The air smells of incense and is heavy with humidity. I am reclined in a bed that is not my own as I survey the dark room. It is a simple space, sparse in décor, the windows open; plain white curtains bellow softly over the warm sea-air that pours in accompanied by the soothing and rhythmic crash of waves.
A tall masculine figure comes to me from some indistinct place, as if appearing out of thin air. He is foreign to me, and yet in this dream, I seem to be okay with this half-naked man approaching me. Dressed only in long, loose white pants, his muscled chest draws my attention as he walks over with a steaming cup in his hand. I look hard at him because I feel I must know him, I feel so at ease in his presence. But there’s no light save for the fading moon outside and his features are shadowed.
But I can make out a few things. His black hair is longish with curls at the ends hanging over his broad shoulders, his skin brown and smooth over the waves of rounded muscles. I feel suddenly more supple and soft, more like a woman, a contrast to his hard edges and impressive brawn. The attraction I feel for him is overwhelming.
He sits on the edge of the bed and leans in slowly to kiss me on the forehead. I don’t scream or yell “rape” or dig through my purse for my trusty hot pepper spray attached to the scratched metal Eifel Tower key ring, but instead, I offer the stranger a sly, inviting smile.
The tea is warm, but his lips are like fire on my skin. I stare into his dark eyes, pools of black, mysterious…almost haunting.
Is he a vampire? Will this dream turn dark suddenly? If so, I’m not sure I would put up much of a struggle. I decide it’s about time my junior high obsession with Twilight bled into my unconscious psyche.
“Drink,” he commands in a whisper, but his penetrating gaze suggests there are other things on his mind besides my hydration levels. I let the warm liquid, infused with cinnamon and cardamom, slide down my throat. He takes the cup from me and sets it on a bedside table next to a book covered in words I cannot read. Arabic? Hindi?
Why the hell do I care right now? This is one hot dream.
I’m there, but I’m not. Who is this…this…woman? She’s nothing like the 17-year-old me I am now with unruly hair, questionable fashion sense and a sex life as uninhibited as an 80-year-old nun in hospice care. She is worldly and experienced, and she seems to know what she wants…and it isn’t a second cup of tea. I suddenly realize that I’m in for a wild ride during this dream, and I’m all in.
It’s a sex dream—maybe a vampire sex dream. Why the hell not?
The man and I smile at each other like lost lovers reunited. That face, so familiar… He grazes my cheek with his long fingers, as if I were a fascinating work of art by Michelangelo or Donatello. I shudder at his touch. I don’t want him to stop.
I feel I will die if he stops.
He tenderly kisses my neck and I pull him closer, an invitation for more, an unspoken “yes” to what his body is asking from me.
“I’ve waited so long for this, Scarlett,” he whispers into my neck, in between sultry kisses. That voice…I know it from somewhere. Who is this man I feel so much crazy unrestrained passion for?
He doesn’t drain me of my blood, but instead leans into me, his weight a happy intrusion. His mouth meets mine for the first time. He kisses me slowly at first, and then loses control and consumes my lips with his. I want more—much more—than what he is giving me and I’m actually afraid he may stop or I might wake up before I find out what happens next.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Stay asleep, Scarlett!
My thin, silky robe is open, and my soft breasts unite with his firm chest. He slides his hand down the inside of my thigh and I instinctively open up for him. Our bodies merge in a sensual pleasure I don’t yet understand as a naïve teenager, but I’m more than willing to explore in this dream. Unknown pleasure radiates and overtakes me. I moan in my dream, his mouth to my neck…a climax of sensations ripple through my body.
Oh. My. God.
My lucid mind inhabiting my still-virgin body wonders: Is this what it’s really like?
It’s breathtaking. It’s the best dream of my whole life.
Please don’t let it end…
The morning sunlight breaks through the window over the calm ocean outside. For the first time, I can see his face clearly over me. The mature woman in my dream seems to love this face, but the teenager I am now jolts awake in utter shock.
Him? Not him!
Has my subconscious turned on me? Could it really be this cruel?
The alarm clock screeches next to my bed. I hit the snooze out of habit even though I am more than awake. The dream still dominates my thoughts...and my body, which only makes me feel slightly sick to my stomach, because I know exactly who he is now.
And it makes no sense at all.
Dev? Rude and arrogant Dev?
The one person I completely and utterly loathe?
No—not just loathe. Hate. Detest. Despise with everything that I am.
Reality slaps me in the face and as I recall what I had just done in that steamy, x-rated dream. Or rather who I just did.
Holy crap. Did I just make love to…my best friend’s brother?
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