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Lyric
Man, last night was the best dream of my life. I’ve never dreamed anything so vividly before, and it was so wild, too! My book boyfriend came to life? I wish!
Rolling onto my back, I push my arms above my head and let out a screeching groan as I stretch, my legs trembling and joints popping.
“Good morning, lass.” I snap upright, the room spinning around me. My head whips down, and there, lying on the other side of the bed is…
“Ian MacTavish,” I sigh, flopping back onto the bed. “It wasn’t a dream. Thank God.” There’s a beat of blissful silence, then reality settles in. “It wasn’t a dream.”
I leap out of bed again, my heart hammering in my chest as I stare at the very real man laying in it.
Apparently, I didn’t do a sufficient enough job freaking out last night, because What. The. Fuck.
“So you’re real?” His lips pull into a wicked grin. God, I want this man to murder my pussy.
“I am.”
He tucks his arm under his head as he watches me begin pacing. “And you’re not freaking out?”
There’s a pause, and I glance over at him. “Freaking out?”
“Yeah, you know. Freaking out.” I wave my arms around. “What’s the 1800’s equivalent?” I scrub my hands over my face, groaning. “Befuddled. Perplexed. Utterly confused.”
“Oh.” He tips his head to the side as if he’s thinking that over. “Yeah, I think I’m a bit freaked out.” Slowly, he shifts his accusing gaze to the lamp. “Can you explain what’s going on?”
“Uh, no. I can’t.” If I knew what was going on, I wouldn’t be losing it right now. “You’re a book character.”
He totally freezes. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not real. Well, you’re not supposed to be. But here you are.” I wave my arm at him. “I don’t know how you’re…what’s wrong?”
“What do you mean I’m not real?” he cries, panicked. “I’m real!” He stabs a finger into his corded forearm. “I’m real!”
Sighing, I sink onto the bed beside him and pat his strong shoulder. “I know you are, buddy. I just don’t know how you’re in my world.”
With teary eyes, he looks up at me. “Your world?”
“Yeah, you know, the modern, real world. Not the 1800s, fictional Scotland world.” I rub my forehead until it burns. “The spell must’ve truly worked.”
“Spell?” He jolts away and falls to the floor, landing heavily. “I knew ye were a witch!” Pointing an accusing finger at me, he scoots across the floor.
I roll my eyes. What a drama queen.
“I am not a witch, Ian. Calm yourself.”
To my utter amazement, his eyes glaze over, and his body relaxes. His arm drops to his side, and suddenly, he’s not losing his shit anymore. He’s calm.
Huh.
Well, that’s fucking weird.
He followed my instructions last night, too. Even when I told him to go to sleep, he did so. Immediately.
Narrowing my eyes, I turn fully toward him. “Stand up.” He pushes to his feet and smooths his hands over his kilt, righting it. “Touch your toes.” Reaching down, his fingertips brush his toes.
Hmm.
“Pull your cock out,” I mutter, mostly to see if he’ll do it.
