It's the year 2017. A young woman blinks awake in the middle of the night to find that she isn't in her room. Then she realizes she's in the middle of Victorian London. Lord Theodore Angus is eccentric, powerful, and irrationally possessive. So when she appears in the middle of his estate, it's only natural that he thinks of her as his property. "That does not mean I belong to you!" "Yes. Yes, it does." ~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~ "What am I doing in London?" I thought out loud. I closed my eyes and summoned air back into my lungs. It was suddenly hard to breathe. He was in front of me in seconds, furrow of concern on his forehead. "You've gone very pale," he took my elbow and eased me down onto the bed. "I apologize for worrying you." I stared at him and drew in a breath. The tip of my tongue wetted my lips as I took in the sight of the man in front of me and wondered what I had done to deserve this. "I'm all alone," I choked, tears finding its way down the sides of my face. He brushed his knuckles tenderly along my cheekbone, his warm fingers wiping away my tears. "That's not true," he said, hair falling into his eyes as he leaned down to look at me. I closed my eyes and tried to think of anything other than how soft his lips would feel on mine. "Cora, open your eyes," he said. His breath tickled my skin. I opened my eyes. "Good. Now breathe," he urged, hand rubbing my cheek slowly. His left hand was on my knee, warm and heavy. He leaned down and his lips touched mine. The realization that I was letting a complete stranger from god-knows-what century kiss me made me whimper, a desperate unbound noise that I've never heard myself make before. Nothing mattered except for what an incredible kisser he was. His breath smelled like cinnamon. I was vaguely frightened and more than a little bit lost, but his lips were warm, comforting, and tender against mine. I leaned into the kiss, shuddering as I felt his tongue dance across my lower lip. I reached up and curled my fingers into his hair and was pleasantly surprised by how soft the strands felt under my fingertips. I melted into his touch easily. If this was just a dream, I wanted it to last forever. His fingers around the back of my neck and he pushed me to him tightly. His body was warm against mine, fingers trailing down my back to bring me to his hard chest. It didn't matter where we were, or who we were. This was perfect.
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The Interpretation of Dreams is a book by Sigmund Freud. The first edition was first published in German in November 1899 as Die Traumdeutung (though post-dated as 1900 by the publisher). The publi...
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