Page 134 of If Only In Our Dreams

All my wiry, sharp edges. All my freckles, my moles, my frown lines. My protruding ribs, and mistakes I’d made nothing but things that made up the person Ben Montgomery adored.

Because as I lay in Ben Montgomery’s arms, the world no longer felt like a scary place. I wasn’t afraid of being disappointed. Wasn’t scared about what the future might hold. I was full, in more ways than one, and for a man who had lived his entire life starved—that was…

That was pretty fucking awesome.

L.A. was a fever dream. For nearly three days I had Robin all to myself. After his dress rehearsal we were left entirely to our own devices. After fucking Robin for a second time that lovely, wonderful night, I made my way down to the street to find us tacos.

He’d told me where to locate his favorite taco stand, and I’d literally manhandled him back into bed so he wouldn’t follow me.

I wanted him to be sleepy-soft and sated, his hole gaping, his body lax.

Didn’t want him coming down to the street only to be bombarded by well-meaning fans, and less well-meaning paparazzi.

Luckily for me, the same doorman that had been there before was still on shift. He grinned at me, waving and directing me out the right way toward the taco stand. And when I returned thirtyminutes later with my arms full of paper bags full of food, he’d given me the code to head upstairs.

I’d honestly forgotten to ask Robin for it, so I was more than a little grateful—and made a mental note to give him a hefty tip later when I had the hands to reach my wallet.

Robin was asleep by the time I’d finished depositing the takeout on the nightstand beside the bed. Like a dog, his nose twitched, however, and only a few seconds later his eyes drowsily blinked open. He zeroed in on the food, his stomach gurgling, and I laughed.

“Hi,” Robin said, groggy and happy as he wiggled slowly—his ass had to be at least a little sore, despite my preparations—toward the food. “Hi, gorgeous,” he said directly to the food and not me.

“I see how it is,” I laughed, settling onto the mattress and easily manhandling him into a sitting position. Normally I wouldn’t allow eating in the bed. It wasn’t something I tolerated at home—and we were about to sleep here, so I didn’t want to cause a problem in case either of us spilled. However…Robin looked exhausted. And the rest of the house was so fucking cold and unwelcoming that I didn’t want to make him leave his happy little nest.

I figured I’d deal with any crumbs or spills should they happen. Even if it meant I needed to go out again to buy us sheets.

“Oh, you’re here too,” Robin joked, throwing his arms around me and giving me a grateful squeeze. “Did you get me?—”

“I got you a torta,” I hummed, kissing his cheek.

“With extra limes on the side?”

“So many extra limes,” I agreed.

“Ben Montgomery, you are a fucking catch.” Robin smacked a kiss against my chin, before he pushed me away so he could make grabby hands at the tacos.

“Hold still,” I urged, before crossing the room to gather up the blanket that sat on the floor discarded. I figured it could work as a kind of barrier beneath the food. Carefully, I tucked it over his lap, then worked my way through the take-out bag to find his food for him.

Robin made the happiest slurping sound when I handed him his drink, lashes fluttering as he groaned.

Reminded me way too much of the groans he’d made when his slick pink hole had opened for my cock, and for a moment, my movements halted entirely as visions of him taking me—split wide—assaulted my senses.

This was going to be a problem.

I could easily foresee myself losing focus at the randomest times, recalling just how perfectly Robin’s body took my dick. I had more than a few delicious plans to plow that pretty little hole. Plans I was quickly realizing would need to be enacted soon, if I wanted to keep my sanity.

“Ben?” Robin blinked, and I jolted back into action, handing him his torta on a little styrofoam plate as well as the limes he’d requested. “You okay?”

“I’m great,” I grinned, because I was. My stomach growled, and I reached for my own burrito, sinking onto the mattress at Robin’s feet to dive in myself. Normally I was a slow eater. Careful about taking enough bites and chewing properly—but damn, fucking apparently took a lot out of me, because it felt like I blinked and my burrito was gone.

“Here,” Robin said without pausing. His torta bumped against my lips and I took a bite, sighing after I swallowed because it was fuckingdelicious.

“You don’t need to?—”

“Open up, gigantor.” Robin pushed his food against my lips again. I wanted to protest, because this was his food, but…Ifigured if he was offering it to me he wanted me to have it. I took another bite, and Robin made a pleased little sound.

When he tried to feed me a third bite, I ducked away, however, dabbing at my lips with a napkin, my heart thumping unsteadily.

No one had ever fed me before.

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