Amy lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with a long, tired sigh.

2:37 AM. Right on time. She didn’t even bother pulling the blanket back up when it slipped off her legs. She knew what was coming next. It always did.

The cold touch ghosted along her thigh, nudging her legs apart with familiar persistence.

Oh, come on,” she muttered, not moving an inch. “Can’t you just skip a night? Just one?”

The answer, as always, was no. She felt the phantom pressure spreading her thighs wider, slow and deliberate, like it was savoring the routine. It was annoyingly gentle, as if it thought it was being sweet, which somehow made it even more irritating.

“Yeah, yeah, get it over with,” she huffed, draping an arm over her eyes.

There was no point in resisting. She’d tried that for the first few weeks, kicking, screaming, begging for it to stop. But now? Now it was just easier to go along with it, to let it have its fun and go back to sleep.

Amy adjusted her pillow, getting comfortable despite it. She exhaled slowly through her nose, annoyed but too tired to care.

She shivered as a cold force pressed down on her clit, massaging in slow, careful circles. Amy sighed, her breath coming out in a frustrated puff as the familiar sensation spread through her body. The cold, invisible pressure moved with an eerie precision, working its way over her with all the care of someone who’d done this a thousand times before. And, well, it had.

“At least finish quickly tonight, okay?” she muttered, stretching her legs wider to avoid a cramp. “Some of us have actual jobs in the morning.”

The phantom responded only by pressing harder, sending a cool wave of sensation rippling through her lower body. Amy shivered again but didn’t bother fighting it. There was no point. She knew better than to expect mercy.

She stared at the ceiling, counting the little cracks in the plaster to pass the time. One, two, three ... she lost track around nine as the ghost’s movements grew more deliberate, more focused, like it wanted to drag this out. “Oh for—” Amy groaned, moving her arm off her eyes and behind her head. “Do you have to take your time every single night?”

Her clit continued to be stimulated, the phantom pressure sliding and circling the sensitive nub with maddening slowness. She turned her head and looked at the clock.

2:44 AM.

“3... 2... 1...” she whispered.

Like clockwork, the pressure against her clit disappeared, and she felt the same phantom pressure pushing into her slit. Her body accepted the invisible intrusion without complaint. The ghost was considerate enough to work its way inside with a gradual pace, but no matter how many times it did this, the cold, smooth sensation sliding inside her was always a little weird.

She felt a cold presence right against her thighs and she knew the ghost was inside her, deep as it could go. The thrusting began at a slow, leisurely pace. Amy sighed and turned her attention back to the ceiling. She stared at the little cracks, tracing them with her eyes to help pass the time.

The mattress rocked steadily beneath her as her body was pressed into it with each thrust. Each gentle movement that made the bed frame squeak was so familiar it almost blended into the background. Like the hum of a fan. Or the drip of a leaky faucet she’d learned to ignore.

“Do you have to do the same thing every time?” she murmured, half under her breath. “I mean, switch it up or something. Jesus.”