The Place Between Breaths

It began in silence.

Not the absence of sound, but the kind of silence that hums—like the quiet you feel deep in water or moments before lightning. Lila stood barefoot in a vast field of night, where the stars burned brighter than she’d ever seen and the air pulsed with warmth, heavy with some unnamed promise.

She didn’t remember falling asleep. But she knew—instantly, undeniably—that this wasn’t the waking world.

She wore something soft. Lighter than silk. A dress? No… not exactly. The fabric clung to her like mist, flowing behind her as she walked. Every movement felt slower, more graceful. Like her body understood something her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

Then, she felt him.

Before she saw him.

That heat, that shift in the air—like gravity tilting in his direction.

Anthony.

He stood at the edge of the field, leaning against a stone arch that hadn’t been there seconds ago. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes…

Those blue eyes.

Hungry. Devout. Possessive.

“Angel,” he said, his voice deeper in the dream. Darker. As though it echoed across her skin instead of the air. “Come here.”

She moved toward him without thinking. Her feet didn’t touch the ground—she wasn’t sure anything was real here, except for him.

When she reached him, his hand came up to cup her face. Gentle. Worshipful. But his thumb brushed her bottom lip, and the air between them shifted again—sharpened. He tilted her chin up slightly, studying her like a secret he’d waited lifetimes to unlock.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he murmured.

Lila tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. It didn’t matter. He seemed to hear her anyway.

“You’ve been dreaming of this,” he said. “So have I.”

His other hand came to rest at the small of her back, guiding her gently but firmly until her body was pressed against his. Every inch of her lit up—nerve endings singing beneath her skin. Her hands found his chest, warm and solid beneath the open collar of his shirt. She could feel his heartbeat there. Strong. Steady. Just for her.

“You don’t have to be afraid here,” he whispered. “This place doesn’t follow the same rules.”

Her breath trembled as he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers—so softly it was barely a kiss, more like a question. She answered by rising up onto her toes and kissing him back, fully, deeply. His mouth claimed hers in return, a slow and searing rhythm that made her knees weak.

He kissed like he knew her. Like he’d memorized the shape of her mouth and the gasps she made. Like he knew exactly how long to pull away before she chased after him.

“Do you feel that?” he asked against her lips. “The way you ache?”

She nodded, eyes fluttering shut. Her skin burned everywhere he touched. It was like fire and fog and gravity had all rearranged themselves inside her.

His fingers slid down her arms, then slowly, reverently, rested on her hips. There was no rush. No fumbling. Just heat, tension, and an awareness so deep it felt ancient.

“I’ve seen the things you write,” he said. “The way you want to be touched. The places your thoughts go when you think I’m not watching.”

Her heart stuttered. “This is just a dream.”

His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Then let it be the kind you never forget.”

He backed her gently toward the stone arch, guiding her as though he already knew every step. When her back met the smooth curve of the pillar, he pressed his hand above her head and leaned in again—his nose brushing hers, his breath warm against her cheek.

“I want to show you what it means to be wanted,” he whispered. “Every part of you. Every soft breath. Every gasp I can pull from your throat.”

She moaned quietly as his hands slid up—slow, deliberate—until they reached the swell of her chest. Over her dress, his thumbs brushed gently across her, just enough to tease, to ignite, to make her whimper.

He smiled against her neck. “That sound…”

She clutched his shoulders, her legs trembling slightly as he kissed a slow path along her collarbone, pausing to leave a mark just beneath the curve of her jaw. She felt it pulse through her—heat and tension and something electric.

“Tell me what you feel,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”

Her voice came out breathless. “I want you to keep touching me.”

He obeyed. One hand explored her back while the other moved lower, over her hips, down the outside of her thighs. His fingers never slid under her dress—only along it—yet it felt as though he touched something deeper than skin.

Her entire body responded to him. Every movement was worship. Every kiss a slow unraveling.

“You were made for this,” he said. “For this kind of pleasure. For this kind of knowing.”

He lifted her, just enough to guide her legs around his waist, and the contact between them deepened. She felt him hard and hot through his clothes, his breath catching as he pressed their bodies together fully. Still clothed. Still restrained. But everything inside her surged toward him.

His mouth found hers again, more urgent now, his kiss devouring. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling, needing, wanting.

He moved his mouth to her ear and whispered, “You are everything I want. Everything I crave.”

And then, suddenly, they weren’t under the arch anymore.

They were on a bed of moss and starlight, somewhere new—but still within the dream. He lay beside her, stroking her hair, her hip, her thigh, never crossing that invisible line—but bringing her right to its edge.

“You can wake up any time,” he murmured. “But I hope you don’t.”

She looked into his eyes, and all she saw was devotion. Fire and patience. Hunger and restraint.

“Stay with me,” she whispered.

He leaned in once more, kissing her eyelids shut. “Always.”

She woke with a gasp.

The room was still dark, Nicole’s house quiet around her. The futon was warm, and Anthony’s arms were wrapped gently around her in real life—his breathing slow, steady. The silver cross he’d given her still lay against her chest, catching the dim light of the living room.

It had only been a dream.

But she could still feel him.

His hands. His mouth. His voice.

And the ache he left behind.

A slow smile touched her lips as she closed her eyes again, whispering into the dark:

“Come back to me.”