Free Web NovelChapter 846: Longing and Eleanor’s Strange Dreams
And the worst part — the part that made her want to press her palms to her burning cheeks even now, in the middle of this lounge, surrounded by people who would never understand — was that after those dreams, she did not want to be saved from him and them.
She wanted to keep having them, see him and be with him the way they were; for eternity.
And the most damning truth of all was that some traitorous, hidden part of her was beginning to wonder what it would feel like if the dreams ever stopped being dreams; if one day, she opened her eyes and found that the dragon had decided to make the fantasy real.
The thought should have terrified her.
Instead, it made her pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with fear:
Because if the Price family ever discovered what lived inside her head at night and ever learned that the woman they had chosen for their own was secretly dreaming of being claimed, broken, and kept by the very dragon they were still deciding if to consider their greatest threat — there would be no removal.
There would be no quiet correction.
Only ruin awaited her and her family.
And the most horrifying part was that some small, corrupted piece of her was beginning to wonder whether that ruin might be worth it. freēwēbηovel.c૦m
But at the same time she could not help wonder while trying to not slap her face;
’What kind of woman had dreams like this?’
What sort of woman conjured such vivid, elaborate, obscenely erotic fantasies about a man she had collided with exactly once for three fleeting seconds of contact and a muttered apology — whilst she stood mere days from an engagement that had already been bartered away to the Price family like prime livestock for hotels, influence, and the comforting delusion that this constituted opportunity?
’Is my mind that irreparably fractured? Or have I cultivated a genuine, clinical, structurally unsound addiction to Paradise’s most dangerous headache.’
— The one who had bypassed every rational faculty and lodged itself deep beneath her ribs, where logic, duty, and six centuries of Witchbourne propriety could never reach?
In the shadows of those dreams and her quietly unravelling mind, Eleanor Witchbourne had found herself growing more and more obsessed with Phei’s day-day life and with everyone around him — the girls, the crew, the way they moved, the way they laughed and how they orbited him with the specific, heated warmth like women who had been really, genuinely, individually, chosen and claimed in every carnal sense of the word.
And it was quite funny — darkly, painfully, self-destructively funny — because not two weeks ago she had dismissed the entire circus surrounding Phei Ryujin Tiamat as the most absurd indulgence any self-respecting woman could possibly waste breath upon.
’And here I am. Bloody hell.’
What would the Price family think if they knew about her strange addictions?
What on earth would they do to her and her own family — her father, who had sold her future for a handshake and a hospitality empire—
’...oh gods. Oh gods. I must be descending into absolute madness.’
When had she become this? This sinful, treacherous creature who woke each morning with her cunt aching and dripping from visions of the dragon?
Just yesterday she had been unable to sleep after witnessing Phei and his entire group arrive at Infinity Chaos — the staff line, the bows, the reverent Young Master chant, the sheer imperial weight of the reception.
When sleep had finally claimed her, the dreams had escalated into something unforgivable:
She was still a witch of devastating power, but this time she served as his secret secretary for a dragon CEO whose family, in the dream’s absolute conviction; ruled the wealthiest empire the world had never known no one else suspected possible.
In those forbidden hours she knelt beneath his massive desk during board meetings that could topple nations, his thick cock buried to the hilt down her throat while his hand fisted in her hair, using her mouth with casual dominance as he signed contracts that bound empires and then he had fucked her atop the table after the meeting
She had awakened flushed, disoriented, thighs slick with shameful evidence of multiple orgasms she had had in the dreams, and fifteen minutes late for breakfast.
And this morning she had watched what Phei did to Marcus Heavenchild — had watched the Prince of Earth crawl and piss himself on polished marble while the boy responsible simply returned to his coffee without raising his voice.
That kind of power and influence without touching the victim... it was the same as those he had in her dream, his draconic influence that he had once used to make the entire realm fall to their knees gasping for air when their Primordial Emperor kidnapped her sister!
She had seen the same happen today and that made her wonder...
’What fresh depravities awaits me tonight?’
Would the dragon bend her over his throne this time, fucking her raw in front of his court, while she screamed his name in ecstasy the way he usually does to her? Would he fill her womb until it overflowed too like usual while she begs for more like the desperate little whore she had become in the dark embrace of her room?
’I am actually looking forward to that?’
She paused on that thought. Held it up as examined it with the horrified fascination like she was watching herself stride toward a cliff and realizing, with genuine alarm, that she was accelerating.
Was she — had she secretly begun craving these dreams? Had the addiction evolved from affliction into preference?
She had.
Gods help her, she absolutely had; Eleanor Witchbourne, future Price bride, vassal-in-waiting, dutiful daughter, obedient woman — was utterly hooked on a man she had only touched once, dreaming nightly of being used, ruined, and filled by him in every forbidden way imaginable, and had started curating the circumstances of her waking life to feed better, filthier material into the dreams that followed.
That was not infatuation or crush; it was dependency, and she could feel it settling into her bones — and deeper, into her dripping, traitorous cunt — with the warm, treacherous comfort of something that had no intention of ever leaving.
Unable to contain her curiosity a moment longer — unable to sit in the silence of her own unraveling while the answer to at least one of her questions sat right across from her — Eleanor leaned forward:
"Abigail."
The name escaped before she could reconsider it.
"Those girls. Who are they? What are they doing?"
She knew, of course. She had conducted thorough, meticulous, her won Witchbourne-grade research as she called it, when she was still pretending she wasn’t obsessed.
She knew every one of their names, every family, every connection... and far more besides; she had seen them in her dreams — sinful, depraved, utterly forbidden visions where she joined them:
A threesome with Sierra, the Ice Queen’s cool fingers and sharper tongue exploring her body while Phei watched with those amethyst eyes before taking them both, turning their elegant composure into gasping, dripping messes beneath him. A foursome and orgies with Maddie, Delilah, and the others, bodies tangled and slick, tongues and fingers and Phei’s thick cock claiming every hole as they worshipped him together, their moans blending into one shameless symphony of surrender.
She had woken from those dreams with her fingers buried inside herself, riding the aftershocks and hating how right it felt.
’But Abigail would know more about them in real-life, wouldn’t she?’
Abigail always knew more and Eleanor needed more illumination — needed someone, anyone, to cast light on the shape of what was happening twenty feet away, because confusion was a sensation she had not, until very recently, been permitted to feel.
And because some depraved corner of her soul hungered for every scrap of knowledge about the dragon who haunted her nights and left her soaked and aching each morning.
Abigail raised her eyebrows;
It was a small movement like a micro-expression that on Abigail Price’s face carried the seismic weight of a lesser woman’s gasp.
Because in all their exchanges — every meeting, every arrangement and the carefully choreographed interaction between the woman who owned the future and the woman who had been sold into it — Eleanor Witchbourne had only ever nodded, or accepted, or murmured yes and I understand with the clipped, hollowed-out compliance like a vassal who received instructions and absorbed terms and never once presumed to initiate.
And yet here she was, leaning forward asking something...
...And not about the arrangement or the timeline or the engagement or the ring fitting or any of the machinery that was slowly, inexorably, grinding her into a Price.
She was asking about the girls:
’About Phei’s girls?’
Two women. Two strange addictions: One craved the silence of irrelevance; the other craved a dragon she had no right to crave.
And now the second addiction had just, for the first time, opened its mouth.
’Curious,’ Abigail thought. ’Curious indeed.’
