Chapter 23: Dreams
TERESA'S P.O.V.
I leaned against one of the tall, arched windows in the library, pretending to study a book I hadn't even bothered to open. My mind? It was entirely elsewhere, drifting hopelessly toward thoughts of Lucian. For months, I'd been unable to sleep properly, my nights filled with restless tossing and turning, and it was all because of him. It was as if he'd set up a permanent residence in my head, occupying every empty space with his face, his voice and his presence. During my first month here and getting to see him everyday, things changed in the way I looked at him and it quickly ushered in an unsettling pattern. I started having dreams—vivid, intense dreams about him.
They started innocently enough. In those initial dreams, Lucian would simply look at me, his gaze lingering a fraction longer than it did in real life, his words soft and kind, reaching some part of me I hadn't realized was so desperately craving his attention. But as the nights went on, my dreams grew bolder, more intense, and far more intimate.
I'd find myself imagining him shirtless, his lean, toned body glistening with sweat, his dark hair tousled and damp. His forest-green eyes would lure mine, holding them captive and drawing me in as he walked towards me slowly, every step deliberate, his eyes never breaking from mine. I'd catch a glimpse of a mouth watering bulge pressing against his pants, begging to be released. His presence was overwhelming, and each time in the dream, he got closer, the tension between us became almost unbearable. His body was strong with desire, and the sight of him like that sent heat rushing through me. His hands would find their way to my skin, his touch electric, lingering, and making my body hot. Every caress, every look made my pussy pool and ache in very sinful ways.
Then, I would wake up. Each time, I'd find myself drenched in sweat, heart racing, a blend of desire and shame flooding me as reality came crashing back. How could I let myself fall so deeply, so foolishly, for a man who barely even looked my way? Lucian Blackwood's indifference was practically carved in stone. His polite gestures, his fleeting smiles—they were nothing more than casual kindnesses to him, while to me, they were everything. He only saw me as someone to help, nothing more. And that truth left me hollow each time I forced myself to face it.
Speak of the devil and he will appear. Lucian entered the library. I could feel the sudden shift in the air around me, thickening with his presence as he strode across the room with that effortlessly commanding aura. There was something in the way he walked that always fueled my fantasies—confident, powerful, as if he owned the very sky above us.
"Daydreaming again, Teresa?" Lucian's voice was a low rumble, the kind that never failed to send an involuntary shiver down my spine. He had this sarcastic tilt to his words, like everything around him was amusing, and, just maybe, a little bit beneath him.
My heart did an uncomfortable leap, and I quickly snapped the book shut, clutching it a bit too tightly. "No! I was just...um, reading," I managed, trying my hardest to sound casual, which I'm sure failed miserably.
Lucian arched a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that way of his. It was unfair, really. No man should look that good smirking. "Ah, yes, reading. How captivating it must be, considering the book is upside down."