Chapter Five: I Am Going to Make a Mistake

Sophia Bennett

The words echoed in my head like a refrain I couldn’t silence: I am going to make a mistake.

I was kneeling on the bed in nothing but the thin tank top that had ridden up my hips, my hands wrapped around a stranger’s waist. In any other circumstance, I would never have done this. No amount of alcohol, no depth of desperation, could have pushed me to behave like this in real life. Even with Ethan—when he refused to touch me, when he left me feeling unwanted and unsatisfied—I had never begged. I had simply turned away, swallowed my frustration, and pretended it didn’t matter. I had my pride. I had boundaries.

But this wasn’t real life. This was a dream, and my body was screaming for it.

My skin felt too tight, my pulse raced, and every breath felt heavier than the last. I wasn’t craving a drink tonight. I was craving release. I needed to feel wanted, to forget the mess my waking life had become. Something was very wrong with me for wanting this so badly, or maybe, for the first time in months, something was finally right.

He was older than me. I registered that even through the haze of the dream. Tall, broad-shouldered, and intimidating, he looked like someone from every dark fantasy I had never dared admit I possessed. His presence filled the room, heavy and commanding. The way he looked down at me made my stomach tighten. I had only ever been with one man in real life: Ethan. This stranger was nothing like him.

“Wow…” The word slipped out before I could stop it, barely more than a whisper.

Please don’t let me wake up yet.

I needed this. I needed to feel wanted. I needed to forget the ache inside me. My fingers trembled as I reached toward him. He shifted. The movement was subtle, controlled, but it startled me. Then, without warning, he stepped back. My balance faltered. We tumbled together onto the mattress, and he quickly braced himself above me.

I stared up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. He studied my face with an intensity that made me forget what I had intended to say. His voice, low and rough, cut through the charged silence.

“How old are you?”

The question jarred me. I tried to look away, but his hand caught my chin, gentle yet unyielding.

“I won’t repeat myself,” he said. “Answer the question.”

Something inside me responded instantly to that tone—calm, authoritative, impossible to ignore. My skin tingled. My voice came out small, almost breathless.

“Twenty-three.”

He leaned back slightly, releasing my chin. His fingers raked through his dark hair as he exhaled.

“Twenty-three,” he muttered to himself, the words carrying a note of dark amusement, almost indifference, as if the number both surprised and intrigued him.

For a moment, the dream felt dangerously close to shattering. I could sense the weight of reality hovering just outside the edges, waiting to pull me back. But I didn’t want to leave. Not yet. I felt more alive than I had in years, and every part of me was painfully aware of him.

I reached for him again, bolder now. He didn’t stop me. Instead, his gaze darkened, dropping to my lips. The air between us thickened, heavy with unspoken promise. I could feel the tension between us, matching the desperate need twisting inside me.

Memories of Ethan flickered unwanted through my mind—his hesitant touches, his indifference, and the way I had always pretended to be satisfied just to spare his ego. This man was nothing like that. Even in a dream, I could tell he would make me feel wanted, and I wanted every second of it.

He watched me, eyes half-lidded, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“You sure you can handle this, little girl?”

The challenge in his voice sent another shiver racing down my spine. I didn't answer. I simply stared at him, caught between nervousness and a reckless desire to forget everything that had happened before tonight.

I wanted to lose myself here. In this dream. In him. To forget the empty apartment waiting for me, the failed relationship, and the long nights spent wondering what was wrong with me. Here, I wasn’t the careful, composed Sophia Bennett who always did the right thing. I was someone who wanted to make her own choices, even if those choices made no sense in the morning.

His hand rested briefly against my hair, and my heart stuttered with anticipation. Every second stretched, leaving me uncertain about what would happen next.

I looked up one last time, meeting those intense eyes that seemed to see straight through me. At that moment, all hesitation burned away.

I guess I would go along with this dream, even if I had no idea what would happen next.