Page 4 of His Bountiful Gifts (Men of the Sea)

RONAN

Sound comes to me in stilted waves. The crashing of the ocean against the shore. Seagulls cawing above me.

A warm sensation starts at my temples. Gentle fingers brush against my cold skin, the warmth of the touch sending waves of heat through my skull.

She’s massaging my head. The angel who I glimpsed as if in a dream. She must be an angel, and I must be dead.

The last thing I remember is the creak of the boat as it broke apart, dashed upon the violent waves of the ocean, and grabbing for debris in the water as powerful waves crashed around me.

When I next opened my eyes, the angel knelt beside me, her sweet, innocent face graced with sweeping long eye lashes and plump cherub lips popped open in surprise.

She must be an angel, and I must be in heaven because I can hear her now, humming under her breath. No, not humming. Chanting. The words are foreign to me—I don’t speak angelic—sweet and guttural as she runs her fingers over my temples.

If I’ve died and gone to heaven, then it’s as good a place as everyone hopes it is. My eyes flicker open, and the angel is kneeling behind my head. Her soft fingers run over my skull, holding my head in her hands. It’s a pleasant sensation that sends tingles through my broken body.

She’s sitting up straight, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders. Then she leans forward. Her eyes are closed. The chanting gets stronger. Maybe this is some ritual to get me into heaven. Maybe she’s pleading for my soul. Because, to be honest, I’m surprised I’m here. With the deeds I’ve done, I belong in the other place.

The angel leans forward, and her top slips open. Her breasts are pushed together, straining against her bra. It’s what I saw when I first opened my eyes.

Those perfect breasts, big and heavy, hint at the curves of her body. The v of her cleavage makes me want to slide my tongue between her tits, bite her nipples, and make her scream my name.

Definitely not getting into heaven if I’m having dirty thoughts about an angel.

Luckily, she’s got her eyes closed when my dick stirs. As I watch her tits sway back and forth, my cock hardens.

I’ve swallowed half the ocean; my chest feels like there’s a boulder sitting on it, and there’s a pain in my side that feels like a deep cut. But there’s nothing wrong with my cock.

It aches to slide itself between those breasts, to claim this angel for what I know her to be.

Mine.

Her eyes flick open, and the chanting stops. She’s leaning over me, looking down, and she glances at my hard cock swaying between my legs like a piece of driftwood.

“You’re alive then.”

She sits back on her haunches, and I can’t see her anymore. It’s like the sun going out. I swivel my shoulders, needing to see my angel.

Pain shoots through my body, and I let out a guttural groan.

“Don’t try to move.” Her voice is as sweet as the heavens. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No.”

I’m getting the feeling that I’m not dead and she’s not an angel. Although to me she always will be.

“No ambulance.”

Her warm fingers trace a line on my torso, and there’s a delicious sensation marred by pain from some new wound there.

“You’re bleeding.”

Her hands press firmly around the wound, making me wince.

“It doesn’t look deep, but it needs treating.”

With some effort, I pull myself onto my elbows to survey the damage. There’s a gash on my side that’s muddied with seaweed and sand.

“Looks okay to me.”

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