There’s a lilt that I recognize, but it can’t be because that voice has never been soft—and why would she be in my bed, anyway?
With a slow turn, I meet a pair of cerulean eyes, sparkling and comforting, like the warm sun hanging in the afternoon sky. No frost. No chill. All pleasantness.
I rub my temple with my forefinger, trying to eradicate the haze that doesn’t want to clear. “Maddie?” I croak.
“I’m here,” she whispers with an unfamiliar gentleness. Yeah, I’m definitely dreaming. “Let’s get you laying back down. You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”
“Yeah, or something.” I scrub my hands down my face.Wake up. Wake up.
Over the years, I’ve never been able to handle any form of interaction with Madeline Finch after these far-too-frequent nightmares.
She always dominates me in them.
Always has me on my knees, desperate for her. Like every ounce of me belongs to her.
And if Madeline Finch ever caught a whiff of my subconscious… that there’s a part of me that would follow her along like an obedient, love-stricken puppy if she ever turned her attention to me affectionately… I’d be screwed.
She’d do it to mess with and shatter me without question.
With a delicate pull on my shoulder, she lowers me back down to my pillow, my back sighing with relief as it meets the mattress.
“There? Is that better?” she asks, wiping beads of sweat that have collected over my furrowed brow.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” I clear my throat, bringing my gaze to hers. In an instant, I am sucker-punched by everything I loved the first few times I saw Maddie. Her hair, its natural color, a golden halo around her pale, freckled face. The pink pouty lips I’ve thought about kissing and leaving red and puffy more times than I care to admit. Her button nose.
When I saw her like this, I knew that she, more than anyone I’ve ever met, had the power to obliterate me.
I thought about approaching and introducing myself to her, doubtful she even knew I existed.
But then, she beat me to it, introducing herself at a party, dressed in an outfit ingrained in my memories because Kennedy had me take a good forty photos of her in it for her Instagram. Everything screamed inside as she extended her hand, and mine shook, frozen in fear by my side. I’d suffered enough destruction and barely made it out alive. Madeline Finch was not a chance I was willing to take.
So I told myself, “No.” We weren’t doing this. (In my stupor, I may have said that word out loud, but I doubt she heard me.) And then downed a glass of punch I saw someone spike with a heavy hand a few moments earlier.
It’s a decision I never regretted after witnessing how cruel Madeline was, dropping Jenny without so much as saying a word to her.
But here, this is the Maddie I saw the first few times—occasions where I didn’t work up the courage to make my presence known.
The first time she was broken, crying in the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea while I was over at Jenny’s for a study session. My eyes danced over her, and my body hummed like it was sparking alive after years of living in anticipation. Jenny’s never let me forget it because I sat, transfixed, mouth agape, and the words “holy shirtballs, that is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen” escaped past my lips.
And the second, a week later, Jenny invited me to meet them both at a diner for milkshakes. I froze in the doorframe. My heart sputtered, and I chickened out. Being in her orbit was too risky, so I never joined them, choosing to protect my heart instead.
My hand reaches toward her, tracing the curve of her jaw. “God, you’re beautiful.” The words leave my mouth low and hushed. But what does it matter? This isn’t real, anyway. Nothing I say can be held against me in Dreamland.
Pink gathers on Maddie’s cheeks, and I grin. Her blush may be one of my favorite things. Even when we’re fighting, it’s my constant companion after all these years — the acknowledgment that no matter how cool she’s playing it on the outside, I still get to her too.
“Especially when you blush for me,” I growl, rolling her on her back as a strange sensation—or knowledge that between these sheets, Madeline Finch is mine—emboldens me. Maybe this dream will be different.
“You promised you’d take care of me when you woke up, not hover and torture me.” She squirms, reaching for me.
“They aren’t the same thing?” I ask with a smirk.
Maddie’s brow dips into the scowl I’ve grown accustomed to, and I press a kiss on the tensed muscle on her forehead. As if my lips were the key, it relaxes in an instant with an accompanied, glorious sigh.
Yeah, this dream is definitely different. Thank you, unconscious Seth, for doing something for yourself for a change, buddy.
“There’s a good girl. I’m sorry I kept you waiting for so long. Thank you for being so patient.”
She has a praise kink.Again, it’s drilled into me like these are things I know from experience. She has a few other kinks, too—places to touch her that drive her crazy, but there’s something that I know about this Maddie that, if I were still on the fence, would solidify my dream theory.
