Page 17
It hadn’t been the usual dream—or maybe it had started that way. Running through the trees, breathless but not afraid, with that sweet old scent in the air and the feeling of something behind me that could catch me at any second and kept choosing not to.
I remember the forest opening up around me. I remember the moon through the branches, the cold soil at my feet, and my pulse—too hard and too eager.
Then the dream changed, and I wasn’t running anymore.
Suddenly I was braced against a tree with rough bark under my palms, forehead bowed and my body shaking from something that wasn’t fear.
The body behind mine was big—broad chest plastered to my back, thick thighs bracketing mine, and a hand around my throat keeping me right where he wanted me. And yes, everything about the dream made it clear that it was a man behind me, and he was not small.
That became more than clear when he pushed his thick cock into me.
My face is on fire as I remember the deep, body-wrecking pleasure and the feeling of being held in place by someone far bigger than me. Every time I pushed my ass back in the dream, he would groan into my neck—low and hungry—and the word he whispered there… that’s the part my brain throws into a locked box the second I wake up.
Aaand, I’m hard again.
A short, embarrassed laugh slips out, and I swipe a hand over my face, scratching my beard. “No,” I say firmly, pointing a finger at the bundle, as if it’s arguing with me. “No, we are not doin’ this. I’m not havin’ a midlife sexual awakening because of one friggin’ dream.”
Multiple dreams, my subconscious supplies unhelpfully.
A squirrel darts along the porch rail and freezes at the sound of my voice. It stares at me with beady black eyes, tail twitching.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell it, and it runs.
Yup, I have officially lost it.
I’m thirty-five, straight, and old enough to know that putting weight on anything that happens while I’m unconscious is a mistake. Sure, I haven’t exactly been fighting women off with a stick since the breakup, but that doesn’t mean I go to bed secretly hoping some faceless forest giant will rail me against a tree.
This is just loneliness. Loneliness and living out here all by myself. That’s all.
I finally step back inside, close the door, and try to be a reasonable adult for the day.
It goes about as well as expected.
At the station, I sign the reports Sarah shoves at me before she can yell. Parker talks for twenty minutes about trying to fix the sink in his apartment and somehow flooding his downstairs neighbor’s bathroom, and I nod in the right places while seeing a blue light between trees every time I blink. Tom asks whether I slept, and I lie badly enough that he pauses with his coffee halfway to his mouth.
“You look twitchy,” he says.
“Thanks. You look old,” I answer, because deflection is cheaper than therapy.
Tom gives me a dry look over the rim of his mug. “Cute. Try again.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, grabbing a stack of trail notices from the counter. “Weird dreams, too much coffee, and not enough sleep.”
“That ex still calling?”
I sigh and go for the truth, because it’s easier. “Yeah, and I’m ignorin’ most of them.”
“Good,” he says with an immediate bluntness that makes me love him. “Some bridges burn because they need to stop lettin’ people cross.”
I look at him for a second, surprised by his old-man wisdom sneaking in before nine in the morning. “That’s annoyingly good.”
He shrugs, and I almost open my mouth, because Tom knows these woods better than me, and if he laughs, at least he’ll do it gently.
Then another flash of blue slides behind my eyes, and my mouth decides to ruin my perfectly good plan to be normal.
“Have you heard reports of lights in the forest?” I ask, aiming for casual and landing near suspiciously specific.
Tom lowers his mug. “What kinda light?” he asks.
