Her own body responded with a freedom she rarely allowed herself in her waking hours. There were soft moans escaping her lips, the arch of her back as his hands explored the curves of her body, the insistent throb between her thighs demanding his touch.There was no need for words. His gaze alone was a caress, tracing the curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulder. Her skin prickled with anticipation, a heat blossoming low in her belly. He moved towards her with a slow, deliberate grace, and with each step, the air thickened, charged with an unspoken longing.
His hands reached for her, not with the polite, but with a knowing possessiveness that sent shivers of a different kind down her spine – shivers of pure, unadulterated desire. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, the delicate shell of her ear, each touch sending a ripple of sensation through her...….The feel of his skin against hers, the rasp of his breath against her ear, the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat against her chest.Every touch was amplified, every shared breath a spark igniting a deeper fire within her.
Then, slowly, the edges of the dream began to fade, the sensual warmth dissipating as the first tendrils of morning light crept into her room. She awoke with a lingering sense of arousal, her heart still pounding, the imprint of his touch and kiss a vivid memory. The contrast with the cold reality of her impending marriage was stark, making the longing in her waking hours even more acute.
Ahhhhhrg...… she groaned angrily because the dream had been a potent reminder of the passion she craved and the emotional and physical starvation she was facing.
"GOODMORNING BUBBLE BEE," her father's booming voice shattered the fragile remnants of her dream. His kiss on her cheek felt distant.
"Morning dad," she mumbled, facing the wall, the dream's intensity still clinging to her.
"Is everything oky huni…?" Concern laced his tone.
Slowly, she sat up, her face etched with sadness. "But dad, does it have to be this way? Getting married to someone I haven't even seen?"
Mr. Hawthorne chuckled, a sound that grated on her raw nerves. "Oh, ummm. He hasn't been in the country since birth, but he'll be back soon. This is his picture." He presented a portrait. "His name is James Sterling, the youngest grandson of Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Sterling, and the successor to the Sterling Financial Companies, and…"
"BUT DAD!" Samantha's voice cracked, tears welling. "Don't I have a say in this? What about my own happiness? I don't even know him, or love him!"
"It is our legacy, my dear," her mother's voice echoed from the doorway.
Samantha's eyes widened, a flicker of defiance igniting within her. "What legacy are you talking about, Mom?" she asked, her gaze piercing her mother's. "What if I say no?"
She knelt before her father, tears streaming. "Until this day… ummm… Dad, I've done everything you've ever wanted. I even dropped my passion to join the family company. Can't you do this one thing for me? Please, Dad… please…"
"ENOUGH!" Mr. Hawthorne's voice boomed, cutting her off. He stood abruptly. "Listen here, young lady. I don't know what this is all about, but let me remind you, this is non-negotiable." He strode towards the door.
"But my darling…" Mrs. Hawthorne began, her voice laced with concern. "Don't you think you're being too harsh on our princess here?" Her words trailed off as Mr. Hawthorne exited, his anger palpable.
She then looked at Samantha, who sat on the floor, lost in thought. After a long, silent moment, Mrs. Hawthorne quietly left the room, leaving Samantha alone with the cold reality of her predetermined future. The dream's passionate embrace now felt like a cruel taunt.