amber eyes like it did on the dark surface of the water.
Then with a laugh, he barreled into me, tackling me into the water. It was shallow enough that the sand was hard-packed and wet, and the waves lapped at my ears but didn’t cover my face. Jazz’s hands framed my cheeks as he held himself up above me. His amber eyes searched my face hungrily, and then he lowered down, giving me ample time to push him off.
But in the dream, I didn’t reject him. I reached for him instead, looping my arms around his neck and pulling him down so his chest crashed against mine, and we fell into a kiss that was half a smile.
And this kiss wasn’t like the kiss we’d briefly shared in his bed. This was—
It was different. It was hot, and searching, and masculine. Even in the dream, it wasn’t like the kisses I’d shared with women. It was overwhelming, sharp with teeth, his tongue pressing deep into my mouth. And his body under my hands was slick with seawater and sweat, hard with muscle, and I pulled him flush against me and dug my fingers into his back like I could feel the lines of the lion tattoo if I just focused hard enough.
He growled into my mouth, a possessive sound that thrilled me, and rolled his hips against mine.
And he was hard.
Those yellow trunks didn’t leave much to the imagination. It was hot against me, even through the wet fabric, as he rolled his hips expertly, and the explosive pleasure of it left me shocked, panting for breath, pliant under him.
And then I jolted awake to the incessant screech of my alarm.
I stared at the ceiling, frozen in place by the vividness of the dream. It had seemed so real—I could almost feel the weight of Jazz’s body pressing me down into the sand. And I was hard in my shorts, distractingly so, like I was a teenager again.
“Fuck.” I rolled over onto my stomach and pressed my face into my pillow.
I’d never had a dream like that about a man before. And I hadn’t had a dream that vivid in years. Was it the kiss?
It made no sense. Jazz was my closest friend. My—
Not my brother, though. Not really. Things had changed between us since he’d been back, undeniably so. I’d been sensing that since the day I picked him up from the prison.
But this? This I couldn’t explain.
I also knew I couldn’t start my day with a fucking raging hard-on. Even just the pressure of the mattress against my cock sent hot little spikes of pleasure up my spine.
But I also couldn’t get off to the dream. It just felt wrong.
I shoved my hands down the front of my shorts and palmed myself roughly. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine one of my past hookups (fuck, how long had it been? Had I really not hooked up with anyone since before Jazz was released?), but every time I tried to grasp onto the memory, it slipped through my fingers and the dream rushed in. Jazz’s lips on mine, his broad chest pressing against me, the hot hard line of his cock grinding against my hip like a promise—
I inhaled hard as my abs clenched, my legs tense and shifting against the sheets. I came hard, and fast, like a teenager desperate to get off. The suddenness of it shocked me, like my body was more riled up than my brain could comprehend, and the aftershocks left me gasping into the pillow to catch the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
What the fuck was happening to me?
I climbed out of bed and took a long, hot shower, like I could wash away the dream and what it might mean. But the memory of it still lingered, floating around the edges of my thoughts as I dressed.
The worst part was that I had no one to talk to about it.
Because the only person I’d feel comfortable talking about something like this with was Jazz. And he obviously didn’t want to talk to me about anything—why else would he have dodged my calls all night? Did he think that kiss yesterday morning was a mistake and he was off licking his wounds? Why, suddenly, did the thought of him regretting that kiss fill me with dread?
I headed downstairs for a much-needed cup of coffee. The kitchen was already busy with members: Blade and Logan were there with Gunnar and