Dark Child (Wild Men 5) - Page 78
Yeah, in this state, no way.
The moment he’s out of sight, I retreat to the bathroom, lock the door to beat a quick one out in the shower.
Shoving my boxers off, I step under the spray and wrap my hand around my stiff, aching cock. From my dream, I remember Cosima’s dark eyes gazing up at me as she sucks on my dick, her mouth so hot and tight, her tits pressing into my thighs as she works me over…
Good, so good, even as I think I see blood spreading under my feet, the chill of death…
Cranking up the heat higher, letting the hot water hit me, I jack off faster, force my mind back on track.
Cos. She lies down, and I move between her legs, sinking into her, and it’s more than I can take, so fucking tight, her body so soft against me, her moans matching mine.
And then I hear my voice from the dream saying, I love you, God, I love you…
My dick jerks in my hand, my balls clench, and I groan as my spunk hits the tiles in long, white ropes.
Love you, Cos…
Oh hell.
JC is wolfing down a sandwich by the time I make it to the kitchen, sc
rubbed clean, marginally more awake and erection-free. He takes a sip from his coffee, washing the food down, and nods at the coffee machine.
I pour myself a cup of black tar—JC manages to fuck up even the best coffee using the best coffee machine money can buy—and sit myself at the table.
“Wanna talk?” he says.
“Uh, not really.” I sip at my coffee and force myself to swallow the bitter medicine. “What is it? Did I call out names in my sleep again?”
“Yeah, you did.”
I straighten, then realize what this is probably about and curse. “Was it a girl’s name?
He frowns. “I guess.”
He guesses. “Meaning?”
“I don’t even know if it was a name. It sounded like… Axel? Come to think of it, it doesn’t sound like a girl’s name, not really.”
“Axel?”
At least he didn’t say it sounded like a moan. That would be fucking bad.
“Yeah. Or Ax. Like the one you got inked on your back.” He nods at my bare back, though he can’t see the tat from where he’s leaning against the counter.
I frown. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“Really? Dreams don’t always make sense, Mercury.”
“Ah, man, just call me Merc. And I know that. I just…” An ax, propped on a log, a round eye, looking at me…
“Nightmares, man. Merc.” JC shrugs, puts his mug down. “Monsters and frustration.” He sounds like he’s speaking of his own dreams. “What’s the meaning of your tat?”
“It’s from a book,” I say absently.
That eye.
“Which one?”
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