Sweet Sweet Dream
813 Words
~Isabel~
I lay staring at the ceiling of my room, the shadows of the tree branches outside dancing against the wall.
My heart was still doing that frantic, fluttering thing against my ribs.
Why did he have to be so handsome? It felt like a personal insult.
He was a bully, he was arrogant, and half the time he opened his mouth, I wanted to scream.
But then there was the other half of the time—the way he looked in that black tee, the way he smelled like rain and expensive wood, and the way he’d looked at me across the dinner table.
He was my stepbrother, for heaven's sake.
Even saying the word in my head made my stomach flip with a mix of guilt and something much darker.
Thinking about him this way, imagining the things I was imagining, was so incredibly wrong. But my mind was a traitor.
Every time I closed my eyes, I wasn't thinking about Corporate Law or my bank account or why I needed this internship why i was here in London to bag a degree in Law.
No, instead, instead I was thinking about his lips!
I was remembering the weight of his body against mine, the heat of his tongue, and that low, hungry groan he’d made into my mouth.
"s**t, s**t, s**t," I whispered into the quiet room, pulling a pillow over my face.
It was messing with my mind. Or maybe it was just my body. I tried to blame it on my cycle, telling myself I was just ovulating and my hormones were playing a cruel joke on me.
That had to be it. It was just biology making me look at a man who hated my family and see something delicious instead.
He was dangerous, but he was also the most sweet-looking, devastating thing I’d ever laid eyes on.
My libido was clearly peaking at the worst possible moment in human history.
Eventually, the exhaustion of the day and the mental war I was fighting wore me down.
I drifted off into a heavy, hazy sleep, the kind where you aren't quite sure where the room ends and your dreams begin.
In the middle of the night, the click of my door handle barely registered. I was deep in a dream where William was looking at me, not with ice in his eyes, but with something soft.
"Bel? Isabel?"
The voice was a low, velvet whisper that seemed to vibrate through the mattress.
I felt the bed dip slightly, the weight of someone sitting on the edge. I was still half-lost in sleep, my brain convinced I was still dreaming.
Then, I felt it. A hand, warm and incredibly gentle, brushed the hair away from my forehead.
The touch was so light, so full of care, like he was touching a piece of precious glass that he was terrified of breaking.
"William," I moaned, the sound coming out as a pained, desperate whimper.
I was tortured with desire, caught in that blurry space between waking and sleeping. In my dream, he was here.
In my dream, the walls were down. I felt his thumb trace the line of my jaw, and the heat of his skin was so real it made my breath hitch.
I didn't want to wake up if it meant he would go back to being the cold, distant Prince of Sterling Global.
"You're here," I breathed, my eyes fluttering open just enough to see the silhouette of him sitting over me.
He didn't say anything. He just watched me with those whiskey-colored eyes, his expression unreadable in the dark.
Driven by a need I couldn't control anymore, I reached up, my fingers trembling as I cupped his face.
His skin was slightly rough with a bit of stubble, and he was so solid, so warm.
I didn't think about the consequences, it was just a dream right it wasn't real.
So, I didn't think about my mom or Arthur or the fact that we lived in a house built on someone else's money and dedication.
I just followed the pull in my gut. I hooked my hand behind his neck and pulled him down toward me.
When our lips met, it wasn't like the first time it was more, much more.
It wasn't an explosion of anger or shock. It was a glorious, slow-burn of a kiss that tasted like a confession.
I poured all my frustration, my loneliness, and my obsessive need for him into it, and for a second, the whole world stopped. This was really a beautiful dream. I was in control here.
He groaned again, that same low sound that lived in my nightmares and my fantasies, and his hands found my waist, pulling me into the heat of him until I couldn't tell where I ended and he began.
- Writer
