Dictated Moans

Flushed

Cassie poked at her breakfast with her fork, barely aware of the way the scrambled eggs cooled in front of her. The tray Sarah had brought up sat on her lap, untouched save for a bite or two. Her room was quiet except for the hum of her friends' conversation in the background.

Emily sat cross-legged near the foot of her bed, scrolling through her phone and giggling occasionally. Sarah leaned against the headboard, her damp curls tucked behind her ears, animated as she told a story about some neighbor’s cat that had made itself at home in their kitchen window.

“…so I open the cabinet and there’s this little adorable face just staring at me through the glass!” Sarah said, gesturing wildly.

Emily snorted. “That cat is possessed.”

Cassie forced a smile. She wanted to be present; wanted to laugh with them. But her mind kept pulling her back to the dream she’d been woken from-disoriented, flushed, breath caught in her throat.

It hadn’t felt like a dream. More like a memory from another lifetime. The masked man - faceless but deeply familiar -had commanded her with a voice that vibrated down her spine. The way he touched her, rough and reverent all at once, had lit something dangerous in her belly. Her cheeks flared at the memory.

"You’re quiet," Emily said, finally looking up from her screen. “You okay?”

Cassie blinked. “Yeah. Just tired from yesterday.”

Emily raised an eyebrow but didn’t press.

“We’ve gotta head out soon,” Sarah reminded her. “Still a lot to sort at your mom’s house.”

Cassie nodded, the guilt surfacing briefly. “I know. I’ll get ready.”

Her friends were already bathed, dressed and fed. They were just waiting on her now. She set the tray aside and stood, gathering her towel. Her legs still felt a little unsteady. The damn dream was still affecting her.

As she closed the bathroom door behind her, she heard Emily say, “That was weird, right?”

“Yeah,” Sarah replied. “That is not the Cass we know.”

Cassie sighed and turned on the shower.

They made it downstairs by eight. Asher was in the kitchen, barefoot, a mug of hot drink in his hand. He was leafing through the morning paper.

“Morning,” he said, looking up.

“Morning,” the girls chorused.

Cassie felt his eyes on her a second longer than necessary. She wondered, irrationally, if he could see the dream on her face. Or maybe she was just omagining it. She immediately looked away.

“We’re heading to B Street,” Sarah said, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“I figured,” Asher replied, before placing his mug in the sink. “Driver’s out front.”

Cassie lingered near the door. “You sure you don’t need anything from there?”

“No. Whatever you decide to keep is fine with me,” he said gently.

She nodded, and with a murmured goodbye, followed her friends out.

The ride was short and quiet. Cassie unlocked the front door and ushered her friends in. The air was not stuffy like the previous day. Sunlight streamed in through the curtains Emily had just drawn, illuminating the covered furniture and unopened boxes.

“Okay,” Emily said, rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s finish this.”

Cassie tried to settle into the rhythm of sorting. One pile for donation, one for things Asher might want, one for items she still couldn’t part with. Everything she touched held memories: Her mother’s blue scarf still held the faint scent of roses. A teacup with a chip on the rim reminded her of Sunday afternoons.

“I swear, your mom had the best taste in scarves,” Emily said, holding up a silk one with purple flowers.

Cassie chuckled softly. “She wore that one every spring. Said it made her feel free.”

Sarah opened a box labeled ‘Photos’ and pulled out a dusty album. “Jackpot,” she murmured.

As they flipped through the photos, Emily stopped suddenly. “Oh my God. Look at this.”

She held up a photo: Cassie’s parents, young and radiant, frozen in a dance. Her mother’s head was thrown back in laughter, her father looking at her like she hung the stars. She had a yellow flower sticking out of her hair.

Cassie took the photo, her throat tightening. “I don’t think I’ve seen this one before.”

“They look so in love,” Emily whispered, touching the edge of the picture gently. “God, I want something like that.”

Cassie nodded, but her body betrayed her. The longing in Emily’s voice - innocent, wistful - brought the dream surging back. As if on cue, a phantom touch whispered across her skin. Her thighs pressed together in a reflex. She inhaled sharply, trying to smother the heat in her chest.

Her heart beat increased. The words struck something raw in her. The memory of a firm hand pressing on her thigh to keep her from moving, the sensation of the silk scarf against her wrists, the burn of his voice asking her to let go. She hadn't thought about that night in a while, at least not vividly like she had in the dream. She wasn’t even sure she’d believed in love that night—but she had believed in surrender.

And desire.

The memory of his fingers inside her surged, hot and treacherous. Her thighs clenched before she could stop it, a sharp reflex. A tiny gasp escaped her lips.

“Cass?” Sarah looked up. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, straightening. “Just a… muscle cramp. Stupid chair.”

Emily tilted her head, skeptical. “You were flushed this morning too.”

“I was not," she whisper-shouted.

“You totally were,” Emily said, eyes narrowing. “And you’ve been zoning out like you’ve got a secret. Wait.” Her expression lit with playful suspicion. “Did you have a s*x dream?”

Cassie froze. Her skin prickled. “Emily...” she admonished, her cheeks turning red from embarrasment. Never, in a million years had she imagined herself having this conversation with her friends. She was not the prude one, Emily was.

“Oh my God, you did.” Emily laughed, triumphant. “I knew it.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows, interest piqued, “Hold up, now I’m invested.”

“It’s...It is not a big deal,” Cassie said, trying, and failing not to blush.

“It is exactly a big deal if you’re over here rubbing your thighs together and moaning through breakfast,” Emily said.

"I did not moan during breakfast," The red spread to her neck.

"I am pretty sure I heard something like, "Aah, harder," through the door," Emily said, mischief coloring her eyes.

"Em stop!" Sarah warned with a smile. "She is going to die of..."

"Of orgasms?" Emily cut Sarah short. Cassie sink further into her chair. "Okay, jokes aside, do we know this guy who is making your legs tremble in a dream?"

"I bet it is that mysterious guy who broke her virginity," Sarah chipped in.

Emily leaned in. “Is he a celebrity? Is that why you don't want us to meet him?”

Cassie shook her head, forcing a breath. She could not tell them the truth about the man since she knew nothing about him. She was a girl who believed in deep connections not one-night stands with hot strangers. “It doesn’t matter. It was just a dream.”

Emily grinned. “You so don’t want to tell us, which means it was really good.”

Cassie started to laugh; half-exasperated, half-embarrassed when a familiar voice called out from the hallway.

“Hey, I brought more boxes from the storage unit.”

They turned toward the voice. Asher stepped into the room, arms full of boxes, entirely unaware of the dangerously close-to-X-rated conversation he had just interrupted.

Cassie turned scarlet. Sarah bit her lip. Emily, predictably, started choking on her laughter.

Asher looked up, noticing the odd silence. “Did I miss something?”

Cassie grabbed the photo from Emily’s hand and held it up. “We were just talking about this. From Mom’s old stuff.”

Asher glanced at the picture and smiled. “That’s a good one. Dad used to say that was their happiest summer.”

He set the boxes down and gave Cassie a curious look, as if sensing something just beneath the surface. But he said nothing else and stepped out again.

As the door closed behind him, Emily let out a breathless laugh. “God, I thought you were going to blurt out your s*x dream in front of your brother.”

“I’d rather die,” Cassie muttered.

Sarah nudged her playfully. “We’ll get it out of you. Eventually.”

Cassie shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. She let herself laugh with them, just enough to pretend the dream hadn’t affected her.

But it had.

And no amount of teasing or sorting boxes could make her forget the way it made her feel.