Page 14 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

This middle of the night ache doesn’t come from desire, or grief, or from falling apart. This one cries for comfort in the dark.

An ache belonging to a girl

who never got held right.

An ache that startles her awake, and begs to be rocked back to sleep.

A midnight orgasm⁠—

the bedtime story my body still believes, and the closest thing I have to tucking myself in.

Andrew’s sleeping on his stomach. His naked body drapes across me like a heated blanket—either protecting me from the world, or making damn sure I don’t slip out while he’s dreaming.

His chest is on mine,

leg snug between my legs,

face buried in my neck.

And I’m on my back, clinging to his spine like a little girl who never figured out how to stop missing her parents.

His breath drags hot against my throat, sweet with sleep. His chest rises in sync with me.

My hand moves slow, first wetting my fingers in my mouth, then slipping them between my thighs, straight to the throb, fingertip to clit, and a shredded moan spills out of me.

My hips lift into my hand,

chasing the⁠—

Andrew stirs.

My finger freezes.

I count the seconds,

wait him out.

At first I think he’s still asleep, until his hand travels lower, and his mouth brushes the shell of my ear.

“Keep goin’,” he rasps,

sleep thick in his throat.

One of my thighs is locked between his. He grabs the other, bending my knee, and dropping it open.

His palm slides hot down my inner thigh ‘til I’m fully spread, nowhere to hide, and his mouth slides back to my ear, breath fanning my cheek and hazing my thoughts.

“C’mere,” he murmurs. “Right here.” In the dark, his eyes are hungry and sleep-drunk.

So I keep going, circling my pulsing clit, chasing the lightning riding up my spine.

My hip curls into him, craving him, but his hand stays on my inner thigh, keeping me open, spread, his fingers raking the sensitive skin as I grind out a climax.

The orgasm simmers slow like embers buried in snow, melting me from the inside out.

He kisses the corner of my mouth, each exhale a warm, minty fog on my lips, lingering, cruel.

The faster the climax climbs,