πππππΒ
I closed my eyes and tried to relax again. Exhaustion was pressing down on me like a layer of bricks, but for some reason, sleep refused to come. The draft from the air-conditioning was cold on my bare skin, and my shoulders ached from having my arms extended up like that. But as ridiculous as it was, a small part of me wished that Lucian was here β that I was even now lying in his hard embrace.
The fantasy was so alluring that I gave into it like I had in that prison. In my dream, none of this was real. Lucian didn't hate me. There was no plane crash, and we were not on opposing sides. He was just holding me, kissing me⦠making love to me.
In my dream, he was mine and I was his β and nothing was keeping us apart.
* * * * *Β
ππππππ
