Just a dream?
662 Words
*Wicky*
With the lamp flame turned low, I lie in my bed, listening to the rain beat against the pane. It’s coming down harder now, and I think of Billy traveling through it, dashing from the carriage to my door, his hair damp when he reaches me.
It’s after midnight. I’ve waited up as long as I could, but I’m tired now, so tired. I took great pains to prepare for bed. My nightdress is satin. It reveals very little. The matching wrap rests at the foot of the bed, so I can snatch it up quickly when Billy arrives. My maid brushed my hair a hundred times before braiding it. I applied a dab of perfume behind my ears, just a small dab, because he seems to enjoy kissing my neck.
I can hardly fathom that I’ve given him a key to the residence, that I’m considering allowing him into my bed. But I love the way he makes me feel: precious, treasured. We’ve not spoken of love or a future, but it hardly matters. I just need something to erase the memories of what happened the last time a man took me in this bed.
I squeeze my eyes shut. No, not this bed. I had that one carted away, purchased a new one to replace it. Only I have ever slept in it. Not entirely true. My lips curl up. Ethan joined me a time or two when he had a bad dream. But he’s older now, beginning to show a preference for not being coddled by his mother.
My eyelids grow heavy. Billy will return when he can, and I’m anticipating it as I haven’t anticipated anything in a good long while. He will open the door, slip beneath the sheets, take me into his arms…
The silk slides over my body as his hands caress me, the silk no barrier to the heat of his touch. He nuzzles my neck. “I returned as soon as I could.”
I don’t want words, don’t need them. All I want are the marvelous sensations he seems able to elicit with so little effort. I’m floating on a cloud of pleasure, his hands and mouth taking me to places where I’ve never traveled. Heat scorches me, inside and out. I want to touch him, to feel his skin, but I seem unable to grasp anything of substance. He’s like shadows, weaving around me…
I inhale his sandalwood scent, but my lungs freeze, my nose stings. Not sandalwood. Caraway. Cloying. Suffocating.
His hands close around my throat. I can’t breathe. He’s weighing me down, taking me into the depths of hell. I fight, I kick, I scream a silent scream that’s somehow more terrifying. I’m going to die! He’s going to…
I awake with a jolt, breathing heavily, my body trembling. I scramble back until I’m sitting against the headboard. Most of the room is ensconced in wavering shadows that dance around the corners and over the ceiling. The lamp is no longer burning, but there’s a fire in the hearth. I don’t remember there being a fire when I went to sleep.
The room is chilled and damp. The windows are open, the draperies pulled aside, and the curtains of lighter fabric blow in the breeze as rain patters against the floor. Did Billy return and open them? Then where is he?
And why is the caraway scent stronger now? I’m trembling, my silk nightdress clinging to my dampened skin. I have to get hold of myself. Some warm milk, some warm milk would help.
I reach for the lamp to relight it and freeze.
There, resting on the corner of the bedside table are two rings… Alpha rings… that belonged to my husband. I left them in a safe at the ancestral estate, to be given to Ethan when he’s older and his fingers large enough to accommodate them.
So how the devil did they end up there?
- Writer
