Andrew

'You like that, don't you? Disgusting, faggot.'

"No!" I bolt upright in my bed. Sweat drenches my chest and I pant heavily through the tightness of my throat. My fingers wipe the tears from my eyes, but they only come back full force when I look down to see my boner.

Sandra sits up and grabs my arm. "Another nightmare?"

Luckily, it's dark enough for her not to see my shame and, dare say it, heartbreak. Even though he's gone, he still haunts me, and I can still . . . feel him. There's a sick twisting in my stomach, but the way Sandra is rubbing my back is soothing the torment away. She then grabs my hand and places it on her belly and when I feel our baby boy pressing against the palm of my hand, all bad memories fade away.

"Just a few more months," she reminds me as puts her hand over mine.

My eyes have adjusted to the dark enough to look into her eyes. The calm that washes over me every time I look at them terrifies me because I know, deep down, she's not the one I want to feel this way around.

The next morning, when Sandra wants to go baby shopping by herself, I don't fight her for a second. Not today. I call him the second she leaves.

"She's gone. Come over," I order, hanging up before he can argue.

When the buzzer rings, I immediately open the door and pull Bobby in, shoving him against the wall. He smirks down at me before leaning into me, but I just shove him again, then take his head in my hands and force my lips to his. Every part of me that screams 'this is wrong' is continuously drowned out by how right it feels. How holding him doesn't just numb bad memories, but completely makes them fade into nothing. Like they can't touch me.

Bobby grips me by my hoodie with rough hands, leading me to the bedroom. Our lips don't part while we grope each other, both of us trying to get our fill. Slowly, he unzips the hoodie, his hands creeping under my shirt as I reach behind me to tear it off. It falls to the floor and he pulls my shirt over my head and then his own. Our lips leaving one another's for a moment just so our naked chests can finally collide.

Heat pulses south when I'm pushed down onto the bed, Bobby's hard-on grinding on my thigh. My tongue enters his mouth after pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth. The warmth of his tongue is welcoming and something I've missed excruciatingly in the week void of alone time together.

We've been through the worst type of withdrawal.

"Fuck," he groans. "I've missed you."

"Shut up," I chuckle darkly, my lips traveling from his jaw bone, to his neck, and down to his chest. "Let me remind you just how much."

Ten minutes later, the both of us are completely spent. Bobby's head is resting on my chest while inhaling a drag of his cigarette before passing it to me.

"Man, I fucking hated not being able to touch you." He blows smoke from his nose before looking up at me. "I mean, it was hard enough before you were married, but now . . ."

I kiss the top of his head and sigh into his hair. "I know, but Charles-"

He props himself up on his arm. "This has nothing to do with your father. You're the one who wanted an open relationship and knocked that bitch up, because my dick isn't enough for you. You either like pussy or cock, so pick one."

I roll my eyes. "We've been over this. I like both, but I like yours best. Plus, you sleep with girls."

"That's just for show. If word got out that I'm a cocksucker, my life is fucking over." He falls onto his back and runs a hand through his hair in panic. "Oh god, and if your father finds out, he'll never let me near you again."

"Hey, hey." I cup his cheek and turn his face towards me. "That's not going to ever happen, remember? Always together . . ."

A small smile reaches his lips.

"No matter what," he finishes the mantra.

"That's right." I stroke his cheek and kiss him deeply. "No matter what."