Chapter 5 I am going to...

Gracia

Ten words echoed in my head like a bad song I couldn't stop replaying.

I am going to do something reckless in my dream.

I was kneeling on the bed, hands resting lightly on this stranger's waist, face close to his hips, my cheek barely brushing against the line of muscle that disappeared under a low towel.

Normally, there was no way I'd be doing this if this were real. No matter how heartbroken I was. No matter how many drinks I'd had. No matter how stupidly desperate I felt.

I didn't throw myself at men. I didn't even plead when Charles grew distant, because I was still a proud woman. And I certainly didn't seek validation from strangers, no matter how striking they appeared.

But what if this was a dream? Then it was the one I didn't know I needed. My body wasn't crying out for a drink, but for comfort, begging to be held, to feel less alone, to forget everything else. This was my true coping mechanism, not alcohol. I was finally about to feel a sense of relief I'd been denied for far too long. Because, honestly? I had never seen a man like him before. Even drunk, I could tell he was older....so much older than me. Next to him, Charles looked like a high school kid pretending to be a man.

The way he looked at me made something deep inside me flutter, like I was someone special and he was captivated.

Was this what it felt like to be with an older man? Because if it was...God help me, I didn't want to wake up.

Something firm nudged the side of me.

I froze, and a shudder ran down my spine.

Huh. What was that?

I swallowed, even as my mind screamed at me how stupid the question was. Of course I had a guess, but this felt strange, different.

I leaned back slightly, the world tilting around me, and my gaze dropped. That's when I really saw it. My eyes widened.

Oh, my.

Something was very, very different about this dream... or right, because under the towel was a clear outline of him.

Unbelievable. No way a real human being was built like that. I mean, the only one I'd ever seen in real life was Charles, and Charles... well, he was not this.

Charles was small and quick. He was the kind of man who rushed through moments and didn't care about my feelings. That must be why that man never made me happy.

No wonder I'd never felt content. No wonder I'd felt like something vital was always missing. And now, in front of this stranger whose body seemed carved from every quiet fantasy I didn't even know I had, I was realizing just how big the difference between two men could be.

I blinked, my hand moving without thought. I ran my fingers lightly over the towel.

"This feels too real," I whispered, mostly to myself.

In an instant, he moved. His hands came to my waist, steadying me, while the other gently took my wrists. My back met the mattress, and I could feel the warmth of him nearby, a reminder of how close we were.

I gasped, my whole body tense. His hand rose, not to my throat, but to cradle the side of my face, tilting my chin up until our eyes met.

This dream was so intense, it should have scared me, but all I could think was, Please don't wake up yet. I need to feel this connection.

We hadn't even done anything meaningful, and already I was more drawn to him than I had ever been in my entire life. I couldn't even remember the last time I felt this way.

I swallowed hard, meeting his piercing hazel eyes. I bit my lip, nervous and eager all at once. His gaze dropped to the movement, softening even more.

"How old?" he asked, voice low.

I blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

His expression grew more serious, eyes narrowing slightly.

"How old are you?" he repeated.

I didn't look away. Something in me rose to the surface-a boldness I didn't recognize. I offered a faint smile, tilting my head.

"Old enough to be on my own," I said softly. "Why?"

I shifted slightly, putting a little space between us. "Does it matter?"

Yeah, I was definitely not thinking straight. But this was just a dream, right? In dreams, logic often slipped away.

He raised an eyebrow, as though surprised by my tone. I felt a flicker of courage. "Do you always ask so many questions?" I murmured. "Or just in moments like this?"

Something in his demeanor shifted, a subtle tension that hadn't been there before.

This dream was becoming more intriguing by the second.

I opened my mouth to speak again, but his hand lifted, fingers gently brushing over my lips to quiet me.

"I won't ask twice," he said evenly. "Answer the question."

My heart skipped. He wasn't raising his voice, yet his tone left no room for evasion. My response came before I could second-guess it.

"Twenty-three," I breathed out, the words softer than I intended.

He drew back slightly, running a hand through his damp hair. "Twenty-three," he muttered to himself, saying it indifferently. "Then I should be more careful. There are no protections here."