Page 56 of The Reality of Wanting Him
Blake lets out a broken sob, his entire body clenching around me as he finally shatters, coming hard between us, coating his chest with his release.
The way he squeezes impossibly tighter around my dick has me following him over the edge, spilling inside the condom. I’ve never wanted to fuck someone bare before, but I wish there was nothing between us. I want to fill him with my release, mark him as mine from the inside and then watch my cum drip out of him. Just the thought of that has my cock twitching once more inside of him.
I drop my forehead to his again, still catching my breath before pressing a kiss to his temple. He’s panting beneath me, body still trembling. I brush my fingers through his sweat-soakedblond hair, tracing down the side of his face, watching as his hazel eyes flutter back open. He’s looking at me like I hung the damn moon, and I can only hope that means it was as good for him as it was for me.
“You’re so pretty when you come,” I whisper.
His face goes red and he buries it in my shoulder as he laughs. “Shut up.”
I chuckle, tightening my hold on him as my hand smooths over his neck. “Nope. You’re mine. I’ll call you pretty as much as I want because you are, baby. You really are.”
His breath hitches and I think he’s going to roll away from me, but he just whispers into my skin, “Say it again.”
I want to give Blake everything, so I do just that. I press my lips to his forehead, then his cheek, then finally back to his lips. “You’re so fucking pretty, B,” I rasp against his mouth.
He wraps his arms tighter around me like he can’t stand even an inch of space between us, and as much as I love how he melts for me, I know I melt for him just the same.
The last thing I want is to leave him for even a second, but I want to make sure Blake feels taken care of, so I force myself to slip out of bed and head to the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth.
By the time I get back, I half expect him to be passed out from everything we just did. But instead, he’s watching me with so much affection in his eyes that it knocks the air straight out of my lungs.
I sit beside him, gently wiping him down, taking my time because I like the way his body relaxes under my touch.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice rough.
“I’m perfect.” Blake hums his confirmation. He’s stretched out in my bed and it’s my new favorite visual. I want to take a picture, make it my phone background, get a huge canvas printed and hang it on the wall so that I can always see him just like this.
But he’s staying, I can have the real thing.
I toss the washcloth in the empty laundry basket in the corner of the room and climb under the sheets, pulling him close. His body immediately molds to mine, and I’ll never get used to how right he feels against me. His leg hooks over my hip and his face buries into the crook of my neck. It gives me the perfect positioning to tighten my hold on him and trace lazy circles against his bare skin.
After a moment, he shifts slightly, just enough to tilt his head up so our eyes meet. “I had a really great day with you today,” Blake sighs.
“Me too, baby” I murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’m so glad you got to meet my dad. He loved you just like I knew he would.” I pause for just a moment before forcing the rest of my thoughts out. “I just wish you could have met my mom, too.”
Blake tilts his head up to look at me. “Will you tell me about her?”
I swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat, a familiar ache that never fully fades. Every time I think about her, I feel an overwhelming mix of happiness and grief. “My mom was incredible. She cared so deeply, just like my dad. I know she would have loved you too. She and my dad did everything together, it was so obvious how in love they were. They really set the foundation for how I view relationships.” I smile to myself at memories of them always laughing, smiling for no reason, working together as a team even to do the simplest things.
Blake is quiet for a moment as he moves his fingers to trail around my collarbone. Then, so soft I almost don’t hear it, he says, “I wish I knew what that was like.”
My chest tightens as I pull him even closer, like somehow holding him tighter could make up for everything he’s missed. I wish I could rewrite his past, give him the kind of love he deserved from the very beginning—the kind that doesn’t come with conditions. Not that his parents don’t love him, I’m surethey do in their own way. But it’s obvious from everything he’s told me about them, and from how disappointed he sounded explaining that they didn’t care to be in town to meet me, that their way was never quite enough for Blake. He craves affection, warmth, a love that doesn’t make him wonder if he’s asking for too much. It sounds like the only connection he’s ever gotten that from is his dogs.
I want to give him all of it. I don’t want him to ever question how I feel about him, exactly as he is.
“Keep going,” he encourages. “What was your favorite thing about her?”
I take a breath, sifting through years of memories.How do you pick just one thing about someone you loved so much?But I do have something pretty amazing I haven’t told him about yet.
“She was a planner, and she wasn't about to leave this earth without imparting every ounce of wisdom she possibly could on me. She left a detailed list for my dad of ideas for the farm, things to do with me that she’d wished she could do herself. She even bought me a present to open for all of my birthdays until I turned twenty-one, each accompanied by a card that was full of advice for me for that stage of my life.”
My mind drifts to the bottle of whiskey she gave me for my birthday that year. I still have it, untouched except for the one drink I know she’d wanted to share with me. It felt too important to drink casually, so I’ve been saving it. I want to toast with it on my wedding night, when my future babies join our family, maybe when we accomplish something from her list on the farm. I want to save it for the big moments in life, the ones where I’d want to celebrate with her.
“My twenty-second birthday was probably the hardest, knowing there wouldn’t be any more gifts or cards from her. My dad admitted that she wanted to buy me presents until I was one hundred, but she felt guilty with how much all her treatments were costing.” I sigh at that and Blake notices. He squeezes metighter, placing a kiss on my jaw, not rushing me, just letting me know he’s here, so I keep going.
“I love revisiting her cards. I have all of them, and she’s got some damn good advice. I just wish she could have told me herself instead of having to write it all down, but I’m so lucky to still have my dad and that I had a mom who cared so much to even think to do that in the first place.” I think about all the ways my dad has been there for me over the years, how he never let me feel like I was missing out by only having one living parent.
“My dad has always been one of those men who’s just a natural father,” I tell him. “Like he was meant to raise children, always making it look easy. I’m not sure if they ever wanted more kids, but they always made me feel like I was their whole world. And she was it for him, you know? He’s never dated, never even seemed interested. Their love was the once-in-a-lifetime kind, and that’s what I want.”
