Feelings In A Dream Novel Novels & Stories

Her presence in my arms felt strangely comforting, like coming home after a long journey. Though all this was just a dream, it felt real. My heart raced, knowing she had feelings for me. I held onto her, lost in the thoughts of what it would be like to hold her closer, to feel her lips against my body. The dream had me captivated, lost in a world where desires and emotions intertwined without consequence. It was a realm where my longings could be explored without the confines of reality. And yet, deep down, I knew that once I woke, the dream would fade, leaving behind a lingering sense of curiosity and introspection.

And for one night, I was going to stop fighting it. --- She fell asleep on my chest. Her body curled into mine. Her hand over my heart. Her breath slow and even. I did not sleep. I watched her. The way her lips parted. The way her fingers twitched. The way her eyebrows moved like she was dreaming. I thought about what she said. "I closed my eyes and thought about you." That should have made me feel guilty. It did not. It made me feel something else. Something I did not have a word for.

"I know we've just met, but rope has a way of accelerating intimacy. When you're that vulnerable, when you trust someone that completely, feelings develop faster." I came slowly, deeply, the pleasure building from somewhere fundamental inside me. He followed moments later, his release feeling like a promise. We woke as the sun was rising, light streaming through the loft windows. Jordan was already awake, watching me sleep. "Hi," I said softly. "Hi." He smiled. "How do you feel?" "Incredible. Sore. Happy." I paused. "Scared." "Scared of what?" "Of how fast this moved. Of how much I feel. Of wanting this to continue."

And what is even more unnerving is how vivid they alway feel and leave my body aching long after I wake up. They feel more like memories than mere dreams. And that man definitely isn't Héctor. I know this because the mood in the dream atmosphere is nothing close to the atmosphere between myself and Héctor. That man seems really dominating, while myself on the other hand is so stupidly timid and even nearly afraid of him. What I totally do not understand is why I let him have me like a filthy plaything, begging for his touch and enjoying every bit of it. Perhaps there is something about my past that I'm missing out on?

"I made you. From nothing. You’re a construct." "Constructs don’t dream," he replies, his voice still soft, still even. There is no anger in him—not yet—and that absence is more threatening than any fury could be. "I dream of fire that doesn’t burn. Of cities I’ve never seen but know every street of. Of a woman with your hands, writing my name over and over in a notebook that smells like rain even when it’s bone dry. I dream of the day you closed the book and left me in the dark. Do you dream of me?"

I like to think of it all as a terrible dream I might one day wake from. But there is one dream that does haunt me most. In this dream, my fever has broken, and Jessamine is asleep on the chair across from me. She’s in a nightdress, and there’s a book covering her face with an obscene cover. In this dream, my hands and feet aren’t bound, and I can walk just fine without tripping on my vomit. I hover over Jessamine and pull the book back from her sleeping face.

Too scared to turn on my device for fear of what I would see in the gossip blogs, I instead turned on the TV and let the movie playing act as background noise for me. Hours later, I had cried as much as I was physically able to. My eyes hurt, my brain hurt and my nose felt raw from how often I wiped it. It hurt worse than a wrongly placed IV drip. With my bed banging hard, I fell asleep and almost immediately got sucked into a strange dream. Before I realized I was dreaming, my heart almost burst as I thought I had gone back to my original life. I watched myself as I read. Dream instincts made me aware that I was reading the novel I now entered. As I read, I cursed at the author and rolled m

My breathing turned slow and uneven, my nipples felt hard and tight and I could feel something hot settling down my womb. I had a fitful night filled with sex dreams of him, I woke up in the middle of the night shaking, flushed, hot in ways I hadn’t been in so long and it wasn’t from a nightmare but of dreams of him and I found myself wet, incredibly dripping wet staining my panties and even my bed. To think I had thought I was dead for good down there! That’s when I knew I wasn’t broken after-all, I wasn’t damaged either and that Kael is mine..

I interjected, "That fire seven years ago was brutal, wasn't it? Saving him must've been strenuous. Any scars?" She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a faint mark on her arm. "Yeah, it left this. Not exactly pretty, but Damian means everything to me. I'd run through fire for him again in a heartbeat." I was stunned by her audacity. She'd go so far as to flaunt a fake scar to uphold her lie. "That blaze killed many people," I pressed. "You were just a middle-school kid, small and frail. How did you manage to drag him out of those flames?"

As if someone had truly been standing there, watching me, waiting. I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to calm the drum inside me. My breaths came out shaky, shallow. What could this actually be? Why did it feel so real? Why did the air in my dream taste like smoke, like earth, like blood? Why did it feel like my skin had been crawling, even though I had been asleep? A hundred questions flooded me, all crashing together until my head ached. Why is everything against me? Why do I feel so uneven, like something inside me is broken and shifting?