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The bed creaks. Her zipper hisses. God, all I can think about is how she must look, on her back with her hair splayed across the pillow, knees cocked and feet arched as she undoes her pants.

“Now what?” Her voice is breathy, like she’s teasing me.

“Put your fingers in your panties, baby.”

She hums and then moans. “I’m wet.”

“You’re wet already?”

She hums again. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. The way you put your tongue in my pussy when you eat me out.”

Fuck. Me.

“Take your shorts and panties off now,” I order. “Spread your legs for me.”

Her clothing rustles.

“Put the phone down by your pussy.”

“Down by…”

“Do it, please.”

My voice cracks slightly. I’m palming my cock with the ceiling swirling overhead, all the blood in my body at my groin. The phone is moved between her thighs, I hear it in the distance of her voice when she speaks again.

“Now what?” she whispers.

“Fuck that pussy with your fingers. I want to hear how wet you are for me,” I grit out.

She does, and God, she is soaked.

“Grind your clit on the heel of your hand,” I manage.

Up until right now, I knew I missed her, but I didn’t know how much my body needed to feel hers again. I don’t want to come before she does, but I’m not sure it’s plausible. It takes everything I have to pry my hand off my dick. Taking a breath, I let it slip out and try to think of anything but her fingers sliding in and out of her tight pussy.

“Oh,” she whispers.

“Keep touching yourself, baby,” I breathe out. “Fuck those fingers in your cunt.”

“Oh God,” she says. Then, her tone changes. “Oh…oh…God.”

The last word is a little yelp, then a series of tiny moans barely legible through the wet sounds of her fingers pumping. I’m not touching my dick, but it doesn't matter. It jerks, and heat swells and bursts. Cum spatters across my open pants and my shirt’s hem. Tremors go through my legs, making my thigh twitch. Her fingers slow, then stop. I sink back and let the post-orgasm heat wash over and leave me limp.

“Did you finish?” she asks.

I glance down at the mess. The one she made.

“Yeah,” I say. “Fuck, I miss you, baby.”

She yawns, the bed creaking. I wonder if she’s stretching or rolling to her side.

“I miss you too,” she whispers. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

SABRINA

I think, deep inside, I was afraid he wouldn’t come home. I worried he was a beautiful, perfect dream, that if I looked away, he would disappear. Sitting on the step with a cup of coffee, I wait and watch the sun etch across the sky. Serena is inside. I hear the faint sounds of her playing her guitar and singing in her bedroom.