If Only In Our Dreams (Christmas Daddies, #3)

by Fae Quin

I tried not to stare, I really did. But he was impossible not to stare at.

a way, he reminded me of a sculpture I’d seen at a gallery in New York. Immortalized in glass, a crushed flower petal had sat on display for the world to ogle. It had been delicate once. Before its destruction had been celebrated. Perfect from a distance, in the way only the truly manufactured can be, but when you moved in close, its history became evident. When he was asleep, he was vulnerable. Walls down, armor gone. Like he was an entirely different person than the man who had sat stiffly beside me, his head down, like he was afraid of being seen. Like the glass had melted away, and the petal was bare once again, bruised edges on display.

I mean…I knew why he was here. He’d just explained his thought process. And his need for my expertise. But it felt, in a way, like I’d accidentally adopted him. Like he was a duckling that had imprinted, and was finding any excuse to come see me.

Praise kink. He might have a praise kink. My head spun. Stop thinking about his kinks, Ben, and feed him. He looks hungry.

“Why don’t we watch, hmm?” Paxton hummed, surprisingly gentle as he grabbed Rosie too and hoisted both girls onto his shoulders. “Your daddy’s made his first friend.” “Oh, fuck off,” Ben muttered. “You owe me monies,” Rosie clapped back immediately. Ben laughed.

At this age, they had such big feelings, so big they couldn’t figure out how to regulate them most of the time. I tried to help as much as I could, but there were times when feelings just needed to be…felt.

“Did I help?” My heart cracked right open then. Right down the middle. I nearly kissed him. Nearly grabbed his sweet pink cheeks and tasted those lovely, chapped lips. “You did,” I promised, huskily. “You did so well, Robin. Thank you.” He lit up. Praise kink. Definitely a praise kink. And then, because I couldn’t help myself, and my mouth apparently had a mind of its own I added, “You’re such a good boy.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Robin joked—though even I could tell it was strained. “He’s not your daddy,” Rosie countered, annoyed. “He’s mine.”

then turned up the music again so the girls could unknowingly boost my little bird’s ego.

“Bet you get sexy a lot,” I blurted like an idiot. “Hot.” That was worse somehow. “Gorgeous?” “Says the man with eyes like sea glass and hair like snow.” “I see you, writer man,” I joked. “You and your…metaphors.” “Simile,” Ben corrected. “Gesundheit.” “Oh my god.”

“You’re gorgeous,” he told me like it was a fact. “You have to know that.” “I do?” “Yes,” Ben’s eyes danced. “Now do as you’re told.”

Robin felt…well… He felt different. He was my exception.

Trusting people…choosing to believe in the good isn’t weakness.”

Instead, I kissed his forehead.

I don’t think he’d ever gotten a chance to be anything other than brave. He was a fighter, I knew that. But I didn’t think he liked fighting.

Ben made me feel the way no one ever had before. When I was with him, I fit. Like we were puzzle pieces. Or harmonies. Two shapes, two notes, same tune.

Ben Montgomery was warm dinners, late nights, and laughter. He was solid, and sure, and dependable. He was the sun rising every morning, and the moon at night. He was caring and predictable in the way only truly good people were.

I was Ben’s pretty little songbird. And I was a good boy.

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.

He was as stubborn as a thorn, and I knew one day if he left, I’d feel that ache forever. Like Mama had said though, some things were worth the inevitable pain. And if there was one thing I was coming to recognize about Robin Johnson, it was the fact that knowing him—for however long I would be blessed to know him—would be worth every resulting heartache. Maybe that was love. Accepting that one day you might lose the person that made your heart full, but choosing them anyway. The deeper I sank, the harder it would be to heal, but I was at peace with that.

He was… He was the kind of man that inspired sonnets and love songs. Which was fitting, considering what he did for a living. I found myself shifting, my world brighter than ever before, my smiles more freely given.

if my secrets are the price I need to pay to keep you, then I will gladly give them away.”

the look of wonder on Robin’s face was worth any overstimulation I was about to experience.

“It’s hard to pick something for myself,” Robin admitted, instead of beating around the bush. “Will you…pick something for me?” “Only if you pick something for me,” I countered, heart thumping.

No one had ever looked at me like that. His eyes said, I adore you. They said, I adore you. They said, I adore you, I adore you, I adore you.

He was structure, safety, and warmth.

“You’re my good boy, aren’t you, Robin?” “Fuck,” I whimpered. “Say it,” Ben’s breath was hot against the shell of my ear. “Tell me what you are.” “I’m your good boy.” My voice broke, thready and soft. “And you’re beautiful, aren’t you?” “I’m beautiful.” I ached and ached and ached. Ben had so much power over me then, because of my unspoken feelings for him. Because of the way he was cradling me. Because of the pleasure he held, just out of reach. And yet…he was using that power to heal me, rather than hurt me. And I loved him, I loved him, I loved him.

Ben wasn’t the kinda guy to think spit was a substitute for real lube. But he was also dirty as fuck, and ridiculously hot. So the fact that posh, hot Doctor Mc Ben Ben was rubbing his spit inside my hole was just—Jesus fucking Christ. It was filthier because it was him doing it. Because I’d never expected him to do, or be anything like this. I guess maybe I should’ve—considering what kind of books he wrote. But…still. I’d never been more happy to be surprised in all my life.

But he was Ben, so our first time had to be perfectly planned to his satisfaction. A fact that was overwhelmingly endearing, but frustrating all the same.

“Can’t Robin’s home be with us?” Jane asked, quiet and pure. “We love him,” Rosie told me matter-of-factly. “He can have my bed if you don’t want to share yours anymore.”

He was the click of a metronome. He was C major. He was lilting notes and revelation. He made my world quiver and shake, like the last tremulous notes of a love song. He was peace and longing, and happiness, all rolled into one tall, serious, but kind man.

“When I’m in control, you’re safe.”

“When I’m in control, you’re spoiled and stuffed full—”

“You’re happy.”

Ben—because beneath all that sadistic deliciousness, he was a giant teddy bear—immediately complied.

I felt precious then. I felt good. But even more than that…I felt loved. 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.

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.

I was running in the wrong direction.

I had a new dream and he was tall as a mountain, smelled like sandalwood and blossom, and had frankly magical fucking biceps.

I loved Ben more than I’d ever loved the lights, and the stage, and the music. I loved our quiet, peaceful moments. Loved being a source of strength for the twins. Loved feeling like I had someone to count on. Loved being someone Ben could lean on when the weight on his broad shoulders grew heavy.

I breathed—and as easily as it had filled me, all those years ago, the poison in my lungs melted away. And I knew without a shred of doubt in my mind where I wanted to lay my weary head to rest.

I’d be his songbird, and no one else’s. And maybe one day I’d learn to love music again.

He tasted like home. Like new dreams. Like peppermint gum. Like Christmases, the way they should be. Like trust, warmth, and solid foundations.

“Was it worth it?” I asked, because I needed to know. “Was waiting…for me worth it?”

“I have one more question,” I hummed, our lips brushing, my heart in my throat. “Hmm?” Ben waited, sleepy-sweet. “Did I scare you, Ben?” My heart stuttered. “When I left?” Ben laughed, a quiet, sweet little sound. He pressed another kiss to my lips, and instead of answering my question, gave me the last piece of the puzzle I needed before I could rest. “Beckett gets to go home,” Ben replied, voice husky and gentle. “And he’s sickeningly, deliriously happy.” “He is?” “He is,” Ben hummed, kissing me again, and then again—just because he wanted to. “He gets married.” My eyes burned. “He does?” “He gets to be with his brothers.” “Y-yeah?” “He heals,” Ben’s voice was a quiet, soothing rumble. “He gets his happy ending,” I echoed, kissing him back as my heart stuttered, one last, lovely time. “He does,” Ben agreed—a promise.