Closer: Bay City Paranormal Investigation, Book 4

your accounts of them.”
“Good.” Sam glanced at the water glinting in the sun, then back at Bo. He was staring out over the Gulf, seemingly lost in thought. Stray strands of black hair pulled loose from his braid to blow across his face in the rising breeze. Sam’s insides constricted with a sudden rush of desire. “Bo?”
“Hm?”
Sam waited until Bo turned toward him. Leaning over, he cupped Bo’s face in his hands and kissed him. Bo’s mouth opened with a soft sigh. He tasted of coffee and caramel creamer, mingled with a need equal to Sam’s own.
Bo smiled as they drew apart, brown eyes bright with a familiar hunger. “Let’s go back upstairs,” he murmured, and flicked his tongue over Sam’s lips. “The others won’t be up for a while yet.”
Sam answered him with another kiss. When it broke, he stood, took Bo’s hands in his and pulled him to his feet. “You sure you feel up to sex right now?”
“I’m definitely up …” Bo thrust his erection against Sam’s, “…to being inside you.” He dipped his head and bit at the juncture of Sam’s neck and shoulder. “But I’m still feeling kind of weak. You’ll have to do all the work.”
Sam knew what that meant—Bo on his back, Sam riding him. Sam grinned. He loved that position.
Arm snug around Bo’s waist, Sam led him inside and up the stairs to their bedroom.
It was good, just like always, even though Bo seemed more passive than usual. Sam figured that, at least, could easily be blamed on sickness. When Sam’s release hit, bowing his spine and blasting his senses wide open, he ignored the faint thread of wrongness he felt emanating from Bo. He’d never been able to sense anyone’s personal energy field, and there was certainly no reason to think he could now. It was his imagination, the result of the loss of control which always went along with orgasm.
Watching Bo’s face as Bo came deep inside him seconds later, Sam told himself the blank look in Bo’s eyes was due to the surge of pleasure making his body jerk and his hips buck. The sudden, jarring sensation of something else looking out of Bo’s eyes had to be Sam’s imagination again. He was still riding out the aftershocks of his own release, and it was messing with his head. That was all.
He lay awake long after Bo had drifted off, still trying to convince himself.
    Eventually, Sam gave up on sleep. He pulled on his clothes and wandered downstairs. Bo didn’t even move.
The rest of the group filtered in one by one. By noon, everyone but Bo was up and reviewing evidence. Sam started on one of the videos from the night before, thinking the work would distract him from his worry over Bo, but it was no good. He couldn’t keep his mind on what he was doing. He excused himself with an apology to Andre and headed out to the beach.
Outside, Sam parked himself on the wooden bench tucked against the base of a huge sand dune. Over the past few hours the breeze had turned into a hard wind which whipped the sand against his legs and bent the sea oats almost double. The Gulf was still a clear green, though the waves were higher than they’d been the day before. The hazy sky spoke of rainy weather to come.
He’d only been out there a few minutes when he heard bare feet shuffle through the sand behind him. Dean plopped onto the bench a moment later. He slouched against the weathered wood, hands laced behind his head, and stared up at the sky.
“Looks like rain,” Dean said, squinting against the glare.
Sam nodded. “Not today, though. I’m betting it hits tomorrow.”
“Probably.” Dean glanced at Sam. “What’s wrong?”
Sam’s shoulders tensed. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
With a shrug, Dean unclasped his hands and leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But you can. You know that, right?”
Sam did know, and was endlessly grateful for Dean’s staunch friendship. Dean was always willing to lend a sympathetic ear. Venting over the phone to Dean after a fight with Bo had become so commonplace that Sam felt a little guilty about it, in spite of Dean’s assurances that he was happy to help and would definitely let Sam know if he could ever return the favor.
“I think he’s still having those spells,” Sam confessed. “And we both had nightmares that were so much alike it was frightening.” Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his forehead, where a dull ache had begun. “I’m worried about him.