"My final letters, were they read? Or were they written in vain?"
Although born in France, Juliette Villeneuve often spent her childhood summers in London. With the passing of each summer, her adoration for a certain Bridgerton boy grew. During thei...
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THE MOON HUNG HIGH IN THE SKY, accompanied by a constellation of brightly shining stars. The soft linen was pulled to Juliette's chin, as she was held in the arms of Morpheus, the god of dreams. Despite being caressed so endearingly by the god in her lulled sleep, he did not treat her well. The dreams wished upon her were not of evil origin nor were they of good intention. Morpheus plagued her sleep with images of him, the one who owned her heart. The darkest hours of night were filled with fantasies she once yearned, of memories she once reminisced upon, and of a future she once craved.
Anthony Bridgerton ruled her night hours, haunting them. The encounter with the Viscount at the Crawford ball mere hours ago remained in her thoughts, although unwanted, as it so cruelly seeped into her dreams.
She dreamt of his hands, strong and nimble. She dreamt of how his delicate long fingers brushed her palm, tickling the sensitive skin lightly. His fingers then moved upwards, gradually trailing up her arm, gentle and tender. They left goosebumps and raised hairs and causing Juliette's heart to quicken in her chest.
His fingers reached the soft fabric of her dress that rested against her shoulders. The brown's of his eyes contained swirls of rich honey and flecks of gold as their gaze was locked. The warmth of his shallow breaths lightly caressed her face, while their noses stood a near inch apart. Juliette was lost in the sensation, lost in his touch and his gaze—in his presence. She was lost in Anthony, of what he was and what he meant. As he played with the pale blue fabric donned with jewels, his eyes never left hers. A teasing glint flashed in his eyes briefly, darkening his irises. His fingers tugged at the fabric above her heart, pulling it down slightly and exposing her shoulder.
His gaze left hers, as he leaned downwards, to her shoulder.
Anthony's lips, although never touching her, left the remnants of ghostly kisses as he whispered sweet nothings against the skin. With each soft exhale, the warmth of his breath caressed the bareness of her shoulder. His attention moved to the sensitive skin at the base of her neck. His fingers brushed her unruly and loose locks to the other side, allotting him ample access. The delicate touch left traces of fire; a sensation of desire emerged in its wake. However, he was not done, for his ghostly kisses met the dangerous spot beneath her ear. She yearned for him to lower his lips the slightest bit, allowing his lips to brush against her skin, to leave tender kisses in its wake.
As if he heard the desires of her beating heart, he blessed the skin of her neck, the sweet spot beneath her ear a brief yet tender kiss. Although the intimate action lasted seconds, Juliette became frozen in space. Time ceased as the beat in her chest overruled it, becoming the only source of chronology.
A tiny gasp fell from her parted lips, sweetly touching the night air. Anthony grinned against her throat. Tuffs of his dark ink-like hair were soft as they brushed against her temple. Shallow breaths fanned her jawline, causing a chill to crawl up her spine.
