Page 30

Chapter 30

Fantasia

V aleria’s breath evens out against my shoulder, her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of my nightshirt, the other hand clutching her stuffed bunny. She smells of lavender and milk, and the warmth of her small body against mine is soothing in a way I don’t deserve.

She shifts slightly, letting out a soft sigh before her sleepy voice murmurs against my skin. “Mummy… song.”

I press a kiss to the top of her head, my heart tightening at the request. It comes naturally, rising unbidden to my lips, though I haven’t thought about it until I had her. A lullaby from my own childhood- one my mother used to sing to me. I used to fight the memories of her, fight the warmth of them, because it was easier to be cold than to admit she had ever truly loved me. But she had. In her own way.

She sang to me when I was scared. She stroked my hair when I was sick. And even when she wanted me to be ruthless, to turn against the Warwicks without question, she still held me close and whispered this song in the dark.

So I had clung to it. And now, here I was, passing it down to my daughter.

The familiar melody fills the room as my voice wavers slightly while I hum, but Valeria doesn’t notice. She relaxes against me, her tiny body growing heavier, her breath turning slow and steady. By the time the last note fades into the quiet, she’s completely limp in my arms.

Carefully, I rise from the rocking chair and set her in the crib, brushing a dark curl from her round cheek as she hugs her bunny tighter, snuggling into the soft pillow. I kiss the top of her head, whispering a quiet, “Goodnight, my love,” before gently pulling the blanket up to her chin.

For a long moment, I stay there, just watching her sleep, letting the steady rhythm of her breathing settle something deep inside me. Maybe I hadn’t always understood my mother. Maybe I never would. But in this, at least, we were the same.

I’ve come to treasure these quiet moments, these glimpses of normalcy in a life that often feels anything but.

I close her door softly behind me, moving into my own room with a quiet resignation. The bed is a familiar, comforting sight, but tonight, like so many nights before, it feels too big, too empty. And when I slip beneath the covers, I find no comfort in their embrace.

I don’t bother turning off the lamp on my nightstand. I stare at the ceiling instead, my thoughts a whirlwind I should have conquered by now.

It had been another long day, another step further away from where I came from. Where I belonged.

Or maybe I never belonged there at all.

I exhale, rubbing a hand over my face. My skin is still warm, but as my fingers slide down over my collarbone, it’s not comfort I’m searching for now. It’s distraction.

It’s been months since I let myself do this.

Since I let myself remember.

The lamp casts a faint golden glow across the room. My hand slides lower as I close my eyes.

I see him immediately.

Piers.

I let myself remember him- really remember him- for the first time in so long, letting the ache of his absence settle deep in my bones. The moments we shared flood my mind- his rough, tender touches, the way he made me feel alive. The images consume me. The room fades away, until all that’s left is the heat of him.

A shiver runs through me. My body responds instinctively, the longing too deep to be purely physical.

I’m in his arms again, wrapped in his warmth, my body molded to his as we move in sync beneath the dim, flickering firelight. I tilt my head, my fingers slipping into my hair, tugging lightly- just as he used to when he murmured against my ear. A slow, absent caress, chasing the phantom sensation of his breath, his voice, his lips marking me as his.

His broad shoulders, his back, his arms- every muscle taut with restrained power as he held himself over me.

The way his lips felt against my skin, whispering promises between kisses.

His dark green eyes, watching me with that infuriatingly patient amusement, holding me in a way that made me feel seen- even when I was broken.

And his voice.

Wrecked and low, murmuring my name in a way no one else ever will. Full of that quiet confidence and gentleness that once made me feel like I was the only person who mattered.

You’re mine, Fantasia. Always have been. Always will be.

My fingertips glide over the delicate skin of my stomach, trailing lower, brushing the edge of my panties before slipping beneath the fabric to where I’m already warm and wet.

I sigh, my free hand drifting up, fingertips tracing the curve of my jaw before brushing over my lips- soft, lingering, as if I can still taste him there.

I imagine his hands replacing mine as I skim the curve of my breasts before I cup one, squeezing lightly, my thumb grazing over my nipple. A sharp inhale, a desperate ache. I arch into my own touch, wishing for his instead.

His weight between my thighs, his breath hot against my skin, whispering filth and endearments in the same greedy breath.

I don’t fight it.

I don’t want to fight it.

My thumb brushes lightly over my clit, already swollen and eager, and I let out a soft moan as I begin to rub slow, deliberate circles. The pleasure builds gradually, a warm sensation spreading through me, and I glide a finger inside my slick folds, with a deep, insistent need that is solely Piers'.

I imagine his cock as I add another finger, my breath hitching as I curl them slightly, hitting that perfect spot deep inside me.

My thumb never stops its rhythm, circling my clit with just the right pressure, sending waves of arousal coursing through me. My body arches into the fantasy, as if I can summon him through sheer will. My fingers move faster now, sliding in and out with a steady pace, each thrust filling me up and igniting every nerve. My groans mingle with quiet whimpers, the sound escaping my lips before I can stifle them.

My breathing becomes ragged, my chest heaving as my free hand continues to touch my breasts, my nipples already hard and begging for attention. I pinch and roll them gently between my fingers, and the pleasure surges through me like a live wire, sparking down my spine, pooling low in my belly, and tingling at the very tips of my toes.

My fingers inside me now move with an almost desperate pace, in time with the rhythm of my thumb on my clit. I can feel my orgasm building, the tension in my lower abdomen growing with each stroke. My hips buck slightly as I drive my fingers deeper inside myself. My other hand continues to play with my nipples, the sensation adding to the overwhelming waves of ecstasy that are starting to crash over me.

My breath becomes ragged and shallow, my muscles tense, and I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from screaming out in ecstasy. I close my eyes tightly, focusing all my energy on the intense sensation gripping me like a vice, my body suddenly alight with pleasure.

Finally, I don't hold back.

With a loud gasp, I climax. I cry out as I reach the peak. My whole body convulses with pleasure as waves of sheer ecstasy course through me.

I let out a soft whimper, my fingers slowly stilling inside me, my thumb gentle on my sensitive clit. My chest rises and falls as I try to catch my breath. I feel both physically sated and emotionally drained.

As the aftershocks fade, I slowly withdraw my fingers, my body still trembling from the intensity of the release. I take a deep, shaky breath, smiling at the satisfaction that lingers within me.

It’s overwhelming, this feeling. A testament to the love I still harbor for the man who haunts my dreams and thoughts. For that brief moment, I was with him again, lost in the thrall of passion and desire that only Piers can evoke in me.

But as my heart rate gradually returns to normal, an overwhelming sense of emptiness settles inside me. A part of me knows that even the most intimate memories of Piers can’t fill the hollow space in my soul.

The house is silent. The bed beside me is cold. My daughter sleeps peacefully down the hall, oblivious to the war inside me, the war I’ve been losing since the moment I left him in that burning forest.

I curl onto my side, pulling the blankets higher, as if that will fill the empty spaces inside me.

As if that will silence the thought creeping in, the one I can barely admit to myself.

That no matter how far I run-

No matter how fiercely I try to forget-

I will always belong to him.

Even if it’s just in the silence of the night, when no one is watching.

Even if it’s only in the echo of his name on my lips, lost in the darkness.

I will always belong to Piers Warwick.

And I don’t know if I will ever stop wanting him.