~006: the man in my dream

Calla

I feel my body trembling under his touch, hands that trail along my skin like he owns every inch. I hear my name faintly from a distance...like it’s coming from underwater.

“Cal… Cal…”

It’s Ava, I think.

But I don’t want to wake up.

Because someone is touching me. A man. His palm is flat against my stomach, moving slowly, and deliberately. I can’t see his face...he’s just a shadow above me—but I feel his mouth on me, soft lips brushing my nipple, teasing me. It sends a cold rush through my chest, sharp and sweet, like the air gets knocked out of me.

I’m paralyzed. "...Ah.." I can't move, I can't speak. But I feel everything.

He’s not rough. He’s not saying anything. But the weight of him presses against me, and his fingers are spreading my thighs like he knows exactly what he’s doing. My hips buck up slightly and I don’t even mean to. My body’s acting like it has a mind of its own.

I can’t see his eyes. I can’t even focus on his face. But he feels real. Too real.

Then—

“Cal!”

My eyes snap open. I’m soaked in sweat, sheets twisted around my legs like a damn python. My heart is thundering. The room is dark except for a thin streak of moonlight cutting across my bed. Ava’s voice still echoes in my ears, but she’s not actually here.

I sit up, gasping. My nightshirt is damp, sticking to my chest. My thighs are clenched tight. My pulse won’t slow down.

The air feels heavy. I blink hard, trying to force myself to breathe normally. I don’t even realize my hand is gripping the sheets until I feel the cotton digging into my fist.

“What the fuck was that,” I whisper, wiping sweat from my neck. My skin is hot. Burning. Between my legs… I don’t even want to check. I already know.

It wasn’t just a dream. It felt like it was happening.

I look around the room like he might still be here. Hiding in a corner. Watching me. But there’s no one. Just my cluttered desk, a pile of unread books, my phone blinking silently on the floor where I must’ve kicked it off the bed.

God.

I throw the sheet off and swing my legs to the floor. I feel shaky. Like I’m recovering from something… intense.

“Am I this desperate now?” I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my hair. “21 years old. No boyfriend, still a virgin. And now I’m getting off on ghost men in my sleep?”

I try to laugh it off, but the heat doesn’t go away. My body still feels that tingling thing that buzzes inside...I can't even find the best words to describe it.

And then, like a knife through fog, his face flashes in my head.

Ronan.

That damn jawline. The cold, brooding hockey guy who barely looks at me until this morning. Why him?

I groan, pressing my hands to my face.

I hate jocks. I’ve said it a thousand times. They’re always too loud, too arrogant, too sweaty. Ronan’s barely even on my radar. Or—he wasn’t. Before this morning.

Before he touched me.

The way his hand rounded my hips, it felt like I was in my rightful place, it was probably the adrenaline but I swear to God, something jolted through me like a live wire.

And now… this?

“Get it together,” I hiss at myself, pushing up from the bed and stumbling toward the dresser. My reflection looks like shit. Eyes wide, hair all over the place. I splash water on my face from the jug beside the mirror and pat it dry with my T-shirt.

The door creaks.

“Cal?” Ava’s quiet voice comes in softly, I can hear the curiosity in her tone.

I freeze. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

I glance at the bed like it’s going to give me away. “I’m fine,” I lie.

There’s a beat. Then the door opens slightly and Ava pokes her head in, half-asleep and suspicious. “You were talking.”

“I talk all the time.”

“You were moaning.”

Shit.

I cross my arms. “I had a weird dream. That’s all.”

She raises a brow. “Weird dream or sex dream?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than police my REM cycle?”

She grins, stepping fully inside now, her pajama pants dragging across the floor. “Was it Ronan?”

I freeze again. “What?”

“I heard you say his name. You literally said ‘Ronan.’”

“I did not.”

“You did.” She smirks, walking closer. “Oh my God. You had a sex dream about Ronan.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t, Ava!”

She snorts, flopping onto my bed. “Wow. So the anti-jock nerd girl is secretly into broody hockey gods. Didn’t see that one coming.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I mutter, grabbing a fresh shirt and tossing it over my head. “It was... It wasn’t even him. I mean, maybe it was? I couldn’t see his face.”

“But you felt him,” she says dramatically, rolling onto her side like this is the best gossip she’s had all week.

I shoot her a glare. “Can you stop acting like you’re narrating a romance novel?”

“I’m not judging. I just think it’s hilarious.” She watches me closely, like she’s waiting for a confession. “You sure you’re okay?”

I hesitate, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Yeah. Just… freaked me out.”

“That’s fair. I once had a dream about making out with Mr. Delroy from chemistry. That shit haunted me for weeks.”

“That is haunting.”

“Right? At least your dream guy was hot.”

I shove her with my foot and she laughs, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to her chest.

After a moment, I say, “I think I’m gonna go to the library. I’ve got a night session.”

She eyes the clock. “It’s past nine.”

“I know.”

“You just had a horny ghost dream and now you’re running to the library like a nun in heat?”

“Goodnight, Ava.”

She holds up her hands. “Fine, fine. Go read your sexy books and pretend they’re for academic purposes.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you too.”

She leaves the room, finally, but the air doesn’t get lighter. I stand there for a second, staring at my reflection again.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t even like Ronan. I don’t care that he’s hot or that every girl in school loses brain cells around him. I’m not like that.

So why do I still feel his touch?

Why does my body feel like it’s waiting for him to come back?

I grab my bag and head out without looking back.

And I don't tell Ava the worst part.

That even now, fully awake and aware, I still want to know how his mouth would feel—if it was him.

And what the hell that means. "Tsk! Sexually frustrated, that's what you are Calla" I scold myself.