Chapter 841: Dream of Goddess Mother Again

The bedroom glows.

Not with

moonlight

—that’s still there, silver through the windows—but with something else. Something

golden

and thick as honey, pouring through the air like liquid warmth.

I can smell jasmine. And something sweeter. Cream and honey and fresh bread and every scent that ever meant home to a child who never had one.

Madison’s curled against me, her breathing deep and even, one leg thrown over mine. The sheets feel different. Softer. Like they’ve been woven from something that doesn’t exist in normal reality.

Movement at the edge of my vision.

I turn my head.

She’s

standing

there.

Tall—six and a half feet at least, but the proportions are perfect. Long legs, curved hips, a waist I could span with my hands, breasts full and real in ways that defy explanation.

At first, she is only

silhouette

and glow, an outline carved from the golden air itself.

Then the light finds her more fully and she becomes

impossible.

Her legs rise forever, strong yet impossibly graceful,

thighs

meeting in a

shadowed promise

that makes the breath catch somewhere deep.

Her

hips

flare wide and slow, the kind of curve that speaks of

cradling

entire lineages. Her

waist narrows

to something fragile yet commanding, begging fingers to wrap around it only to discover it cannot be contained.

And her

breasts

—Gods—rise

proud, firm

and

heavy

, the soft undersides catching the golden light in a faint,

wet sheen, nipples

already subtly

peaked

beneath the luminous veil of her skin, as though the mere act of appearing before me has stirred them.

Her skin

glows.

Actually glows, pale as moonlight, luminous as pearl, with veins of liquid gold running beneath the surface. They

sing

—I can hear them, each vein a different note in a harmony that makes my chest ache and sends the first

slow,

heavy

pulse

of heat low in my belly.

Her hair falls in waves past her waist.

White

as fresh snow, moving in currents that have nothing to do with air, each strand catching the golden light and multiplying it, turning the air around her head into a halo

while a few silken strands drift forward, brushing the upper swell of her breasts, sliding across skin that looks soft enough to bruise with a sigh.

But it’s her face that stops me. I know that face. I’ve never seen it before in my life, but I know it. The same way the Friesian knew me.

The same way the mansion recognized me.

Her eyes are mismatched—one deep

purple-white

like distant galaxies, the other burning

gold

like a

sun

choosing to be gentle.

They find me.

Fix on me.

And she smiles

—a slow curve of lips

that parts just enough to show the wet gleam inside, tender and ancient and already knowing every secret my body is only beginning to remember.

"My beloved,"

she whispers, and her voice bypasses my ears entirely, resonating directly in my chest. Warm as summer. Soft as rain. Ancient.

"My beautiful, perfect, impossible boy."

She moves onto the bed with liquid grace.

The mattress doesn’t dip.

She’s here but also not-here, existing in that space between physical and something else yet the warmth that

rolls

from her skin is immediate, intimate, brushing my bare chest like breath.

She reaches for me.

I should pull back. Should question this.

I

lean

into her touch instead.

Her palm

cups

my cheek—warm, solid, real—and the contact sends electricity through every nerve. Not

sexual.

Just... connection. Like a circuit completing —though already that circuit hums downward, waking my cock with a slow, thickening awareness.

"You don’t

remember

me,"

she says softly. No accusation. No pain. Just understanding.

"Of course you don’t. You were so small when I left."

Her thumb

brushes my cheekbone.

Her eyes

glisten.

"But I’ve watched you. Every moment. Every breath. Every heartbeat of your beautiful, impossible life."

She shifts closer. The scent intensifies—honey and cream and summer rain and every good smell that ever brought comfort.

Every scent that meant

safety

—and now threaded through it all, faint at first, then unmistakable: the warm, blooming musk of

feminine arousal,

soft and rich, rising from between her thighs like an invitation older than words.

"I couldn’t stay. The things I

AM—the blood

running through your veins now—it would have consumed you before you were ready. You needed to be human first."

I try to speak. My mouth opens but nothing comes out.

She smiles—sad and proud and filled with so much love it hurts to look at.

"Shh, my darling. Just listen. Just feel."

She guides my head down, cradling it against her chest, and I go without resistance.

Pure instinct

:

This is safe. This is home.

Her breast meets my cheek—i

mpossibly soft, impossibly full.

The skin is fever-warm, satin-smooth.

Her

nipple,

already firm, brushes the corner of my mouth; a single warm drop of something sweet—milk laced with honey—touches my lip. I

taste

it without thinking, and the

flavor blooms

across my tongue like comfort and sin at once.

She

exhales

softly, a sound that is both

maternal sigh and quiet moan.

Her heartbeat

thunders

beneath my ear.

Each pulse feels like the birth of a universe and each one sends a

deeper throb

through me, my cock now fully hard, lying heavy and leaking against my thigh.

"You’re so strong now,"

she murmurs, fingers stroking my hair.

"So beautiful. So powerful. My son. My perfect boy."

Her voice drops into something deeper, velvet and husky, edged with a hunger that has waited lifetimes.

"Do you know what you are, beloved? Why the systems chose you? Why the mansion recognizes you? Why the Friesian waited for you?"

I can’t answer.

Can only listen

while my lips part again against her breast, tongue brushing

the underside in slow reverence, tasting more of that sweet warmth.

"You are the son of the

Goddess of Sacred Union.

A Prince in our world."

Her hand moves from my hair to my face, tilting my head up so I meet those impossible eyes.

"You had no human father. I made you from my very

divine essence.

A beautiful, broken, perfect child who I loved despite knowing what I was going to lose. Who—a child born of divine flesh, blood, essence and my determination."

She pulls me closer.

Her breasts have changed. Heavier now. Fuller.

They

swell visibly

against my cheek, the skin stretching taut and luminous, veins of molten gold pulsing brighter beneath the pearl-pale surface as though her body is answering some ancient call. The weight of them presses warm and insistent, soft yet unyielding, the undersides curving in perfect, heavy arcs that brush my jaw with every slow breath she takes.

The scent hits me—sweet and warm and right, making my mouth water involuntarily. Milk.

****

A/N:

Hi guys, I wanted to tell you, this is another part of the Dream reveal about this dream Peter keeps having. Do not get Ideas, I know what you’re thinking😂😂😂