Here she was, lips sewn shut, her eyes scared and teary. She was me. In this dream, she had become me. My mouth was always closed, and I never retaliated. Never told her how I really felt. And my eyes had cried so many tears over her—some because of the hurt she caused me, some because of the fear she evoked.
Slowly, I moved back more, never taking my eyes off her face. The longer I looked at her, the less her grotesque appearance bothered me. All I cared about was him.
“I’m sorry, Mother.” With those words, I rushed past her and out the door. The bright sunlight stung my eyes, but I knew exactly where he was standing, and I ran straight to him. My feet couldn’t carry me fast enough, my skin already hungry for his touch. When I came within a few feet from him, I stopped, wanting a moment to look at him. To just…look at him. Granite truly was magnificent. Tall, strong, powerful. It was easy to see why women would flock to him, be drawn to the mystique that surrounded his persona. His silent confidence complimented by his broad shoulders made you aware how big and robust he really was. Authority. Aggression. Dominance. It oozed out of him, and it was impossible to ignore.
But there was something else about him. Something that managed to wrap around me like a veil…protecting me. Yes. That was what it was. Like a shield, a guardianship that he owned when it came to me. To everyone close to him. That was what Neon was trying tell me. Granite protected his family. He was their guardian, and beneath every hard layer of hostility, viciousness, and anger was a man who…cared. It was clear now that I took the time to just look at him.
It was weird. I knew this was a dream, yet it felt so real. Like all this was really happening, I was figuring him out, fitting together all the puzzle pieces so I could see the picture of the man he truly was.
He held out his arms, and I slowly approached him. This was the moment I had been waiting for, for so long. The moment my stranger in the dark would finally wrap his arms around me and whisk me away. My heartbeat was loud, my pulse racing. Everything inside me coiled tight, anticipation flickering in my gut along with the thousands of butterflies.
When I came within reach, he wrapped his arms around me—strong, big, long arms completely enveloping me as he pressed my body firmly against his. I inhaled, wanting to smell his familiar earthy scent of sandalwood. And his heat was comforting, soothing, calming me, so it felt like I was drifting in his arms. All these years, I dreamed of this moment, and it felt a thousand times better than I ever could have imagined.
I nuzzled my face deeper into his chest. “You came for me.”
“Of course, I did. You asked me to.”
My heart stopped, and I didn’t move. “What did you say?”
Fingers gently weaved through the hair at the back of my neck. “I said, of course I came for you. You asked me to.”
I looked up at him, confused. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. In fact, you asked me many times.”
Perplexed, I stepped back, but his hands were still on my elbows. “I didn’t ask you to come for me.”
“You did. Don’t you remember?” The emotion on his face didn’t change. It was still the picture of bliss and contentment. Happiness. “You asked me every night, when you stood by your window. You asked me to come get you. To take you and free you.”
I shook my head. This was the part of the dream where everything changed. Where everything went from good to bad.
“I didn’t ask you to take me, Granite.”
“But you did.” He stepped forward, but I retreated farther. “Alyxandria, what’s wrong?”
“I didn’t ask you.” I shook my head, my gaze falling to the well-manicured lawn. “I didn’t ask you.”
“You did. You asked me to take you.”
“No. No, I didn’t.”
It was starting to hurt, the confusion and turmoil of reality slowly beginning to eat away the dream. It was hurting me. It was clawing at my soul and tearing off my skin. I felt it. The pain started at my wrists, growing stronger, tighter. And then my feet.
A pool of panic filled my chest inch by inch until I was sure I would drown.
“Stop,” I whispered. And when I looked up at him, he locked his lips over mine, kissing me. It was gentle at first. Soft. Beckoning me to open for him. And I did. Even with all the confusion still storming inside me, I opened for him and moaned when I felt his tongue against mine. Soft strokes and tender lips. This kiss was nothing like the one we had already shared. But the longer he kissed me, the more eager he became—the more eager I became. It was a slow burn starting in my spine, making its way to every corner of my body. The deeper his tongue moved inside my mouth, the more my sex began to throb, my skin tingling with a need to be touched. To be kissed. To be ravished by him.
Heat spread down my arms, a burning ache settling in my wrists. It felt different than the desire that had my body humming with need. More and more, my wrists started to burn with a pinching ache.
“What’s happening?” I whispered against his lips, refusing to move away.
“You need to wake up, ballerina girl.” Then he kissed me again, but harder this time, his tongue no longer exploring, but claiming. “Wake up, Alyx.”
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
“Wake up, ballerina girl.”
Please wake up. Wake up now.