25. Blake
Chapter 25
Blake
I stared at the stack of DCFS paperwork spread across Xander's coffee table, rubbing my temples as the words began to blur together. We'd been at this for three hours, and Amelia had finally settled after a particularly fussy evening.
"I think I'm seeing double," I said, leaning back against the couch cushions.
Xander looked up from the form he was reviewing, his eyes tired but still somehow warm. "We can finish tomorrow. Susan doesn't need these until the next meeting."
"I'd rather just power through." I reached for my coffee mug, now empty for the third time. "If we stop now, I'll just lie awake thinking about it anyway."
He nodded, understanding without needing me to explain further.
That was becoming a pattern with us—this silent communication that shouldn't have felt so natural for two people who'd only known each other for weeks.
Xander stood, stretching his arms above his head.
His t-shirt lifted slightly, revealing a strip of skin above his jeans that I pretended not to notice.
"I'll make more coffee."
As he disappeared into the kitchen, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, listening to the familiar sounds of him moving around. The clink of mugs, the soft hiss of the coffee maker, the quiet curse when he inevitably bumped into that one cabinet door he always forgot stuck out too far.
These domestic rhythms had become the soundtrack to my life, and I wasn't sure when I'd started finding comfort in them.
When he returned, he handed me a fresh mug, our fingers brushing. The simple contact sent a current of awareness through me that I'd been trying to ignore since the day I moved in.
"Thanks," I murmured, taking a sip to hide whatever expression might be giving me away.
Xander settled beside me, closer than before, his thigh almost touching mine. "I think we're overthinking some of these questions," he said, picking up a form. "We don't need to have every detail of Amelia's future mapped out. We just need to show that we're stable and committed to her care."
"Stable and committed," I repeated, the words catching in my throat. "That's us, right? Just two people pretending to be engaged so they can raise a baby together?"
He looked at me then, really looked at me, in that way that made me feel like he could see every thought I'd ever tried to hide. "Is that all it is, Blake? Pretending?"
My heart hammered against my ribs. "I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do."
The air between us shifted, charged with something I wasn't ready to name. I set my mug down carefully, aware of how my hands wanted to tremble.
"Xander, we agreed this arrangement was about giving Amelia stability. About creating a family for her that wouldn't fall apart."
"And we're doing that," he said softly. "But I didn't expect..." He trailed off, running a hand through his hair in that way he did when he was struggling to find words.
"Didn't expect what?"
"I didn't expect to feel like this isn't an arrangement at all." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "I didn't expect to wake up every morning wanting to see your face. I didn't expect to count the hours until I get home from the clinic, just to hear you tell me about your day."
I swallowed hard, my defenses wavering. "Xander—"
"No, let me finish." He shifted to face me fully. "I know this started as a solution to a problem. I know we both have our reasons to be cautious. But Blake, I'm not pretending anymore. Not when I look at you. Not when I think about our future."
My chest tightened, hope and fear warring inside me. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I don't want to go to bed tonight and lie awake wondering if we're still just playing house. I'm saying I want this—us—to be real."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. His words hung between us, an offering I was terrified to accept.
"What if it doesn't work?" I whispered. "What if we try and it falls apart and Amelia—"
"What if it does work?" he countered, his eyes never leaving mine. "What if we stop being so damn afraid of what could go wrong and just let ourselves have this?"
He was so close now, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath, see the flecks of gold in his eyes I'd never noticed before.
And then Xander's mouth was on mine, when his fingertips crazed just beneath the hem of my T-shirt like he'd been waiting his whole life just to touch me. It didn't feel like pretending anymore.
It felt like coming home.
His kiss wasn't rushed. It was slow and deliberate, lips brushing, teasing, deepening with every exhale. He kissed me like he had nowhere else to be. Like I wasn't someone he was pretending to love—but someone he already did.
His fingers skimmed the side of my thigh, then the dip of my waist. I melted under his touch, the last of my defenses crumbling as he drew me closer, one hand threading into my hair. His other hand settled over my hip, grounding me, anchoring me to this moment and nothing else.
"Tell me if you want to stop," he murmured against my lips.
I didn't even hesitate. "I don't."
I tugged at the hem of his shirt, needing to feel his skin, to know if he tasted as warm and steady as he looked. He let me pull it over his head, and I took a moment—just a moment—to drink him in. His chest rose and fell with unsteady breath, and he looked at me like I was something fragile and sacred all at once. Like I wasn't a mess of past mistakes and panic and fear, but someone worth holding.
Worth wanting.
He kissed down my neck, slow and reverent, like he had all the time in the world to learn me. And I let him. I let him kiss the line of my collarbone, the hollow of my throat, the curve of my shoulder. I let him slide my shirt up and over my head. Let him see all the pieces I usually tried to hide.
Xander gently pushed down the old sweats I was wearing, dropping them to the floor beside my discarded shirt. I didn't feel exposed. I didn't feel on display. As he reverently ran his fingers across my skin, I felt almost... worshipped.
His eyes didn't leave mine as he cupped my breast, thumb brushing across the lace-covered nipple with gentle reverence. I gasped, heat coiling low in my belly, and he leaned in, kissing me again like he'd never get enough.
"Blake," he whispered like a prayer. "You're so beautiful."
I didn't believe it. Not really. But for the first time in a long time, I wanted to.
I pulled him down with me onto the couch, the blanket slipping beneath us. His body pressed into mine, warm and solid.
Every touch was patient, every movement asking and not taking. When his mouth moved lower, tasting the soft skin of my stomach, I arched into him, fingers fisting in his hair as he settled between my thighs. His hands wrapped around my legs as he kissed the inside of one thigh and then the other. I was practically vibrating with anticipation, standing on a knife's edge of desire that made me forget everything but the way he groaned my name when I trembled beneath his mouth.
Then his fingers hooked into the lace of my underwear, his knuckles dragging over my wet core as he pulled them aside.
My breath caught at the first touch of his tongue against my core—
And then the world exploded.
I was lost to it. Every nerve alive and electric, every fear and doubt silenced by the sheer force of what he was doing to me. I couldn't hold back the moan that escaped my lips, and I didn't care. Not when he devoured me like I was his whole damn world.
His fingers joined his mouth, my breath catching as he pushed them into me. Before my mind could catch up, they were moving inside me with a rhythm that was both maddening and perfect. I felt myself unraveling, coming apart in a way that didn't feel like breaking—but instead of finally finding the missing pieces.
My body shuddered, and I let go, falling into the abyss of everything I never let myself want.
His lips stayed at my core, his fingers slowly stroking inside me as I rode the release. Then he laid a gentle kiss against my clit, a delicate swipe of his tongue following like he wasn't ready to stop.
It wasn't rushed.
It wasn't careless.
It was worship.
And when he rose up again, kissing me with that same unhurried tenderness, I reached for his waistband and nodded in question—asking his permission, asking for more.
He groaned low in his throat, forehead resting against mine for a beat as he breathed me in.
"Are you sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
Together we pushed down his jeans and boxers in one move.
He was hard and ready, and I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, bewitched by the hitch of his breath as I did. I couldn't believe I'd been stupid enough to think this could be temporary. That I could pretend it was only for show.
He cursed softly, reaching back down for his discarding jeans and quickly pulling a condom from his wallet. I watched in fascination as he carefully rolled it down his length, licking my lips in anticipation of what was to come.
Xander settled between my legs, his cock pressing against me with a need that made me gasp. I rocked my hips up to meet him, and he held me steady as he slowly—so slowly—pushed inside.
Oh God.
It was too much.
It was everything.
I wrapped my legs around him, holding him closer, feeling every inch of him as he filled me completely. He buried his face in my neck, breathing hard, and it was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.
"Blake," he whispered. "You feel so—"
His voice broke, and he pulled back to kiss me again, his mouth capturing mine as he started to move.
It was like nothing I'd ever felt before. Like everything I'd ever wanted but had been too afraid to ask for.
God, he moved like he already knew every part of me. Like this wasn't the first time we'd come together.
Every roll of his hips was slow and deep. My fingers curled against his back, my mouth finding his jaw, his neck, his lips. We moved together like we were trying to say all the things we'd been too scared to speak.
His hands framed my face like he didn't want to miss a single flicker of emotion. And I didn't want to look away. Not even for a second. Because when Xander looked at me like that, I didn't feel broken. I didn't feel like a charity case. I felt like someone who could be loved.
His thrusts grew deeper, more desperate, our breaths catching between kisses. My body tightened, pleasure building and cresting with a heat that stole the breath from my lungs.
"Xander—" I gasped, and his name on my lips was the final tether snapping loose.
He followed me over the edge with a groan, burying his face in my neck, every inch of him pressed tight to mine.
For a long, quiet moment, we just breathed.
We didn't speak.
We didn't need to.
Eventually, he tucked us under the blanket that had somehow ended up in a pile on the floor. His hand found mine, fingers interlacing like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And I let him hold it.
I let myself breathe him in and just feel it.
But somewhere in the quiet, as his breathing slowed and the room stilled, the weight of it settled on me.
He'd been gentle. Tender. Present in a way I hadn't let anyone be in years. He saw me. He wanted me—not in spite of the mess, but maybe even because of it.
So why the hell was I still trying to convince myself this didn't mean anything?
Why was I fighting so hard to keep someone like Xander Farrington at arm's length, when all I wanted right now was to fall asleep with his hand in mine and wake up to the sound of his laugh?
Why was I so scared of letting myself believe that this—he—could be real?
As if he could hear every thought crashing around inside me, Xander leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to my forehead.
"You're breathtaking, Blake. Everything about you is more than a man like me deserves." His fingers reverently traced down my side as he spoke, and I found myself leaning into his touch, desperate for every second.
I huffed out a quiet breath, but didn't argue.
He made me believe, even when I didn't want to.
A sudden cry from the baby monitor broke the perfect stillness between us. We both froze, waiting to see if Amelia would settle herself. When a second, more insistent wail followed, Xander dropped his forehead to mine with a rueful smile.
"Seems like someone needs our attention," he said, pressing a quick kiss to my lips before standing and pulling on his boxers.
I watched him, this man who was becoming something I couldn't define, as he walked toward Amelia's room. The sound of his gentle voice carrying through the monitor as he soothed her made something in my chest twist.
"Hey, little bug, you're okay," he murmured to her. "You're okay."
I slipped into his discarded t-shirt and padded down the hallway to join them. In the soft glow of the nightlight, Xander stood rocking Amelia gently, his bare chest against her tiny body as she settled against him. He looked up when I entered, and something unspoken passed between us.
"She just needed a little reassurance," he said quietly.
As I approached, Amelia's eyes found mine, and she gave a sleepy gurgle that somehow felt like approval. The three of us stood there in a strange tableau—not quite the family we were pretending to be, but something more than the arrangement we'd claimed.
When Amelia finally drifted back to sleep, we returned to the living room, where the DCFS paperwork still lay scattered across the coffee table. Reality rushed back in, and I could feel both of us struggling with what had just happened between us.
Xander ran a hand through his hair. "Blake, about what just happened—"
"Let's not overthink it," I said quickly, surprising myself. "We're adults. We're attracted to each other. It doesn't have to complicate things." Even as the words slipped through my lips I recognised them for the fear they were, and I hated the sound of every single one.
He studied me for a long moment. "Is that what you want? To not complicate things?"
I wasn't sure what I wanted anymore. "I think we have enough to figure out with the DCFS visit. Maybe we just... take this one day at a time? And that’s not me saying I don’t want to try. I do, I want to see where this is going. I just need it to be slow."
He nodded, smiling softly. "One day at a time sounds reasonable."
Xander reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek in a way that made my heart stutter. "But just so we're clear, I don't regret any of it."
"Neither do I," I admitted softly.
“And I meant every word I said. But if you need more time to think it through, then I can give you all the time you need. Just know that you’re important to me Blake and I’m not done trying to prove to you that we could have something special together.”
“I don’t need time as in space. I want to try this with you. I want… I want you. I just need to figure out how that works.”
“I want you too,” he whispered. “I was a fool to ever think that I didn’t.”
When he kissed me again, it was different than before—less desperate, more deliberate. Like a promise neither of us was ready to voice.
We didn't talk about what it meant. We didn't try to define our arrangement. But as we organised the paperwork without discussion, I knew something fundamental had shifted between us.
And I wasn't sure I could ever go back to just pretending. There was so much to lose if this went wrong, but maybe that was a normal part of life, and what kind of life would I have if I didn’t take the beautiful risks that came along with actually living it?