Page 78 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
My goodness, was it arousing.
When those lips returned to the pulsating area between my legs, I cried.
I was going to come.
Hard.
I was going to comehard.
I whimpered. Bucked my hips. Grunted. Did everything I could to just keep him moving…a little…just a little…
“Oh!”
My eyes flew open.
“Oh. Shit.”
The curse tumbled out of me as I stared at the dark interior of our cottage, panting—heaving, more like it—as my hips rocked against…
My own hand.
The realization—that I’d been dreaming and masturbating in my sleep—hit just as the orgasm rolled over me. And it was intense—the kind of orgasm that had your toes curling and sent you to the stratosphere. But there was no joy in it.
Only sorrow.
Because that hadn’t just been a hot and wild wet dream. It’d been a soft and beautiful love story, one I wanted to stay in forever.
I sat up, shuddering from the shock waves of pleasure, and patted my hand along the bed. Empty. Cold.
Jackson wasn’t here.
The cottage was still and quiet.
I drew my knees up to my chin, hugging my legs as my body thrummed with aftershocks and my heart sobbed, wishing everything in that dream—the sense of connection I’d felt, the love, the companionship,everything—had been real.
I decided the next morning,as I got ready to go to the kelpie show Jackson had booked, that the dreamhadn’t happened.
I’d never think of it, speak of it, or acknowledge it. With one exception: I’d confront Alistair tonight. Only because Ihadheard him before I fell asleep, and I wanted to make sure he wasn’t planting pornos into my head. My gut was telling me he didn’t, though. That all the R-rated imagery had been my own imagination. Which was maybe proof that I needed my head examined.
Regardless, I screwed a smile onto my face, banished the bad thoughts from my brain, and went to the showdeterminedto be a happy-go-lucky tourist. Even if I waspretendinghappiness, maybe that was the gateway tofeelinghappiness.
“Oooh my gosh!” I shrieked with laughter and clung to Jackson’s arm as the kelpie rose out of its pond. “It’s terrifying!”
“It’s awesome.”Jackson chuckled.
The tall, sickly-looking horse slunk its way out of the pond, swiveling its pale yellow eyes over the rows of bleachers ringing around its waters in a half-moon shape. Its spindly teeth gnashed. Moisture oozed off the stringy moss dangling from its pale green fur.
There wasn’t any fog coverage inside this dome at the base of the mountains, and I actuallymissedthose misting clouds. They would’ve, at least, softened the monstrous, unnatural appearance of the kelpie.
Around us, children squealed. Adults gasped.
I leaned more fully into Jackson, my skin prickling when the kelpie’s eyes landed on me. It stared for a heartbeat. Two. Then slithered away, zeroing its gaze on a little girl, who screamed and buried her face into her mother’s shoulder.
The kelpie flicked its seaweed tail and bellowed—a trumpeting whinny that had half the people in the stands, including me, clapping hands over our ears. Then it slapped its forehooves into the water, creating a big, splashing wave, and it…
Transformed.
The strings of moss twined around its shifting body and twisting limbs. The splashes of water glittered over its paling flesh. And when it straightened up out of the water, shaking droplets out of its hair, it was no longer a horse, but a lovely, long-legged woman.
