He pulled away and squinted his eyes shut, trying to stay in this form.
“What is it?” Sawyer asked. “What’s wrong?”
“I... I need...”
“Name it.”
Ciaran’s eyes met his, baring his vulnerability for Sawyer to see. “Trying to stay human.” He barked out a tortured laugh, but then he shimmered, and his form buckled as his control barely held. “Fuck.”
He thought Sawyer might back off, or be repulsed, but no.
He slid his hand along Ciaran’s jaw. “Look at me.”
Ciaran did, seeing nothing but stark blue honesty.
“I want you,” he whispered. “The real you.”
Ciaran’s hearts skidded to a stop. “What?”
Sawyer’s smile was rueful, shy. “I’ve dreamed of this. Fantasised about too many arms holding me down, splaying me out while you fucked me. I didn’t understand it at first. But when we were in the water, and all your arms wound around me, around my legs, around my waist, my arms. I knew. It was you,half human, half freeform. It was so fucking hot.” He licked the corner of his mouth, his smile wicked. “Don’t ever feel you need to hide any part of yourself or be something you’re not. When I said I’m in this, I meant it. I want the real you.”
The sound Ciaran made certainly wasn’t human.
Neither was the way he captured Sawyer’s body with too many arms and took him to the mattress on the floor. If he’d had any doubts about Sawyer and his acceptance of his true self, they were gone.
He wanted this. Heacceptedhim. All of him.
He wanted Ciaran in any way, shape or form—human or not.
Then that was exactly what Ciaran would give him.
Chapter
Nineteen
SAWYER
Sawyer foundhimself on his back on the mattress with Ciaran’s tongue in his mouth and strong, red tentacles wrapped around his thighs, his arms, his waist.
They were sliding sensually, pulsing almost, holding his legs and arms outstretched, touching, tasting, teasing.
Sawyer could do nothing but moan and rock, rolling his hips. The onslaught of sensation was both too much and not enough.
He needed more.
He needed to be naked, right the fuck now. And he needed...
He needed Ciaran.
In ways he couldn’t explain. On a cellular level. He needed to belong to him. He needed to be owned, claimed. He needed there to be nothing else in the world but him, them.
Us.
Sawyer felt as if his soul was dying and the only thing that could possibly save him, fix him, soothe him was Ciaran.
He sucked on Ciaran’s tongue, drinking him in. He tilted his hips, desperate for more, unable to move, restrained in the very best of ways.
And Ciaran devoured his mouth, rocking and rubbing, grinding and groaning. His long arms were so fucking divine,gently holding Sawyer like he was precious, but still firm and commanding. Ciaran writhed all around him, all over him.
