Chapter 54: Beyond the Dream
She couldn't breathe.
Or maybe she could—and that was the problem.
Air filled her lungs too fast, too shallow, dragging heat along with it. Aria's shirt clung damply to her breasts, her body curled beneath the blankets that felt more like a cage. Her thighs twisted together, clenching uselessly, her hips moving on their own. Desperate. Chasing a pressure that wasn't there.
Her dream still held her.
Claws in her spine. Breath on her neck.
"Stay still, little one."
That voice. She'd heard it before. In life. In bed. But in the dream, it was worse—richer, more dominant, threaded with wicked patience. A velvet command wrapped around steel.
And Aria whimpered in obedience.
Even in sleep, she obeyed.
Her wrists pinned themselves down against the mattress, as if someone else had caught them. Her back arched—not from fear, never fear—but from the ache that lived inside her now. A hunger born in the dark, nurtured by Selene's silence, fed by her own shame.
She felt the pressure before she saw it. Between her thighs. Heavy, dark leather. A presence, not a touch. It teased her entrance, slick and aching, but didn't push in. Just… pressed. Moved. Slowly. Mocking the way her hips bucked forward, helpless and wanting.
Selene stood above her in the dream.
Watching.
That was the worst part. She didn't even move. She didn't have to.
Her silver blonde hair spilled forward over her shoulder, shadowing her unreadable expression. Calm. Cold. Cruel. And utterly in control. Her lips parted just enough to speak—but she didn't. Not at first.
Not until Aria whimpered again, this time with tears caught in the corners of her lashes.
"Not yet," Selene murmured.
Aria sobbed into her pillow, a wordless sound.
The restraint burned more than contact would have.
And then—Selene finally moved. Just an inch.
The leather dragged forward, then back.
Aria choked on a cry. Her legs trembled.
She wanted it. Needed it.
But Selene gave her nothing.
"You don't get to come because you want to," dream-Selene said. "You come when I let you."
Another inch. Another drag. The tip pressed where it hurt most, grinding in tight, slow circles that did nothing to ease the ache.
"I've already earned it," Aria sobbed.
"Have you?" Selene tilted her head. "Or are you just desperate?"
Aria tried to answer. She couldn't.
She came instead.
Hard.
Her hips jerked. Her legs kicked. Her hands twisted the sheets and she let out a cry that should've woken the dead.
But she didn't wake up.
Not yet.
In the dream, Selene leaned forward. One hand on Aria's throat—not choking. Just claiming.
"Even your dreams belong to me," she whispered.
And that's when Aria's eyes flew open.
She bolted upright in bed, lungs gasping like she'd been drowning, her body thrumming with aftershocks.
Sheets tangled. Pillow soaked. Shirt plastered to her chest. Her legs parted—and it was worse than last time.
She had soaked through everything.
Her underwear clung to her in humiliation. Her thighs were slick with evidence.
And Selene hadn't even touched her.
Not once.
Not ever.
It was all in her head. Every time.
Aria dropped back to the mattress with a cry of frustration, clenching her eyes shut.
She should be horrified. Ashamed. Disgusted.
But all she felt was want.
Worse—need.
She hadn't even gotten release. Not real release. Her body had spasmed, yes, but it hadn't quieted. She could still feel the dream ghosting between her thighs, the weight of Selene's stare, the cruel drag of phantom leather.
She curled into herself and whispered, "Please…"
But there was no one to hear her.
Just like always.
⸻
The knock came five minutes later.
Aria flinched violently beneath the sheets, trying to still her breath, wipe her face, stop trembling.
"Aria?"
Selene's voice. Warm. Low. Unbothered.
"You didn't come down."
Aria's stomach flipped.
She managed to croak out, "I—I overslept."
A pause. "You sound winded."
"I—just hot," she said too quickly. "I'll be there in a minute."
Another silence.
Then the soft pad of retreating footsteps.
Aria buried her face in her hands.
⸻
The kitchen was bright with morning sun.
Selene stood at the stove, perfectly composed in a loose black tank and grey sweatpants, her damp hair loosely tied back. Her skin glowed with post-shower warmth, her body as calm as Aria's was wrecked.
She looked up as Aria walked in.
"You're flushed," she said, voice smooth.
Aria said nothing. She felt flushed. All over.
"You slept heavily," Selene added, flipping a pancake. "No nightmares?"
"No," Aria said too quickly.
Selene raised a brow. "You sure?"
Aria bit her lip. "It wasn't a nightmare."
Selene smiled faintly. "No," she murmured. "I suppose not."
She moved closer, handing Aria a plate. "Eat."
Aria sat down, hands shaking slightly as she reached for a fork.
Selene sat across from her and watched.
Not obviously. Not overtly.
But her eyes never drifted far from Aria's lips. Her hands. The way she fidgeted.
"How many times now?" Selene asked casually.
Aria blinked. "What?"
"You've dreamed about me, haven't you?" Selene's voice was soft, like she was asking about the weather. "How many times?"
Aria stared down at her plate.
"I…" She hesitated. "I don't know."
"You moan my name," Selene said. "It's very pretty."
Aria choked. Her fork dropped.
Selene leaned forward slightly.
"You begged in your sleep," she added, gently. "Did you know that?"
"I—I didn't mean to," Aria whispered, mortified.
"Didn't mean to beg?" Selene's smile curved, slow and wicked. "Or didn't mean for me to hear?"
Aria was shaking.
"You haven't even touched me," she said, barely audible.
Selene's gaze sharpened.
"No," she agreed. "I haven't."
"Then why—" Aria looked up at her, eyes glassy, voice breaking. "Why do I feel like this?"
Selene stood.
She moved around the table, slow, quiet, predatory.
When she stopped behind Aria, her fingers gently tucked the girl's damp hair behind her ear.
"You're asking the wrong question," Selene whispered. "It's not why you feel this way."
She leaned down, lips just above her cheek.
"It's why you want me to feel it too."
Aria gasped.
Selene stepped back without touching her again.
"Finish your breakfast," she said softly. "You'll need your strength."
⸻
Aria didn't sleep that night.
She didn't dare.
She tried to study. Shower. Walk. But her mind was stained with the dream.
The phantom weight.
The denial.
The need.
By midnight, her hands shook.
By one a.m., her thighs trembled.
By two—
She gave in.
She lay in bed, shirt lifted, underwear peeled aside, and touched herself slowly, desperately. Not imagining Selene's mouth. Not her hands. Just her voice.
Her command.
Her denial.
"You don't get to come because you want to…"
She sobbed into the pillow.
When she came, it was fast and devastating. A full-body jolt that left her dizzy and sore.
But it wasn't enough.
She still wanted more.
Still wanted Selene.
Not her touch.
Her control.
And Aria didn't know how long she could survive without it.