Page 113 of From Maybe to Baby

“Your pussy feels so hot and wet and I slide my cock inside you. You’re so tight. It feels fantastic. Can you feel me inside you?”

“God. Yes,” I reply, breathing heavily. “You’re in so deep. You feel so big. Fuck me hard, Jonas. Make me come all over your beautiful cock.”

“What position do you want to be in?”

“Just fuck me on top. I want to kiss you and touch your chest while you give it to me.”

“Okay,” he begins, his breaths becoming more shallow. “My tongue is in your mouth. My cock is buried deep in your pussy. I keep thrusting into you, harder, faster, deeper. Your nails dig into my back as I pound you into the bed. I wanna make you come. Your hips are thrusting off the mattress to meet my every stroke. My cock is hammering you. I can sense you’re really getting close now. You want to come. You need to come.”

I can’t help it. I explode into moans of delight over the phone. I know my breathing is loud in his ear. I moan and pant some more, before my ragged breathing fills the line and I continue to rub my pulsing core. “Oh, God, Jonas, I need you inside me.”

“I’m coming,” he grunts.

After, our naughty call, I pull up my flight confirmation. One-way ticket to San Francisco, departure in three days. Not because I'm wine-brave or missing anybody or tired of Paris.

But because it's time.

My phone buzzes. It’s Ryan:

Better be filing one hell of a story from this

Coverage from the family section

Finally writing from the right angle.

Then, Mom:

Booking flights?

Done

About time

Lucy:

Tell me you're not stress-eating croissants

Nope. Stress-booking flights

Fewer calories

I glance around my perfect Paris apartment. At my perfect Paris view. At everything I thought I ever wanted.

One more text from Jonas:

The kids miss you

Just the kids?

Very professional question

Very professional answer

Come home and find out

So I do the only thing left to do. I finish packing.

The suitcase doesn’t close right on the first try. Fitting my life into a bag never does. But that feels about right—this is going to be messy, imperfect, and possibly a disaster.

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