The Little Dove #3 ✔️

21. Won't You Stay

"I heard you scream my name, lemon." He says, not bothering to whisper.

I close my eyes and lean into his hand, "I just had a nightmare."

"Was it because of me? Was I hurting you, lemon? I need to know." He leans down, getting me to look up at him, I shake my head.

"I was screaming for you, not because of you," I mutter, raising my arms up and around his neck, he lifts me from the floor, and I sit on my legs, which are bent back at the knee, allowing me to sit on his lap.

"It was Forthright, wasn't it? Damnit, lemon, he will not touch you, I swear it." He says, frustrated but I could read into his eyes, it wasn't the fact I had the nightmare. He was afraid I believed he would allow Forthright to hurt me when it was quite in fat the other way around. I nod up to him, reassuring him in most cases.

"Lemon, with words." He says to me. I fold my arms.

He huffs, "I am not dominating you."

I lightly slap his shoulder, "You want a verbal agreement every single time we talk, Edmund."

"I can tell your non-verbal agreement is equivalent to crossing your fingers behind your back, lemon." He says to me, slipping an arm around my lower back. Before I bother to react, he skims the other under my legs and steps off the chair.

I stare at him, "I think you're assuming things."

He pauses in his steps, slowly turning down to me, "You're proving me wrong?"

I purse my lips, and he raises an eyebrow, "That's what I thought." This was definitely him in real life, not a dream. He was too agreeable in the dream, and that is what was unusual in reality.

He lowers me to my open covers, "It's only Saturday, try to get more sleep." He whispers.

"Can we watch a film instead? Unless you're tired?" I murmur in question, moving over towards the middle of the mattress. He sighs in defeat, asking me where my laptop is, I point to my desk. He moves with his masculine swagger, not even trying to look as handsome as he does. I blow out a puff of air-No, Melanie. Don't think about it.

That was one hell of a dream.

A nightmare.

That made me want to take Forthright down even more.

I vowed to do so and I will.

Edmund places the laptop on the duvet in front of me before turning the side light on. I open my screen, opening a few video accounts of mine, "Do you have a particular genre you want to watch? Science fiction, fantasy, some action?" I wonder.

He pulls the duvet up a bit, "Here I thought you were a romantic?" I straighten my back and snap my head over to him with a resonating click, I give him an incredulous look, and he tilts his head, dropping his hand to my lower back.

"When have I ever suggested I was into romantic films?" I ask, still in disbelief when I scroll through the films. He sits up, his arm bent straight behind me as he takes a look.

He stops at E.T.

I blink, "That one." He whispers.

I bite my lip, "You are so old." I think to myself, before he slowly leans back, time gradually spaced into numbers and letters when I turn my head towards him.

"That may have come out wrong." I give him a sheepish look.

He 'hmm's', leaning back towards the pillows, I hold the urge to giggle, or snort, opening the film, I move the sheets so it sat on his lap, I leaned back, unsure of where his arm was when I drop my head on his bare shoulder, his hand flattens along my lower back. I felt the heat of it there, a calm caress and a warm reminder that he was here.