Page 92 of If Only In Our Dreams

For ten glorious, sloppy minutes Ben feasted on my ass. He got his fingers back in at some point. Three this time. Probably part of his “training”. And by the time he was done, his wrist had to have been sore from the way he’d pounded into my oversensitive body.

When he withdrew, I felt cold all over.

I only knew he was done because he gave my hole one last, chaste kiss, and then tugged me down the bed and into his arms. Ben massaged my hands—somehow understanding that I’d been gripping the damn headboard for dear life. He fluttered kisses along my cheekbones again. His lips were cherry red and abused as he told me what a “good boy” I was.

“So good,” he murmured, kissing along my cheek and stroking over my flank. I was shaking. I knew I was. But I couldn’t seem to stop. “Such a good,goodboy.” Ben’s praise made me light up from the inside out.

No one had ever been this sweet to me.

“So pretty, so obedient,” Ben continued, pulling me till I was snuggled into all that warm, sweat-damp muscle. “You’remypretty little songbird, aren’t you?”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about the nickname, since I’d never had one before. But in that moment it was good, good, good. I wasn’t Robin “Trashmouth” Johnson. Wasn’t famous. Wasn’t the kinda guy who dreaded his everyday existence, didn’t know how to talk to people without putting his foot in his mouth, and was tired, tired, tired.

I was Ben’s pretty little songbird.

And I was agood boy.

“Yes,” I managed, voice rough and sugary sweet.

“So pretty,” Ben murmured, stroking over my cheeks, across my eyebrows—which was a little weird but nice—and into my hair. “You’re tired, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Ben hummed as his thumbs curled beneath my eyes, pressing gently at the dark circles.

“Tired,” I agreed, voice cracking.

“I know, baby,” Ben kissed me to reward my honesty. “You work so hard, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah,” my voice cracked again, hot tears burning beneath my lashes.

“You just want to rest,” Ben’s voice was gentle, calm. I leaned into his touch, tears leaking down my cheeks. “You’ve been so strong for so long.”

“Yes,” I agreed, because he got me. He fucking got me the way no one else had.

“You just need someone else to take care of you for a change.” Ben kissed me gently and I cried my agreement against his mouth, a wet little hum that I knew was probably more gross than sexy, but Ben didn’t complain. “That’s okay,” Ben murmured, unfazed by the tears. “That’s okay. I’m here. I’m here now, sweetheart.” He kissed me again. “I’ll take care of everything. So that you can rest.”

The weird thing?

I believed him.

Ben held me till I fell asleep not long after.

I knew he had to get up to take care of the girls so I wasn’t offended when eventually the bed next to me was empty. At one point he’d redressed me, but I’d barely noticed that either as I slid into the warm space he’d left, curled around his pillow, and dreamed.

Dreamed of a world where I was Ben’s songbird forever.

Where he could care for me.

Where I was well and rested, had a family of my own, and the future was bright, bright, bright.

When I woke up later, there were pancakes and coffee awaiting me—just the way I liked it. Ben kissed me good morning, stroked his hands up and down my back, and made me promise to eat both lunch and dinner.

And I let myself love him.

Quietly.

Happily.

Because I knew my time would be up soon, and I thought—just this once—I’d let myself forget what I was.

The bulk of November passed by in a beautiful autumnal blur. I spent any time I wasn’t at work or playing with my daughters with Robin. Coffee dates snuck into the middle of the day between my appointments. Matinees at the theater, playing Christmas movies. Little walks after dark, with each of us holding one of the girl’s hands. We checked out the lights down at the pond, all of us puffing in the chill.

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