Page 89 of Ex Somnis

“Hard pass.” I step out of his range, barely holding back a shudder.

“You will come to your senses before you lose them completely. But while I wait for you to stop being a stubborn girl and come back to where you belong, I may find myself bored.”

I roll my eyes. “And how is that my problem?”

“It’s not. But it might become a problem for your doctor, your writer, or your young friend.”

I point one breadstick finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”

A hand comes around my waist and pulls me back a couple of steps.

I’m already turning to tell Ridge to let go of me, and that I’m in the middle of something here, but it’s not Ridge’s warm hand splayed over my stomach.

It’s Paul’s.

His eyes are wide in a way I’ve never seen on him before, and mine are probably doing the exact same thing.

“I’m in your dreamscape,” he whispers, like he can’t quite believe it.

“You are,” I breathe out.

He loosens his arm but doesn’t fully drop it. Behind me, I hear Lucien make a sound that is not quite a scoff.

“Dr. Bennett, I didn’t think you were capable of dream sharing.”

Paul looks at him over my head, and something in his jaw sets. “Looks like I am when I’m not kept like a pet.”

Kept like a pet?

Then Paul looks beside him, and his whole expression falls as he whispers, “Tessa.”

Tessa gives him a little wave. “Hey, Paul.”

An unreasonably hot spike of jealousy pinches my chest.

“You guys are on a first-name basis?” I ask like an idiot, making Lucien chuckle. My gaze flicks to him, but he only smirks in return.

“Paul’s been sitting by my side every day for six years, talking to me,” Tessa explains, her gaze fixed on her psychologist.

“You heard me?”

“Oh, how touching.” Lucien sounds bored, but I recognize the tension in his shoulders, how his hand finds Tessa’s, and how his fingers close around hers. Possessive and jealous.

Even he isn’t immune.

“Don’t make us wait too long, Lenny.”

The air folds, and they’re gone.

I stare at the empty space for several seconds before crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed. Mr. Muffin has somehow migrated three feet to the left, but I don’t question it.

“Lennon.” Paul’s voice is careful now.

His attention is on me, prickling my skin, and when I don’t answer, he moves. By the time I look up, he’s kneeling in front of me, both hands settling on my knees as he searches my face. When I glance away again, he reaches up and cups the back of my head, gently yet firmly. The exact amount of pressure required to stop me from disappearing into my thoughts.

“Are you okay?” His eyes narrow as he looks me over, as if looking for evidence of injury. “What did he do?”

“Why should he have done something?”