'd come back, though not really...

"What's getting you so worked down?"

I jumped, not having heard the water stop. Emma was standing in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her body, her dark hair slick and wet, clinging to her shoulders. The scent of soap and steam filled the air.

"Just tired," I lied, my eyes fixed on the droplets of water running down her chest.

She walked toward me, hands on her hips, concerned. "Don't bullshit me, Calvin."

I sighed, putting the phone face down on the couch. "It's just a lot, Emma. All of this."

"No shit," she said, rolling her eyes, but her expression was soft. She sat down beside me, her thigh pressing against mine. "Look, I know it's not the same. I know this isn't what you wanted. But I'm here. I'm trying. I died, and for that I'm sorry, but I'm back."

I opened my mouth to respond, but she put a finger to my lips.

"As much back as I can be," she added, her voice dropping to a whisper. "So... I need you to meet me halfway here. I need you to try to find me in here." She gestured to her new face, her new body.

"I need to get back to work eventually," I said. "We still have a mortgage to pay. I still have a mortgage to pay..."

"I'll help," she said simply. "I'll pull my own weight."

I snorted, a bitter laugh. "How? You're a ghost, Em. You can't exactly get a job."

"Currently I'm a ghost in the body of a very successful business owner," she countered, a wry smile on her lips.

"We can't. That'd be stealing," I said, shaking my head. "We can't just take over her life, her business, her money."

"Pocket change for her," Emma pointed out, waving a dismissive hand. "I'll edit her memories, she won't care." The words, said so casually, sent a chill down my spine.

"It's still theft," I insisted.

"Okay," she said, her voice flat, her patience clearly wearing thin.

"You wouldn't be okay with it if you were just Emma."

"I am Emma!" she snapped, her voice sharp. "And I'm Luciana. And I'm hungry, I'm tired, I want you to fuck me and I want you to stop looking at me like I'm a ghost or a monster. I'm trying to hold onto my sanity here, Calvin."

I stared at her, the water from her hair dripping onto the couch, her dark eyes flashing with a mix of anger and desperation.

She sighed, her anger melting away as quickly as it had appeared. "I'm genuinely trying to do my best with what I have," she whispered. "I've seen how you've been looking at me. Your reaction when I tried to find radical solutions no matter what woman I was possessing... It's me! Emma! I'm the common denominator here. I'm trying to solve our problems, with the tools at hand."

"No limits? Is that it?" I asked, my voice rising. "You take whatever you want? Whoever you want?"

Her jaw clenched. "Of course there are limits. But this is survival, Calvin. And I will do what it takes."

"What limits?"

"Children, obviously," she said without hesitation. "No mother either, unless it's an emergency and very temporary. No one whose life I'd ruin by taking them out of it for as long as I need them. I leave them in the same state I found them in, unaware, unharmed."

"And with less money in their bank account," I shot back.

She stared at me, her expression unreadable. "Yeah, if it helps us survive, and if they can afford it."

I shook my head, looking away. "If they can afford it..." I repeated, my voice a bitter whisper.

"I make three million a year, Calvin! She does! We'd hardly even dent her lifestyle!"

"You make... she makes... three million a year?"

My wife nodded, a triumphant smirk on her lips. "Ah! Not so high and mighty now, are we?" she teased.

I just stared at her, my mind reeling from the sheer scale of the number.

She laughed. "So, shall I introduce her properly or are you going to keep pouting?"

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "Okay..."

She stood up, the towel falling away from her body, revealing herself to me in the dim light of the living room. Her skin was smooth and flawless, her breasts were a perfect handful, her stomach flat and toned.

"Luciana Alvaréz," she said, her voice husky, the accent more pronounced as she used her host's full name. "Thirty-three years old. Born in Buenos Aires, raised between there and Madrid. Founder and CEO of Casa Luci." She gestured around the room with a flourish. "Sells luxury candles and shit to rich people who don't know what to do with their money."

She walked over to the window, looking out at the street, her back to me. "She's a workaholic, a control freak. But she's also... lonely," she added, her voice softer now. "No family to speak of. No time for a relationship. She's been in this city for a week, for a conference, staying at a fancy hotel downtown. She's supposed to stay one more week before flying to Paris for a launch."

She turned to face me, her arms crossed over her chest. "She won't be missed for a while. Not really."

"What about her work? Her company?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"I'll work. From here. I'll manage," she said, her voice confident. "As I said, workaholic, control freak. That's me too, now." She walked back toward me, her hips swaying.

My eyes were drawn to the dark patch of hair between her legs, the way the lamplight caught the moisture on her thighs. I felt a familiar heat spread through me, my cock stirring.

She saw the effect she had on me, and a slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. "Oh and she's definitely not a nun, either," she added, her voice a low purr. "Not as kinky as the girl before her maybe, but I don't think you'll be disappointed."

She knelt in front of me, her hands on my thighs, her dark eyes locked on mine. "So... Are you going to fuck me or not?"

I didn't answer. I just grabbed her, pulling her up and onto my lap, my hands tangling in her wet hair as I crushed my mouth against hers. She gasped and moaned against my lips, her tongue meeting mine, her hands fumbling with my belt. This was different. Not frantic like with Mandy, not sinful like with Sister Margaret, not wanton like with Veronica. This was... deliberate. Confident.

She freed my cock, her fingers wrapping around it with a practiced, firm grip. "I need you inside me," she whispered, her voice husky. "Right now."

I lifted her, my hands under her ass, and she guided me to her entrance, sinking down onto me with a soft cry. She was tight, so tight, and wet. So wet. I groaned, burying my face in her neck, my hands gripping her hips as she began to ride me, her movements slow and deliberate at first, then faster, more demanding.

"Fuck, yes," she moaned, her head thrown back, her dark hair brushing against my face. "Sí… así…" she breathed, the Spanish words a surprise that only made it hotter. She didn't seem to notice, lost in the moment.

I watched her, my eyes tracing the curve of her breasts, the way her stomach muscles tightened with each thrust, the look of pure, unadulterated pleasure on her face.

She leaned forward, her hands on my shoulders, her breasts brushing against my chest. "Look at me," she ordered, her voice firm, her dark eyes boring into mine. "I'm your wife, Calvin. Your wife." She leaned in, her lips brushing against my ear. "Dame más," she whispered.

I didn't understand the words, but I understood the meaning. I gripped her hips tighter, driving up into her, meeting her movements with my own, our bodies moving in a frantic, **** rhythm. The couch creaked beneath us, the sound of our skin slapping together filling the room.

"I'm going to come," she gasped, her body tensing, her inner walls clenching around me. "Oh fuck, I'm coming!"

I felt her shudder, a wave of heat washing over me as she cried out, her body arching against mine. I followed her over the edge, my own release a hot, pulsing wave that left me breathless and shaking.

We stayed like that for a long time, her body draped over mine, our breathing slowing, our hearts beating as one. I stroked her damp hair, my mind a blissful blank.

"Wow," she said, her voice a soft whisper against my neck. "I was pretty far gone, huh?"

"You're back," I said, my voice rough.

She sat up, a small, apologetic smile on her face. "She's… very passionate."

"I would say that's an understatement," I laughed, my hands still resting on her hips.

She leaned in and kissed me, a soft, tender kiss that was pure Emma. "But I mean what I said," she whispered, her forehead resting against mine.

"Even about the money?"

She pulled back, her expression serious. "Even about the money."

Hey there! This was chapter 14 out of 28. I will post two to three chapters a week.

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