Page 11 of Dream Girl

Milo has distinctive traits when he’s having a nightmare, and the most notable is the grip he would have on me. It’s always tight, suffocating even, and at some point, it would be unbearable where he would snap awake with the demons of his nightmare taking over his expression.

Deadly, detached from reality, and aggression level rising to the threshold of violence.

I was never afraid of Milo. Even in the state of a nightmare-ridden mindset, he has never hurt me once, and he has never even made the gesture of violence known when he would jerk awake.

There are frightening real testimonies of significant others being hurt by their loved ones through post-traumatic stress disorder. Milo has it, and he is a prime example of a danger to society, and yet, he is able to control that side of him to not hurt me.

I’m proud of him for being so strong when I know that there are times where he just wants to give in to the temptation of being in the mentality of a Navy SEAL again. Those are the times where he could act on the violent storm in him.

My arms move when he begins to wake up from his sleep. I steal a glance at the clock, and it’s one in the afternoon. That is a decent amount of sleep for someone who doesn’t need that much, and I just realized that I had slept a bit too, but I hadn’t noticed since it was the type of sleep that confuses me.

He grunts, rolling on his back and blinking up at the ceiling when he closes his eyes again. I sling a leg over his hard abs, feeling the rise and fall with his breaths. He kneads my leg, massaging the tender spots there and I sigh appreciatively.

I haven’t moved from that position for hours, and I wouldn’t know how much my legs have fallen asleep until I moved them.

“Thank you,” he whispers, turning his head to face me.

I shine him a smile, and my teeth gleam in the morning lights. “I welcome sleep with open arms.”

“Then,” he begins and lifts himself off the bed. “I’ll leave you in hibernation.”

I whine, scrambling up while wincing at the tingling in my legs as if thousands of ants are biting me.

“You can’t just leave me here!” I sit on the bed, crossing my arms over my chest.

He stands and spins around, arching his brow in inquisitive amusement while ignoring me to find clothes for the day. Milo knows that when I wake up, I get a bit greedy for his touches and I want to demand him back into the bed so we can cuddle more.

“Who’s going to help me decorate our Christmas tree?” I bundle the blanket around me, fighting the shivers from the cold with a scowl.

This man has the audacity to be unaffected by the cold when he opens the closet door. The door gets stuck when I try to open it, but when he does it, it’s smoother than butter. We have a biased closet.

“You are,” he says, nonchalantly throwing on a black shirt and fitting into tight black sweatpants.

I got him that last autumn and I had underestimated his size, but it was their biggest size in the men’s training pants. I liked this one better on him, so I got it, and it just became an erotic sight every time he puts it on.

He’s bold when he wears it outside, but he says it’s not tight at all. Well, no one can make Milo do anything he doesn’t want and if he wants to wear pants that he says aren’t tight, then he’s going to show off those burly, thick thighs.

“Oh!” I snap my fingers, eyes widening as a thought comes to me. “Can you bring back more fairy lights?”

“We have enough at home,” he points out, cocking his head to the side to look for his socks.

I feel as if he had personally punched me in the guts. “There is no such thing as enough fairy lights. I haven’t decorated the bathroom yet.”

His shoulders rise before they drop, dark brown eyes burning through my skull as he narrows his eyes.

I beat him to the punch. “It’s not fair to the bathroom if we leave it out.”

He’s going to roll his eyes, and he does with an expressionless fondness. “Stay home today. There is a snow storm starting in the late afternoon.”

I had no plans of going out today, so I nod at him. I’m just excited about more decorating as I watch him stroll up to me, leaning down and pecking my lips with a sigh.

“Don’t be grumpy, Milo!” I smooch his cheek with another kiss, giggling at the ticklishness on my face from the hair lined on his chiseled jawline.

“You get to see me when you come home, and I’ll have Christmas themed cookies waiting for you!”

His physical therapy doesn’t take more than thirty minutes, but he stays longer to strengthen his powerful body while advancing on his healing process. His trainer doesn’t recommend it as Milo had mentioned, but he wants to be healed as soon as possible as he doesn’t like to feel weak.

He isn’t weak, but he thinks that not being on his A-game isn’t up to his standards.

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