Dreaming by the Sea (an erotic paranormal short story) by Delilah Devlin

Dreaming by the Sea
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    S ea foam lathered the jagged rocks lining the shore, each lap sounding like a soapy caress. A sensual sound that fired my imagination to think about things I hadn’t since…since…
    Well, in a very long time. I frowned, annoyed that the thought had been so fleeting I couldn’t give it substance, but that was just how my mind worked.
    Frustrated with the elusive memory, I turned my face into the wind and enjoyed the way it whipped at my hair and the nightgown I’d thrown on before making the trek down to the beach. The way the light played at the edge of the horizon had proved too much temptation for me to stay inside the cabin that hugged the cliff.
    The air was cool with an underlying note of humid heat. Cloying enough to make the silk stick to my skin, but I didn’t care. No one was there to see my thin nightgown mold to my body. I hadn’t wanted to dress since I rose from bed that morning. One of the perks of being a writer. I’d worked without a break all day, but now needed to clear the cobwebs before I headed back into my story.
    I strode beside the water, jumping back to avoid the tidal fingers that seeped between the rocks lining the shore to rush across the sand. I headed to the small pool the ebbing tide left each day to see the treasures the sea deposited for me to admire.
    Or so I liked to think. Not that I ever took them home. I hadn’t the courage to wet my fingers in the brine. An old phobia—one I wasn’t sure where it started.
    Tall, sharp-edged boulders framed the opening where the water lapped into the pool. Peering into the water, I lay on my stomach on a flat rock above the pool. I edged closer and closer, tempted to trail my fingers in the silky saltwater. An orange starfish, bits of broken shell, a long thin strand of seaweed were all that filled the clear pool. Still, I stared, wishing I were braver.
    “Do you always whimper when you stare at starfish?”
    I jerked back, my gaze flying to a man, his hands braced between the two sentinel rocks and his body completely nude. “You startled me,” I blurted, scrambling to my knees. Then I narrowed my eyes. “What are doing here? This beach is private. And why the hell are you naked?”
    “Don’t you have you any pity for a man washed up on your shore?”
    I didn’t believe him. A quick glance showed his skin hadn’t been torn or bruised by the force of water crashing against the rocks. But how had he come here? And why hadn’t he worn a swimsuit?
    I didn’t want to know. No matter how handsome he was. And gods, he was. His hair was nearly black, and the wet strands grazed the tops of wide shoulders. His eyes were a startling blue, like a calm sea. However, staring into them was anything but reassuring.
    The longer the moment stretched, the harder I fought to ignore the dark hair matted to his chest or the hollows that outlined the muscles stretched over his abdomen.
    I tried to keep my gaze glued to his crooked smile, but I knew the attempt was a battle I’d lose. I glanced down, thinking I’d hide it with a blink, but found myself ensnared by the sight of his erection. Thick and alert, without a curve, it pointed slightly to the side. In that second while my gaze lingered, I felt a deep pang of loneliness echo through me.
    He cupped his cock. Was he hiding it? Or making sure I’d continue to stare?
    My nipples tightened and poked against the silk. I hunched my shoulders to disguise my body’s reaction. “I’m asking you to leave,” I said, forcing a hard tone. “Now.”
    “Are you afraid of me?”
    I should have been. He’d appeared out of nowhere, invading my personal haven.
    However, I’d been alone for nearly a month. This conversation, as strange as it was, was the most thrilling thing that happened since my arrival. “I’m not afraid.” Just feeling horny and stupid. My cheeks began a slow burn.
    His shoulders relaxed, and he dropped his arms, striding forward into the tidal pool. He bent