Page 107 of Playboy

Need practice? Try phone sex. Think about it. You need to say precisely what you want your partner to do to you. It’s a fantasy spoken out loud. If you’re apprehensive, start with sexting. Try telling your guy exactly what you want him to do toyou. Tell him whatyouwant to do tohim. I promise your man will deliver the next time you see him.

Also, say it with me: “You’re such a good boy for me when you’re on your knees.”

THIRTY-SIX

HANNAH

“You’re doing so good,baby. God. Watching you makes me so fucking hot.”

Daniel’s eyes are heated, his pupils blown wide. “I love when you coach me through it. Spread your legs wider, dream girl.”

I angle the phone down, giving him exactly what he wants. This stretch of away games has felt like a lifetime. It doesn’t help that our trips overlapped. I haven’t felt Daniel’s body against mine in far too long. Thank god for phone sex, or I’d be one pissed-off woman.

He works himself over, his piercing peeking out with every stroke. Each time that metal glints, I slide the vibrator inside me, mimicking his movement.

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” I tell him.

Daniel slows his jacking. We’ve been working him toward a non-ejaculatory orgasm, but we’re still on step one. He needs to jack off for at least ten minutes without coming, but every time I come, he does too.

“Strangle it,” I whimper as the orgasm takes me under. My back arches, and a cry slips from my throat. Covered in a sheen of sweat and a smattering of goose bumps, I come down,working to catch my breath. The orgasms are so much more intense now that I’m pregnant.

Daniel keeps a firm grip on his cock, eyes closed as he sucks in sharp breaths.

“Such a good boy,” I murmur, my eyes heavy. “You make me so proud.”

When he opens his eyes again, the intensity is palpable, even though he’s states away. “Say it again.”

“Good boy.” This time my voice is clear.

He works his hand over himself again, a man possessed. Like he can’t stop. Within seconds, his jaw flexes, and he loses the battle, coming with a long groan.

He disappears to clean up, but not before making me promise I’ll stay on the phone.

This is always my favorite part. When we’re sleepy and a little uninhibited after a good orgasm. We talk about everything and nothing until one or both of us fall asleep. I’ve woken up to his sleeping face, the FaceTime call still connected, more times than I can count. He never hangs up if I fall asleep first. Apparently, he prefers to watch me until he dozes off.

God, I love this man.

“Get any writing done today?” he asks as he settles the phone on the charging dock next to the bed in his hotel room and lays his head on his pillow, facing me.

I mirror the position, hand tucked under my face. “Just a few hundred words.”

Daniel frowns. “I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “It is what it is. The season will be over soon. I’ll have a lot more time then.” Just the thought makes my chest pang with longing for days where I can sit in front of my computer, uninterrupted, for more than thirty minutes. This season has proven harder than any other, and I’m beginning to see that it’s not just the pregnancy. I no longer enjoy it the way I used to.The thrill of fixing other people’s problems, of being needed and important, is almost nonexistent these days.

Maybe for the first time in my life, I feel wanted, important, valuable somewhere other than at work. I no longer want to be needed by a bunch of overgrown boys dressed up as baseball players.

For so long, my life revolved around my career. I was fine on my own for more than a decade, feeling complete as a single woman. Now, I’m struggling with this side of me that’s been hiding since college. The side that craves Daniel’s arms and his affection.

It’s so damn tempting to pull back. To put up walls so that it won’t hurt so much if he gets tired of me.

But then I see his face, or hear his voice, or unlock my phone and find a text that reads something like the one he sent the other day. A text that literally saidIt still amazes me that you exist. That you’re having my baby. That you’re mine.

Since I was a little girl, my mother’s life has centered around men. If the man she was with was kind, she’d be happy. If he was miserable, she was miserable. I don’t want to be like that. Is that what’s happening here? Daniel’s happiness is influencing mine? Because, god, does he make me happy. I can’t imagine a time when he won’t.

So I’m determined to give this a chance. To keep my heart open. As long as we continue to be honest with one another, as long as he talks to me, tells me what he needs, and I do the same, I really truly believe we can do this.

Even so, he can’t be my whole life. I need my career. My own identity. That’s where my mom always got it wrong. She had nothing but the man she was with.

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