Wildflowers & Freedom

Desires & Daydreams

The front door creaked as I gently pushed it open, cringing at the familiar sound. I hesitated in the entryway, my breath catching in my throat as I braced myself for what I might find. The den was just a few steps away, and I already knew what awaited me—my mother, Loretta, slumped on the worn-out couch, an empty bottle of whiskey tipped on its side by her feet.

The flicker of the TV cast shadows across the room, an old rerun of *Wheel of Fortune* playing quietly, the soft clinking of Vanna White turning letters barely audible over the hum of the ceiling fan. Loretta's chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, her face slack, lost to another night of drinking herself into oblivion. I watched for a moment, a deep sadness welling up in my chest as I stepped quietly into the room.

"Mom," I whispered, leaning down to check on her. Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn't stir. I reached for the throw blanket draped over the arm of the couch and covered my mother, tucking it around her fragile frame.

The familiar ache of disappointment twisted in my gut, but I pushed it aside. There was no point in waking her. Loretta wouldn't have much to say—just mumbled words, maybe a few slurred jabs about my choices or the familiar demand that I settle down and stop "chasing wild ideas."

I padded softly out of the den, shutting the door behind me to muffle the sound of the TV. The house was eerily silent, the way it always felt at night. I made my way upstairs to my room, peeling off my clothes with a sigh of exhaustion. The day had stretched on long enough, and all I wanted now was a hot shower to rinse away the weight of it all.

The bathroom was my sanctuary. The moment I stepped inside, the stress of the day began to melt. Greenery adorned every available surface, plants thriving in the humid warmth. The clawfoot tub stood majestically in the center, vintage and regal, framed by hanging ferns and creeping vines. The scent of eucalyptus and lavender oils filled the space as I turned on the shower, letting the steam rise and curl through the air.

I stepped under the stream of water, closing my eyes as it cascaded down my body. I scrubbed away the grime of the day, the tension in my muscles slowly unwinding with each minute under the hot spray. Bellamy's face flickered into my mind—his smirk, that sexy accent. The way his dark eyes seemed to look right through me, setting my insides ablaze.

I tried not to think about him, but it was impossible. He was all-consuming, a wildfire I couldn't contain.

After drying off, I slipped into my bed, the sheets cool against my skin. I rolled onto my side, pulling the blanket up to my chin, but sleep didn't come easily. My mind was already wandering—back to Bellamy, his presence as intoxicating as the scent of sandalwood in the air.

In the hazy world of dreams, he appeared. The air between us was charged, electric. I found myself on my knees before him, the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. I was submitting, though I wasn't quite sure why. His voice was soft but commanding, a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.

"Good girl," he murmured, his hand trailing over my bare back. I gasped as his fingers brushed my skin, his touch a tease. Bellamy's presence overwhelmed me, and the roles of our world had shifted. He was in control, completely and utterly.

My pulse quickened, heat pooling low in my belly as I felt him behind me. A soft smack echoed through the dream as his palm landed on my ass, a stinging sensation that sent a thrill coursing through me.

The moment jarred me awake.

I shot up, my breath ragged, my skin tingling in the aftermath of the dream. I clutched the sheets to my chest, my heart pounding.

What the hell?

The dream had felt too real, too vivid. Every part of my body still hummed with the sensations—his voice, his touch, his control. It was like nothing I'd experienced before. A blush crept up my neck, embarrassment mingling with the lingering arousal. Why did he have this effect on me?