“Oh god?—”
“That’s it. Let go. Now, baby. Come for me. I’m right here.”
The orgasm rips through me like a wave, stealing my breath, curling my toes. My thighs clamp down as I ride the aftershocks, the vibrator forgotten as it slips from my hand.
Sam’s voice comes back, rough and reverent.
“You always sound so fucking perfect when you fall apart.”
My chest heaves. For once, my mind is blank. Quiet.
He adds softly, “You still with me, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Barely.” For a second, I forget everything. The money, his words, the pain he has caused, and that is what scares me the most.
As I start to doze off, chasing that blissful sleep I need, I know I need to set things straight.
“This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
Sam doesn’t hesitate when he answers, “I know, and I will keep loving you through it all.”
A beat of silence occurs before I answer, “You hurt me so bad.”
“I know,” he says again, this time quieter. “I’m not goinganywhere though, baby. Even if this is all I get, a voice in the dark.”
“You don’t get to be the thing that breaks me and the thing that fixes me.”
Sam inhales sharply. “Of course, you never needed anyone to fix you, just someone there. I promise, I will be.”
With the exhaustion kicking in, I let myself lean into this moment. “Don’t hang up yet.”
“I won’t. I’ll be right here, always. You rest.”
And for the first time in weeks, I do.
I wakeup with a smile on my face and warmth between my legs. And then the shame hits. Hard.
What the hell did I do?
I groan, covering my face with a pillow. I had phone sex with my estranged husband last night. Like it was nothing. Like he didn’t blow up our life. Like he didn’t drain our savings behind my back. Like he didn’t make me feel replaceable.
I throw back the sheets and drag myself out of bed, already kicking myself for calling him in the first place. I head into the small shower and crank it as hot as I can stand, hoping the heat will burn away my self-hatred. It doesn’t.
I go to open my front door to enjoy my first morning at the cabin when I stop short in front of a coffee and a bagel. Still warm.
My favorite combo from the shop across town I never splurge on. And a note in his annoyingly familiar handwriting:
Thank you for calling me last night. Best call of my life.
Oh hell no. Does he think we’re just fine now? Likeorgasms are apology letters? Like he can just drop a mocha and a blueberry everything bagel on the porch, and I’ll fall into his arms?
Then again, my body is my choice. If I need a release and choose to use my husband for that, so what?
I need backup. I grab my phone and open our group chat.
So… I may or may not have had phone sex with Sam last night. And this morning … bagels and coffee. Like a fucking thank-you basket.
Phi
