So be it.
Aurora
The morning sun shines through my closed eyelids as I wake from a deep, peaceful sleep. Way deeper than I expected after such a weird night.
Lying on my back, I relish the slow unwind of my body as I stretch, each limb reaching, loosening, remembering what it feels like to rest.
Heat creeps into my cheeks when I remember the super-hot dream I had about the owner of that bookshop.
I don’t even know what he looks like. Thankfully, a girl doesn’t need a physical description to dream about a broody bookshop owner creeping into her bedroom, getting her off, and whispering filth in her ear like it’s his native tongue.
I wonder if he’s even half as good-looking as I imagined.
Fuck, I hope not. I’m barely surviving the fantasy version.
The dream must’ve been incredible because I came hard while I slept. My soaked sheets are proof of that.
Just another bizarre entry in my ever-growing list of unexplainable bullshit.
I stretch once more, turning my head to check the time, then freeze.
There’s stiffness along my neck.
No … not stiffness.
Bruising.
I scramble out of bed and rush to the bathroom.
In the mirror, I glide my fingers over my throat, expecting nothing. But when I press, my breath catches.
Not just discomfort. Tenderness. Faint pressure like a whisper against my nerves.
I stare at my reflection, swallowing around my rapidly tightening throat. If I had done this to myself, the soreness would be at the front. But the ache stretches to the back of my neck, wrapping like a hand.
That … was a dream, right?
The memory is so vivid, my entire body flushes with a hot chill that leaves me dizzy.
I can almost hear that deep, commanding voice in my ear—Be good for me, little vixen. Take every inch of my fingers and don’t come until I say so.
A shiver runs through me as I remember how he whispered “little lupine” against my neck while he got me off.
It was one hell of a dream. And maybe after last night, this is just my subconscious’s messed-up version of self-care.
Not bad, brain. You really went all out.
Throwing on my robe, I head to the front door to make sure Louie comes back inside before I leave for work. After one quick whistle, my big, furry girl bursts through the tree line and barrels inside, almost knocking me over.
“Well, excuse you,” I say as I shut the front door.
Turning around, I find Louie sitting by my reading chair.
Staring.
No—judging.
Her ears are flat, and her mismatched eyes narrow like she’s debating if she should just end my entire bloodline right here.
