But I want to know if she uses it on her clit, or if it’s for internal use. If she sticks it up her?—
Stop it, you dumbass.
It’s fucking hot under this quilt.
“Davis?” Sloane whispers.
I almost jump out of my skin. “Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
Shit.
I’m breathing hard. “Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
Not. At. All.
I roll onto my side and look at her in the dim light still coming in from the kitchen. She’s shadows and curves, rolled onto her side so she’s looking back at me.
And I give her an excuse for why I won’t be sleeping tonight. “Been over a decade since I had anyone else in my bed.”
The silence is exactly what I expect.
What’s anyone supposed to say to that?
I’d wonder if she’s wondering if I mean that’s how long it’s been since I’ve had sex with anyone either, but I doubt she’s thinking about the state of my dick.
“Two years for me,” she whispers. “If you don’t count Peggy.”
Fuck.
Now I’m wondering if she means two years sinceshe’shad sex.
Given what I saw in her bedroom—probably.
“Do you…miss…having someone else in your bed?”
I swallow hard.
My cock gets harder.
“No,” I lie.
It’s not a full lie.
There’s only a handful of days in any given year when I’m lonely. When I stare at the ceiling, unable to mind-over-body myself to sleep, wishing there was someone to talk to.
Someone to touch.
Someone to kiss.
Usually happens around the holidays, when I’m more likely to hang out with my friends and family. Noticeably when spring training hits for the Fireballs and we all get together at their training facility in Florida because why wouldn’t we?
We get together when they make it all the way in the playoffs too.
Any excuse for some of our old favorite things to bring us back together.
