Page 33 of Dream Girl

A laugh bubbles from my lungs, shaking my shoulder, and my heart lightens at his smooth tongue. It’s been a while since I have heard it and it’s nice to be back in our regular domestic lifestyle.

“Can I be your cheerleader?”

My back arches into his arms when he tightens them, a growl resonating from his chest as he grumbles deeply. His strong thigh parts mine and render me helpless in his arms. I’m trapped, unable to move and the heat of his body nearly burns me.

I’m a bit concerned over his movements as the doctors have forbidden him from strenuous activities. I’m sure she had a different thought in mind when she said that, but sexual activities aren’t my thoughts when this man wants to melt me into one body with him by how tight he’s squeezing.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, hissing low in his throat. “Mine.”

“You’re mine too,” I whisper.

I’m not a jealous person nor do I envy those supermodels with equally beautiful significant others, but Milo brings out this side of me that I can’t decide if it’s good or bad. I got a bit upset when one of the nurses that were assigned to Milo’s room started to show interest in him while he was unconscious.

It was unprofessional and really distasteful. I was there, and she should have shown some respect even if I was Milo’s sister. I hate seeing other women paying attention to Milo. I know he’s a very handsome man, almost to a fault when he emits this cold charm that has women thinking they can fix this bad boy image of his.

They don’t realize that it’s his normal face. He’s not intentionally making it, but women seem to fall for this type where they think they can be the ones to be someone special to a man with a villain demeanor.

I guess the psychology magazines that Doctor Fulton gave to Milo as reading material to understand himself better work in a weird way.

The first time I met Doctor Fulton was today when Milo was being discharged and before Eddie came in. She was an older woman with this motherly presence that I was immediately taken with her.

I wanted to call her my second mom the moment she opened her mouth to see how Milo was doing. It was a fascinating meeting with her, and I thank her for helping Milo be better, but she mentions that it was all my effort that brought him out of that hollow shell.

I don’t know how I helped or if I should be worried about the doctor and patient confidentiality, but I’m glad I was able to be the moving force to get Milo to take the first step forward.

“Milo, guess what?”

His answers are muffled in my hair as his body sinks deeper into the bed with the cover raised to his chin. It’s up to my forehead as the shuffling sound echoes in my ears; my heart is louder than anything else.

I didn’t know how to bring this up to him when it had happened, but I don’t think I can hold it in anymore.

“I had a dream.”

His hand stops drawing patterns on my hip. “A dream?”

“Yeah,” I murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “It was weird… well, not weird, per se. It’s more unexpected than anything.”

He chuckles; the vibration courses through me as I mewl at the shiver making my toes curl. Milo doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care when he splays his fingers on my hip, groping the fleshiness and telling me to continue.

I don’t know how to start even if he tells me to. It’s not something one can bring up as if someone had asked them what they had breakfast. It’s a difficult topic to bring to light when the man in front of me plays a big part of it in the dream.

“Amelia?” he inquires at my silence.

I sigh, setting my hand over his waist and not disturbing the stitches right below. Milo doesn’t flinch like that one time, but natural instinct is to tighten his muscles at a foreign object near a wound.

The ideal way for faster healing is to sleep on his back, but Milo is never the one to follow the rules, so he sleeps on his side. I don’t need to cuddle every night and especially now with his injured side, and he still doesn’t listen to reasons.

What an insistent man.

“I had a dream that we were married,” I blurt out, and regret hits me like a train.

The silence and the shift in his body are noticeable as he tries to draw away from me. I can’t let him see the devastated expression on my face as my lips twist uncomfortably. We never talked about marriage or anything further than living together, and I didn’t know if we would ever talk about it.

The state that we live in doesn’t have the common law marriage where couples are considered legally married without formal registration. It’s an odd law practice, but some people see it as convenience more than romance.

“You did,” he ponders. “Tell me more about it.”

“Are you mad?” I hesitantly draw a mindless pattern on his shirt.

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