21. Blake
Blake
“B,” he moans as he laces his fingers into my hair. “Fuck, baby. Your mouth feels incredible.”
The view from my knees looking up at Luke’s toned body, arms covered in intricate ink, is making my core ache. I feel the heat building between my legs as I take him deeper into my throat, hollowing out my cheeks and sucking in slightly.
He curls his fingers, dancing them across the back of my head as his grip tightens and he holds on as he fucks my face with rapid thrusts. He pulls out just enough for me to catch my breath as tears trail down my cheeks. With one hand I wipe them away, and I look up to meet his whisky gaze.
But when I wipe my eyes a second time, he disappears. My sight is blurred by the sun shining through the curtains in my room, and it slams me into reality.
“Fuck, I have to stop dreaming about him like that,” I scold myself as I drag my ass out of bed.
I wander over to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, trying to cool off.
I’m not sure what Luke actually looks like naked, I’m not even sure how far up his arms the ink decorating them travels, but if the real life view is even half of what my imagination conjures up in my sleep, he is one blessed man.
A few cold splashes on my face have done nothing to calm the wake of desire forging inside me after that dream, but food is number one on my list before I retreat to the shower to wash away the sweat formed by the heat of my imaginary rendezvous.
I walk over to the fridge and pull out a jar of overnight oats and pour a glass of iced coffee I’ve had brewing in the fridge.
I watch the cream swirl around mixing with the coffee, making intricate designs as the two colors become one. They mix with the same deliberate intensity Luke and I did in my dream.
“Damn it, Blake,” I scold myself for the second time since I woke up.
Silence is a clear enemy this morning, I clearly can’t be trusted in the company of my own thoughts, sneaky little suckers.
I hit play on my playlist and dance around the kitchen in my t-shirt and socks singing at the top of my lungs as I casually take bites of my overnight oats.
When paired with iced coffee, it makes the perfect breakfast for a wandering soul like me who can’t be bothered with little things like quickly eating breakfast or drinking a cup of coffee before they go cold.
It’s better when they start cold, and stay that way.
After about an hour of dancing around and exercising my toddler-like eating tendencies, I decided to hop in the shower and get ready for the day.
I don’t get many days off work but when I do, having no agenda is the best agenda.
The best part of not having an agenda is allowing myself one more day before I wash my hair. It might possibly be one of my least favorite things to do, so after I’m dressed, I throw on a baseball hat and head out the door.
With nowhere to go, I’ve got nothing but time. There is a beautiful park not too far from my apartment with walking trails that lay beneath a canopy of maple trees, and the best part is the cutest little shopping district is right on the other side.
As I walk down the path, I can’t help but admire the serenity of the scene before me.
The park is full today, with families out on morning strolls, various spontaneous games taking place in the field, and dogs sniffing everything they pass.
I love the bustle, especially when it’s punctuated by the melody echoing in my earbuds.
About 3 songs into my playlist, I reach the shops and stop to look around, deciding where I will indulge in my guilty pleasure first, aimlessly shopping for things I don’t need.
Oh, that’s the perfect place, I think to myself as I walk towards my favorite thrift store.
There is absolutely nothing better than a thrift store, or a good garage sale, for that matter.
I love breathing new life into a forgotten treasure.
Repurposing old items and making them into something spectacular.
I walk through the front door and breathe in the familiar mustiness of old fabrics, paper, and worn leather mingling with traces of past perfumes and colognes lingering on the secondhand clothing. It’s a scent that tells a thousand untold stories, inviting me to uncover all the new-to-me treasures.
I head straight for the book section, hoping I can find a beautiful romance with a majestic man with long locks dancing in the wind to add to my collection.
I’m lost in the sights of my one true love when a large arm reaches around me and grabs a book off of the shelf right in front of me.
I raise my brow, irritation crossing my face. “Excuse you.”
“You really get lost in the pages, don’t you, B?”