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Summary
Logic leaves you when he leans in to nose at your neck. Your last was Robby, always Robby, with his wide eyes and wider hands, the scent of antiseptic hidden by the fresh laundry detergent you used to share. “Missed you, baby.” He slurs, open mouth planting wet kisses on your jaw, your throat, the shoulders covered by your shirt. It’s still a dream, has to be, so you’re not afraid to cover his hand with your own. You lightly brush over his wedding ring tan, and he doesn’t comment on it. Just shifts his hips a little to bring himself closer to you, warmth radiating off him in waves. Robby always ran cold, always had to have one of those stupid hoodies on, but to you he was as warm as melted spring snow.
Maybe that’s why you reach for the hem of his shirt.
Series
- Part 1 of dr robby, down bad divorcee