Ciaran
I spent much of that night dreaming. Some were pleasant. Some were not.
This was not a pleasant one. In the way of some dreams, I was aware I was dreaming. Lucid, was the term I thought, but even as I walked through my dream as though I knew it wasn’t real, I felt a trickle of apprehension run down my spine, a shiver of morbid anticipation. There was a part of me that knew what was coming, but that didn’t matter. The rest of me was walking with trepidation, like this was the first in a series of steps into the unknown.
My boots were steel toed and heavy. They weighed a ton it seemed like and as I walked it felt as though I was moving through molasses, even when they made that heavy clomping sound of rubber soles on solid pavement. It took all of my strength to lift one and put it down, following with the next, but I couldn’t stop myself, I couldn’t even rest. I had to keep moving forward.
Even though I didn’t want to.
But what I wanted was of little consequence it would seem, because my feet kept pulling me forward. I was drawn to something, and once I realized that, I started to pay more attention to my surroundings. I noticed that I was walking down the street. Rain was quickly turning into sleet and it was dark outside. This was my little city, my home since I was a child, and I could see the exact neighborhood I was living in. There was a bakery around the corner that hadn’t switched hands since the first owner died fifty years ago and it had never gone anywhere but in the family. The shops to my life were comprised of a laundromat that was open twenty-four hours, a convenience store that was robbed just shy of nightly, and two competing delis run by batty old ladies who played bridge on Wednesdays.
I knew if I took a right up ahead, I could walk a mile to the library and across from that was a pathetic little park that got cleaned up every five years or so, the graffiti scrubbed clean and the trash picked up. I knew if I went a little farther than that, I’d reach the railroad tracks. Beyond them was the bad side of town, literally the wrong side of the tracks, and I knew that better even than this little slice of urban decay. I’d been born there. I’d been given up there. I’d been starving there.
All of this flittered through my mind in the blink of an eye, like a topographical map showing me the entire area by just rotating slightly. I’d lived here my whole life and it was impossible not to remember how it was laid out and how much farther it had slumped into further disrepair.
But none of that mattered, because I walked through the sleet slicked street going straight. There wasn’t anything up ahead but a line of warehouses that turned into what was once an old dock. They didn’t have any sort of business there anymore, other towns with more important and convenient locations taking over for them, but the docks stayed and some of the old ships did, too. It was almost eerie, like a graveyard on the water, and as kids it had terrified us enough that we’d dared each other to brave it for a night.
I had, and so had Shane.
In the dream, I didn’t know what was coming, but what lingered of my waking self knew and it dreaded it. Don’t go to the docks, I thought to myself, silent but insistent. It didn’t matter. I continued forward undeterred.
The streets were quiet, and once I reached the heavy, rotting boards of the docks all I heard were the twists and pulls of the water as it lapped against the pilings and metal. It was a noise I was familiar with, we all were, but right then it made the whole place feel like the bad end to a horror movie. Or worse, the bad beginning.
Still I crept forward.
My mouth felt dry. I couldn’t swallow, as though there was a cotton ball stuck somewhere in my throat, lodged unceremoniously. My heavy boots clomped against the water-warped wood. To my left was an old shack that had once sold fishing line and netting, some other essentials, but was just like everything else now: abandoned. I stuck close to the wall, knowing something wasn’t quite right, sensing it in my gut even without knowing what I knew.
Carefully, I came up to the corner, ready for whatever was on the other side. I had a gun tucked into the waistband of my jeans, but I didn’t want to use it. I hoped I wouldn’t have to.
I’m only here to talk, I reminded myself, but my hand itched for the gun like it didn’t believe me. It had reason not to.
In a flurry of motion that moved frame by frame for me within the dream, I threw myself around the corner, prepared to face off against an unknown and waiting assailant. But when my dream state finally allowed me to swing around, I found nothing but more, empty dock. Something within me should have eased, but even as my body relaxed at the lack of threat, my insides twisted with uncertainty and even a trickle of fear.
Even as I felt that fear, I straightened up and shook my head, running my hand through my hair. Nothing. There was nothing here. Probably, no one had even been here and it had all been a false alarm. This was Skulls territory and I’d had a couple of my boys swear they’d seen a Hound here, but there was no one. Probably it was just some punk pulling the same kind of pranks we’d pulled as kids.
It should have given me a sense of relief.
It didn’t.
A second later, I found out why. A two-by-four swung around with a whoosh that came from moving air quickly and forcibly and landed squarely across my shoulders. I should have been grateful that it didn’t catch my neck or the back of my head, where it would probably have killed me. Instead, I was furious, hurt, and very much pissed off.
A short, angry cry escaped my lips before I could clamp them shut and stop it. I stumbled forward, staggering in an attempt to keep myself upright. I ended up going to my knees harshly, one arm draping across a dilapidated old bench. It was enough to keep me from completely going down, but just barely. But it was enough.
Using it as leverage, I shoved off as the next swing came at me. It put me on my back, unfortunately, but at least the space that took the hit from the two-by-four wasn’t where I was laying.
I looked up to see a younger man, practically a boy still. If he were out of high school, it was only just, and it showed. There were some shave marks coupled with nicks and pimples both. His body was big, but gangly, still disproportionate, like he’d gotten a growth spurt overnight and his body was still trying to fill in all the new length and body space. All of this I took in at the blink of an eye, but what would haunt me forever was the wild look in his eyes.
A look of urgency, a look of fear.
He was afraid of me. Worse now that he’d taken the first strike at me and the second strike had missed.
The guy, clearly an Irish Hound based on the howling fiery dog tattooed on his arm, hefted up his much too large and heavy weapon to swing it again at me but he took too long. Now that I knew what was going on and he’d swung and missed, I had enough time to react. I scrambled up to my feet, still hunched low, and barreled myself into his middle.
A whoosh of air left his lungs in a hurry and he cried out, caught off guard by my move. I heard the two-by-four thump as it hit the ground when he dropped it. Together, we stumbled back until I slammed him into the siding of one of the old buildings on the dock. He froze, eyes wide. I asked him what the hell he was doing, demanded an answer, but he said nothing. It took me forever to realize why, but when I did, I felt something inside me squirm.
His eyes remained wide, his mouth open. I noticed a hiccup of blood as it began to trickle out of his mouth, and that was when I stepped back. He didn’t move even when I released him. It was like he was being held in place.
I glanced down at his chest and saw that was exactly what it was. A sharp, rusted piece of broken off metal was protruding from his chest. It glistened darkly with blood, so dark it looked black in the dim lighting. The sleet continued to come down and it made me numb, or maybe it was just the shock of knowing I’d just killed that boy.
Because there was no doubt in my mind he was dead. His body and his brain didn’t know it yet, but I did. He was living on borrowed seconds that were evaporating quickly.
It took a full minute before he took one last choking, rattling breath. Then he was gone. The blood dripped down the metal pole to pool beneath him and his eyes didn’t close. They remained open, staring at me, accusing me of the truth.
Murder, they whispered.
I shook my head. I wanted to deny all of this, to say this was all a mistake, an accident, but I couldn’t seem to unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth. As a result, there was nothing in the wake of his death but silence and the soft sounds of water all around me.
He wasn’t the first man I’d killed. He probably wouldn’t be the last. But he was the first one who looked like he probably wasn’t even old enough to get into the bar. Too young to be out here on the streets coming at me with a weapon he could only half lift.
It didn’t feel right and I didn’t think it ever would.
My dream shifted until I was all but sure I was awake. I was lying on a couch now in fire lit cabin in the woods. Outside the snow continued to drift down and coat everything, ensuring privacy on a number of levels. I shifted in my position on the couch beneath a pile of blankets and quilts. I was trying to get comfortable again, but wasn’t quite sure how to do it or if I really could at all. Something in the fire cracked and then popped, sending sparks floating up into the air and dying before they ever hit the ground.
I groaned.
“Shh,” came a soft, soothing voice. “You’re okay, Ciaran, you’re here with me.”
I settled back against the couch, the smooth and sweet tone lulling me into a sense of peace that I hadn’t had in forever. Maybe I’d never had it. For a second, I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Her voice whispered through the air, almost like a sweet smell wafting in from the kitchen or a perfume bottle.
“Where are you?” I murmured, my eyes now searching for the owner of the voice.
“I’m here,” she answered sweetly, and then she seemed to appear out of nowhere at my side. It was the woman from the side of the road, the one who had dragged me to the car and then to the cabin to save my mostly worthless life.
Her dark hair was long enough to slip down over her shoulders and tumble down her back like a cascading waterfall. Her blue eyes were so large that they seemed to catch you when they landed on you. And her body…
I groaned again as I caught sight of it.
The first time I’d seen her she was wearing a torn up pair of skinny jeans, worn through boots, and layers of sweaters, shirts, and jackets. But she’d changed into what looked to be a white nightie. It was a thin, silky material that covered the essentials but only just barely. I could see her cleavage forming from her plunging neckline and as my eyes dipped lower, I noticed her pebbled nipples jutting out from that thin fabric. The silk pinched at her tiny waist before flaring out again to slip over her full hips. As she came to sit beside me on what little room there was on the couch, the hem of her little nightie rose up to reveal more of those creamy, silken thighs, and promised that what lie between them was just as pretty and silky.
I licked my lips.
Her body was so close now that I didn’t even realize I was reaching for her until my hand was slipping over the slope of one breast, catching on one hardened nipple. She should have gotten mad with me for touching her—she didn’t know anything about me, but then, how did she know my name?—but instead of swatting me away or scolding me, she let her head fall back and arched her back so her breast was pushed into my palm.
Oh, it fit perfectly. Her tits were large and firm, but definitely pliant beneath my touch. I rolled my palm along her nipple, drawing a whimpering sound from her full, rosy lips. “Yes,” she murmured, encouraging me further.
I allowed my hand to clasp tightly over her full tit and squeeze, getting a gasp from her. She jerked her head up to look at me again, her large eyes now full of lust and lidded with desire. My other hand reached for her body, going to her hip and gripping it tightly. She bit her lower lip and fixed me with a look that all but begged me for more.
How is this happening? my lust addled brain managed to wonder.
Some part of me knew this wasn’t quite right. Where did the white nightie come from? Had she packed it? Had she risked going out into the storm to get it, or had she found it here amidst the other things? And if that was the case, why did she put it on at all? Unless she was trying to seduce me. But that couldn’t be happening. The wanton way she was undulating her body, pushing herself into my grip, encouraging my firm touches, couldn’t be real.
And how had she known my name? I wondered again, and that was when I realized this was a dream.
I hadn’t woken up at all. My subconscious had shifted itself away from that terrible night with Shane’s man and now it slid into one of pleasure and need. Maybe knowing it was a dream should have had some effect on me. Maybe I shouldn’t have wanted to continue fondling her or to let my hand slip down lower from her hip to find the hem of her nightie lying across her thigh—but I did want to.
“Oh, Ciaran, yes,” she murmured to me, her sweet voice turning sultry and needy. I couldn’t say I didn’t like the tone or the desire laced through it. “Please touch me.”
Dream or not, I wasn’t a man to resist such a request. I found the hem of her nightie, all lacy and falling high already on her thighs. I continued to fondle one large breast as I pushed the hem upwards with my other hand. When I moved it up her creamy thigh, I found that at her hip there was no elastic. No lace. No fabric at all. She wasn’t wearing any panties.
I groaned at the knowledge and allowed my hand to slide inwards between her legs. I found smooth skin and moisture there. My eyes jerked up to hers. She was all but panting above me, her eyelids lowered until she was looking through slits.
My finger found another slit, the one between her legs, and I dragged it along that line, collecting moisture and causing her to jerk towards my hand. “More, Ciaran,” she begged me. I obliged by letting that finger wiggle between her folds. I found her opening. It was dripping with need, slick with wanton desire, and I took advantage of that fact. I pushed one finger inside of her and she cried out in pleasure.
I began to pump my finger inside of her. She’s tight, I observed, and found what little was left of my conscious mind hoping she was in reality, too.
Slowly, I began to stroke her inner walls. My ministrations had her squirming on the couch beside me. I kept my right hand firmly locked on her full tit, fondling it and pinching at the nipple between my two fingers. She loved every minute of it.
“Oh, Ciaran,” she breathed heatedly, beginning to move her hips against my hand in an effort to rock herself into more pleasure. “I need more than your finger. Oh, please, Ciaran, please fuck me.”
Her request was all the more ragged because the way her lips formed “fuck” was like an angel sinning for the first time. Her cheeks flushed, her lips parted slightly, her eyes were wide and innocent. Like she wasn’t supposed to say things like that, but she would say them to me because I brought them out in her.
God, I wanted to bring them out in her.
“Dirty little mouth,” I growled at her, still stroking the pad of my finger along her slick inner walls. “If you keep that up, I’ll have to find something to do with it.”
Her cheeks turned a brighter shade of crimson and she sucked her lower lip into her mouth, nibbling and worrying at it. “Do you want me to…?” she asked, but trailed off, looking every bit the part of a shy, innocent little thing. Normally it wouldn’t, but tonight, in my dream, it turned me on and made me rock hard beneath the blankets covering me.
“Yeah,” I ground out, deciding as the word left my mouth. “Yeah, baby, I want you to suck me.”
Her eyes widened slightly and I heard a tiny moan escape her lips. Like she wanted to give me head. Like it was just as erotic, just as full of lust as letting me slide my large cock into her waiting, wet pussy, taking the place of my finger.
After a moment, she licked her lips and nodded her head. Then she stood. My hand on her breast fell away, my reach not quite long enough for the new position, but my hand between her legs remained. I continued to move my finger within her pussy as she reached for the blankets covering me and pulled them back.
I was clothed, but only partially. I had on a pair of jeans, my cock straining against them, but that was it. She paused, glancing down at that bulge nervously, even as I continued to fondle her womanhood.
“Go on,” I told her, my voice ragged and strained. She nodded and reached for me, but before she got to my pants, I thought of something. “Wait,” I commanded, and she froze. “Take your nightgown off. I want to see your body when that dirty little mouth of yours wraps around my cock.”
That lovely flush traveled down the column of her neck and coated the tops of her breasts, bringing out a few soft freckles that made me want to taste her flesh.
I added a second finger between her legs and she cried out, putting a hand out to rest along the back of the couch to keep herself from tumbling over. For a second, she just enjoyed the feeling of me pumping my fingers in and out of her pussy. After a little of that, I told her, “C’mon. Take it off. I want to see those tits.”
She nodded her head and managed to straighten herself up enough to grab the nightie and jerk it up over her head.
Her long, smooth body was exposed to me. Her legs went on for miles, her pussy was as slick, smooth, and pink as I imagined it, and her tits were large, but still perky. Her nipples were proud and erect, making me want to nibble on them with my teeth until she whimpered.
“That’s better,” I told her in a husky voice.
She nodded, then let her hands wander back to my jeans. She popped the button of them and then jerked down the zipper, making me groan. So close, I thought. She tugged them down my hips until finally my hard, now aching cock was free from the confines of fabric. I had never been so grateful for it in my life.
“That’s it,” I muttered when her little hand wrapped around my cock. Her fingers looked tiny, delicate around my thick shaft, and I couldn’t deny that I liked the look. “Go on, baby. Show me just how dirty that pretty little mouth of yours is.”
She licked her lips. Her eyes flickered to my face, then she leaned over, bending mostly at the hips. It allowed me to keep pumping my fingers into her even as I felt her lips just barely touch the tip of my dick. The sensation was so strong that I nearly jerked up into her mouth without warning, but I managed to just barely restrain myself.
But that restraint wasn’t going to last for long. If she didn’t start doing something soon, I was going to grab the back of her head and push her down.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait for long.
Her small, pink tongue slipped out between her full lips and flicked across the tip of my cock. I shuddered and jerked reflexively, letting out a low moan of pleasure and appreciation. She looked at me with those big blue eyes, her lashes long, dark, and silky. Then she grinned. The hand wrapped around my shaft squeezed tighter around me and I cursed.
“Shit, baby, that feels good. Do that again,” I ground out, remembering just barely that I still had my fingers dipped into her pussy. I did my best to focus on that movement, too, but it was difficult with the way she was touching—and the way she kept licking those damn full lips.
She obliged my request, squeezing me again. Then she stroked me firmly several times before she put her mouth back towards the head. I felt her warm breath caress the tip of me right before she kissed the head. I thought I might die from her teasing, but then she parted those silky lips and popped me into her mouth.
“Oh fuck!” I cried out, my hips trying to jerk up.
She used her free hand to keep me down, or at least try to, her silky, delicate fingertips pressing firmly against my hip to keep me in place as her lips moved farther down. She swallowed not only my head but the veiny shaft it was connected to. I groaned and shoved my fingers into her waiting body more urgently as I felt her take more and more of my dick into her mouth. When I hit the back of her throat and she only barely managed not to gag, I cursed again.
“Fuck!”
A moment later, she pulled back from my cock. She let it slip out completely with a popping sound. Saliva coated my shaft and left a trail to her slightly open mouth. Her eyes met mine. “Is that dirty enough for you?” she murmured softly, still in that same sweet voice.
“Fuck no,” I told her through gritted teeth. “I’m aching to be back inside you, baby.”
She grinned at me, then winked. Before I could comment, her mouth swallowed me again. She began to bob her head up and down, her mouth coating my shaft with her saliva as her tongue swirled along the underside of my dick and then around the bulbous head before dipping back down. She kept one hand on my hip to prevent me from jerking too harshly up into her mouth, but the other continued to keep a firm grip around the base of me. That hand stroked the inch or so she couldn’t quite swallow, massaging and jerking it to make sure none of my erection went unappreciated.
I continued to finger her, making her moan and hum as she sucked me. It amped up my own pleasure, but I also felt good knowing I was making her squirm with desire, too. She was wet, the slickness coating my hand, and I knew what I wanted was more than just a blowjob. But I also knew her mouth felt so damn good around my member that I wasn’t going to push for her to pull her mouth away again anytime soon.
“That’s it, baby,” I ground out instead, feeling my pleasure mount and build. Soon, I’d explode. I realized that I hoped it was in her mouth—but that she probably wouldn’t appreciate that. “Keep doing that. Keep…ah, yes!” She gave me a hard suck and for a moment I couldn’t say anything. When I came back to myself, I was breathing heavily and knew that if I didn’t say something to her, I’d shoot my load into her mouth without warning.
This is only a dream, who cares? some part of me asked, but even as that part pointed out my certainty that this was all a dream, there was another part that didn’t want to do that to her. Even if this was just a dream, even if she was only a figment of my imagination, there was something about those big baby blue eyes and that innocent look as she swallowed my member that made me want to take care of her. That made me want to be kind and courteous, even if that wasn’t my immediate need. “Baby, you should pull back,” I managed to warn, feeling my climax fast approaching. “I’m going to lose myself in that pretty little mouth if you don’t.”
She paused. Her eyes flickered up to mine and for a moment, we just started at each other, my cock still buried in her mouth. Then she pulled back slightly and I thought she was going to release my dick before I came down her throat—but she didn’t. Instead, she worked harder. She suckled at me and pumped me with her hand until I felt like I had to burst.
I tried to keep my hand moving inside of her, too, but as I got closer and closer to my own release, I faltered, focusing instead on her ministrations.
She swallowed me as far as she could, my cock banging the back of her throat, and then sucked hard. That was when I felt it. A wash of pleasure so intense that for a minute I couldn’t do anything but jerk into her mouth in short bursts and let out a loud groan as my release washed through me—and my cum spurted into her mouth.
She swallowed it all and held me within her mouth until I was finished. Finally, she pulled away and let my softening cock slip from her full lips. Panting, boneless, and a little delirious, I stared at her pretty, sweet face for a moment in awe. My free hand reached for her and caressed her face gently, wonderingly.
Carefully, I tugged her towards me. She came willingly until her body was stretched out slightly above me, though her legs were still planted firmly on the side of the bed. Her sweet face was so close to mine that I could feel the heat radiating from her to me. She smiled at me, a girlish smile that showed off dimples and told me she had a few freckles that were light enough to miss until she was this close to you. “Did you like that?” she asked me in a whisper that washed over my body and sent shivers through me. I didn’t think I’d be ready to go again just yet, but with the way she was looking at me and talking, I thought maybe I would be soon.
“Yes,” I answered her honestly, my eyes slipping across her features. “Yes, I did. I was right: you do have a dirty mouth.”
She laughed softly, the sound barely more than a breath of air. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Fuck no,” I told her. “That’s the prettiest damn mouth ever.”
Her cheeks reddened slightly, the flush making her look even better. “Thank you.”
For a moment, we just stayed like that, with her bent over me and my hand stroking her warmed, rosy cheek. As I stared into her eyes, I said, “I don’t know your name.”
She bit her full lower lip, then leaned closer. I felt her breath slide across my ear and felt another tremor of pleasure run through me. Maybe I will be ready for round two pretty quick. She whispered to me, telling me her name, but as with all dreams the details I needed and wanted the most seemed to get lost in translation. Her words slipped away on an invisible wind and the dream shifted to something that was just darkness. Blissful and peaceful, but unfulfilling if only because I didn’t get her name.