The Dream That Shouldn’t Exist
1145 Words
Warmth.
It began as a gentle heat—subtle... creeping...
A slow burn spreading across her skin, weaving through her senses like a secret message she couldn’t dismiss.
His breath brushed against her ear, sending a delightful shiver down her spine.
Delicious…
Capable, lengthy fingers—strong, deliberate—drifted up the curve of her waist, pausing at the fabric of her blouse as if testing the boundary between self-control and longing.
“Mmmmn…” A soft sound escaped her lips.
“Martha.”
Her name left his lips in a hushed, almost worshipful whisper—a stark contrast to the intensity in his eyes.
Blue. Piercing. Filled with something she had never seen before—fire.
Something that made her pulse quicken in ways it shouldn’t.
Soren Blackwell.
This was wrong. Impossible.
And yet, here she was, trapped between the firm press of his muscular body and the unyielding surface of an office desk, feeling every bit of heat radiating from him.
His scent—fresh citrus, leather, and something distinctly male—wrapped around her, intoxicating.
“Haaaah…” A moan slipped past her lips, unbidden. She couldn’t stop it.
“I shouldn’t want this,” she whispered, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew they were a lie.
Soren smirked, a slow, lazy curve of his lips that sent another wave of heat spiraling through her. “Liar.”
His fingers traced the column of her throat, down to her collarbone, lingering there as if memorizing the shape of her.
A single movement, and the distance between them vanished completely.
The first brush of his lips against hers was overwhelming. Soft but demanding, teasing yet consuming.
Her fingers clenched in his shirt, gripping onto him as if he were the only thing keeping her grounded.
This was madness.
This was reckless.
This was—
“Where are the files?”
“??????!”
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The sharp blare of an alarm shattered the moment like fragile glass.
Martha jolted awake with a gasp, her heart pounding against her ribs.
A dream…?
Silence.
She was alone in her apartment, tangled in sheets, her body still humming with the phantom sensations of a dream that never should have existed.
A dream about him.
Shit. s**t. s**t. s**t.
Martha sat up abruptly, heat crawling up her neck as the weight of realization crashed down on her.
Soren.
Of all people.
Crazy!! What am I, some horny teenager?! she scolded herself.
She ran a hand through her messy hair, muttering a curse under her breath. This is ridiculous. Completely absurd.
She was a grown-ass woman—practical, efficient, composed.
She had handled high-stakes negotiations, demanding clients, and corporate crisis without breaking a sweat. And yet, here she was, waking up flustered over a dream about a man five years her junior.
I must be out of my mind! I do not like younger guys!
Now I feel like a f*****g cougar.
This is… what’s that word again…
I could even go to jail for having this dream!
Martha groaned and flopped back against her pillows, staring at the ceiling in frustration.
It wasn’t like she was some naive girl experiencing attraction for the first time.
She wasn’t a saint.
She had been in relationships, had her share of partners, but never had she let her mind wander like this—never had she imagined someone she worked with, let alone her boss’s son.
Her past relationships had been… sensible.
Some lasted a few months, others barely made it past a handful of dates.
Attraction had never been an issue, but emotional connection? That was a different story.
Men came and went, but none had ever truly held her interest.
Maybe that was why she never found herself dwelling on them.
But this?
This was crazy. A mistake.
One she would never let happen again.
Right.
It was impossible.
She knew Soren’s type.
Tall, beautiful, and stupid.
The kind that would jump into his bed with a snap of his fingers.
Especially blond ones.
She exhaled slowly, feeling herself return to her usual self, the embarrassment slowly ebbing away.
Her eyes flicked toward the full-sized mirror on her bedroom wall. Still laying down on her bed, she took in her reflection that she knew so well.
Mid-length black hair. A shorter height. A chubby appearance.
Nothing particularly remarkable.
The only thing that stood out was her eyes.
Silver.
A courtesy of her… unique origins.
Martha sighed.
Whew… Forget it.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, pressing her hands against her face, trying to chase away the lingering heat.
It was just a dream. Just a silly, meaningless dream.
And it didn’t matter.
Because in the real world, Soren Blackwell was nothing more than the heir to the company she worked for.
And she was just his father’s secretary.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
.........................
…And yet, why did she still feel like she needed a cold shower?
With an exasperated groan, Martha forced herself up and trudged to the bathroom.
She flicked on the light and squinted at her reflection in the mirror.
Her black hair was a mess, her silver eyes slightly puffy from sleep.
Great.
Not only did she have a wildly inappropriate dream, but now she looked like she’d fought a wild boar in her sleep.
Turning on the faucet, she splashed cold water on her face, hoping it would wash away both the heat and the lingering shame.
Nope. Still felt like a cougar.
“Pull yourself together, woman, you are 34! Nearing 35!” she muttered to her reflection, pointing an accusatory finger at herself.
“You are an adult. A professional. Not some office pervert lusting after your boss’s son.”
The mirror offered no reassurance.
With a sigh, she grabbed her toothbrush and started scrubbing aggressively, as if she could scrub the memory of that dream right out of her brain.
'Martha..'
The moment Soren’s voice whispered Martha in her head again, she nearly gagged on toothpaste.
Damn it.
Twenty minutes later, she was dressed, caffeinated, and feeling somewhat human again.
Her outfit—simple, professional, no-nonsense. Hair—brushed, tied back, pulled to perfection and in control.
Brain—still stubbornly trying to recall the dream in vivid detail.
“Enough,” she huffed, snatching her bag and heading out the door.
Because today was just another ordinary day at the office.
And if she happened to run into Soren Blackwell?
She would act normal. Totally normal.
It’s not like he would actually say her name—he didn’t even know she existed until yesterday.
Or maybe he never even thought about her!
Now she was just being delusional.
As long as he didn’t say her name...
Or smirk.... Or stand too close to her...
Which was very unlikely…
…She was doomed.
- Writer
