He wasn’t scared. In fact, he’d found it fascinating.
Loved it, even.
He felt safe and enamoured, as if the shadows were enticing him, seducing him.
He still couldn’t breathe underwater, though, and he was disappointed every time he had to break the surface for air.
He wanted to know who the shadows were. He’d tried to follow them, but the water was too deep, too dark, and theshadows kept urging him deeper, but thankfully even dream-Sawyer knew not to listen.
Then there’d been the sensual dream. It was Ciaran, and dream-Ciaran was just as seething as real-life-Ciaran, and in that dream, they were in the antiques store, which was weird because Sawyer had never stepped foot into the antiques store. Yet it somehow felt familiar.
Dream-Ciaran was staring at him, eyes burning red, and he was yelling at Sawyer, sneering at him, livid.
Sexy as hell.
But Sawyer couldn’t hear what he was yelling, for it sounded garbled as if they were underwater. Ciaran was moving around him, neck corded as he strained to yell, and even though Sawyer couldn’t hear a word, he was certain Ciaran was telling him to stay near the surface.
The surface of what? Dream-Sawyer had no clue, like real-life Sawyer had no clue. Not the surface of the water, surely. Not when all he wanted to sink down deep. He wanted Ciaran to take him deeper....
But then, last night?
Well, last night’s dream was a little too real, and he woke up gasping for air... but for another reason altogether.
In this dream, they were in Sawyer’s small flat, in his bed, naked, fucking. Ciaran was on top of him, underneath and all around him.
Inside him.
Ciaran was somehow consuming him, emotionally and physically, playing his body like a musical instrument. And ohhhhh, how Sawyer wanted this.
He gave himself so completely, and he let Ciaran have him any way he wanted.
And apparently that was thoroughly.
Sawyer woke up as he orgasmed, his cock untouched, shooting come onto his belly and chest, his limbs spread out as if he’d been splayed and restrained.
As if Ciaran had too many arms and legs and they’d held him down and wrapped around him. Impaled him.
Sawyer couldn’t ever remember coming that hard.
He lay in his bed, his mind spinning, his heart hammering, feeling all floaty and heavy, trying really hard not to think about what his traitorous mind had just done to him.
He shouldn’t be thinking about Ciaran like that.
And it was all because Ciaran had come to his place last night when the Doc had kindly seen to his blistered hands. It was technically their first actual conversation, and Ciaran had only sneered at him once or twice and hadn’t looked at him as if he wanted to kill him.
Much.
That’s all it was. Just Sawyer’s mind playing tricks on him, conjuring up sexual fantasies.
Ciaran was an enigma, of sorts. A mystery. Someone who’d gotten under Sawyer’s skin.
Nothing more.
And that damn tattoo up his arm, the way those tentacles wrapped around him, much like Ciaran had wrapped around Sawyer in his dream. That was where his mind had conjured up that idea.
It was nothing else.
But Sawyer had to wonder if the weird dreams had happened to Ricky Carpenter and if that was why he’d started to lose his mind.
