boxer ⋆ luke hemmings ✔️

23. Choke.

Luke had the bluest eyes that Sophie had ever seen.

And that was saying a lot. She had met tons of people in her life, the colour of their eyes being the first thing that she always picked up on. Nobody could ever quite beat Luke's, however.

They were a stunning, sharp blue; the kind that reminded her of swimming in freezing lakes and sucking on cold popsicles in the summer when it was way too hot to have anything else. They reminded her of wintry mornings, of when her mother would come back from work and they'd have a nice hot chocolate together by the fireplace; cold, but warm. Cold on the exterior, pleasantly warm in the interior. Just like him.

They were strikingly bold, daggers in the form of a colour if weapons could be polarized. Sophie figured that if she told someone this, they probably wouldn't like it; would jump quick to conclusions, admittedly. But who ever said that cold was a bad thing?

It was just how Luke was, and how his eyes painted a scene. They were the same eyes that had fluttered open the past several mornings, greeting Sophie with a yawn and a slight smile, and she wouldn't exchange it for the world.

And they were also the exact same eyes that had gazed at her in a dream that she shot up from; shocked, shaking, and heartrate at an all time high.

In her sleep, Luke's blues were different; very different, manifested by an emotion that Sophie couldn't quite comprehend. He was different- someway, somehow. She couldn't explain it even if her life depended on it.

Because in her sleep, Luke's eyes were dark, and his lips were bitten, and his broad hand had been carefully wrapped around her neck; gentle but rough, firm but loose, pinning Sophie against the mattress as his other hand worked wonders between her legs. Utterances of telling her to be a good little girl for him fell from the boxer's lips, her subconscious creating dialogue that she would have never- never in a million years- expected him to say as his fingers slowly pumped in and out of her, voice raspy and low.

In other words, Luke was still her prince, making sure she was okay, asking her if she wanted him to stop...

...But he was also a different kind of prince- the the kind who acted on what he'd been feeling the entire time that her princess self spent locked up in the tower; sexual frustrations, visions, lust-powered actions and all.

He looked good in her dream and Sophie wasn't complaining. Only she had no idea why she had it, or why she had that type of dream, for she wasn't the kind of person to harbour on the feeling of sex for any longer than a minute. It kind of made her uncomfortable.

She almost scoffed at the thought; her subconscious probably just made a mistake, or something. It wasn't like Sophie at all to be having sex dreams about people; if anything, the raunchiest thing she'd ever come across in her slumber was a pig in a latex bodysuit. It wasn't quite the same as Luke taking his place in between her legs and making them shake as he whispered a quiet, "Come for me" in her ear, but she didn't have anything else to use as an excuse.

Sighing, the small girl sat up, feeling a little foolish for thinking those thoughts and having those dreams. It was as if her mind enjoyed teasing her; there was no way in hell that Luke would ever do that. Not a chance.

She was much too innocent for him, much too pure. Luke had a lot of experience, whereas all of the encounters that Sophie had been through had all been negative mistakes that she wanted nothing more than to take back.

She was a teenager, but he wasn't, and she refused to get her hopes up by believing that there was even a chance of any of that happening. It just wouldn't be smart to think otherwise.