Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lacey woke Saturday morning with her nerves simmering and a dog butt in her face.
Both were Sam’s fault.
She rolled out of bed, careful not to wake Daisy, who lifted her head anyway.
“I just need a shower,” she told the dog. Daisy rested her chin on her paws, watching Lacey head to the bathroom like she didn’t believe her.
She talked to a dog now. She really did need a friend. Sam had sent her Annie’s contact info, but Lacey couldn’t work up the guts to send that first text. She was better in person. In person, Lacey didn’t think, she just did. Like how she’d struck up a conversation with Annie at Queens because Annie had looked as miserable as she felt. The words had tumbled out with ease, but writing them down meant she had to think about them, and that was the death of her personality.
Sam’s shower was glorious. The water got hot quickly, the pressure actually cleaned her hair, and Sam had fantastic products. Her hair, which she’d stopped coloring over the summer because a) she couldn’t responsibly fit dye into her budget, and b) her hair needed a damn break, hadn’t felt this silky smooth in years. Lacey would’ve done unspeakable things for good hair products.
She wanted to do unspeakable things to Sam. Or have him do unspeakable things to her. Either way was fine. She wasn’t picky. The indifference was what made their arrangement so delicious. Even if she lost, she won. But Lacey wasn’t going to lose. Sam would never know if she’d made herself come or not, but she would wait for him to get home, even if she lied when he got there.
When Lacey got out of the shower, Daisy was waiting for her. As she dried herself off, the dog circled her, like she was urging Lacey to go faster. It had to be breakfast time. There was no greater clock than a dog’s stomach.
Lacey took Sam’s soft gray robe off the hook and bundled herself up. She would miss the robe. It had a white monogrammed S on the right breast, and she wondered if he’d done that himself or if he’d gotten it as a gift.
Daisy led the way into the kitchen, and once her majesty had been fed, Lacey reheated some of the fantastic frittata Sam had left for her. Yup, she’d miss the food too. Leo was a phenomenal cook, but Sam’s food didn’t come with a side of self-imposed guilt that she wasn’t doing enough to pull her weight.
Lacey looked around the house. What was she going to do until Sam got home? He hadn’t specified when, just that he would be headed back sometime that day.
She had no classes to teach. No errands to run—at least not anything that felt mission critical enough to justify driving into town and back. She would take Daisy on her morning walk, but then what?
She didn’t have a book to read, and neither did Sam. His only hobbies seemed to be knitting and cooking. She’d found his yarn stash when she was looking for a book or a puzzle. That room had produced a lot of naked sheep.
Daisy walked to the front door, which was Lacey’s cue to get dressed.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”
The air was crisp and cold, and the ground was damp from overnight rain. A fine mist hung in the air as Lacey and Daisy picked their way through the woods around Sam’s house.
Well, Lacey picked her steps. Daisy charged forward, then ran back, then charged forward, then ran back, over and over again. If she didn’t have such good recall, Lacey never would have let her off leash, but the dog loved to run outside, even if it meant she’d be picking pine needles and twigs out of her coat later.
Lacey zipped Sam’s sweatshirt up to her chin to fight the chill in the air. Overhead, birds chirped in the trees, andshe craned her neck to see them. Little brown balls of feathers jumped and fluttered between branches.
The distinctive tapping of a woodpecker turned her head. She took out her phone, zoomed in, and took a picture of the black, white, and red bird. Then, she sent the photo to Annie. It was the best segue she was ever going to get.
Lacey
Which bird looks like Woody the Woodpecker? I want to sound smart.
This is Lacey, by the way. I don’t know if you remember me.
Annie
Of course I remember you! Hi!
That is a white-headed woodpecker. Woody is a pileated woodpecker.
Now what did she say? She only knew the really popular birds: swans, bald eagles, hummingbirds, peacocks, Canadian geese, seagulls, flamingos….those kinds of birds.
Annie
More fun cartoon facts: the Road Runner is a member of the cuckoo family. Like the clock. There’s a Wile E. Coyote joke in there somewhere, but I don’t know what it is.
Lacey grinned, looked up to check on Daisy, then typed,
Lacey
So how have you been? How’s LA? How’s your member of the Holy Trinity of Fuckboys?
Annie
I’m great. LA is finally cooling off to an acceptable temperature. Jordy is wonderful.
I thought you weren’t dating musicians anymore. How’d you and Sam end up together?
Lacey groaned. She’d forgotten that she’d told Annie that she’d sworn off musicians and Sam was definitely a Musician, capital M.
Lacey
He’s not pre-successful and hasn’t picked up a guitar and sung at me yet. Note the distinction. Not To, but At. Plus he cooks
Annie
Very good cook. I’m excited for Thanksgiving. Are you coming ?
Thanksgiving? Was she supposed to be doing something on Thanksgiving? Her current plans were to watch the Macy’s parade in her sweatpants and mourn what could’ve been with the Rockettes, all while holding a gallon of Tillamook strawberry ice cream.
Lacey
I haven’t made any plans yet.
Annie
I hope you can come. Eloise’s friends are so nice, but I sometimes feel like the 13th donut in a dozen.
But everyone loves an extra donut
That’s us. The extra donuts.
Lacey stared at her phone. Annie thought she was an extra donut. An unexpected, happy addition.
Lacey
We should get T-shirts.
Annie
Ask Sam where he got the guys’ jackets from
What jackets?
You haven’t seen the jackets?!
Sam parked in his garage shortly after sunset. The nice part about traveling from east to west was that a good chunk of the long travel day was eaten up by the time zone changes. It was nothing short of miraculous.
Lacey’s car was still in the driveway. Even after the last two nights, he wasn’t sure if she’d be there when he got home. He’d half expected her to bolt again.
Sam had been reliving bits and pieces of their night in Barcelona over the last few days. It was impossible to do that without also remembering that he’d come back from his post-sex shower to an empty bed. Lacey had left without a word or a note. So he’d been sitting with an anxious pit in his stomach all day, unsure if he’d pushed too far with their calls.
Hell, he’d sent her one text all day and that was to say he was headed to the airport because he was scared he’d run her off by being eager.
When had he become this person? Sam had had plenty of casual sex. Loads of it. It didn’t affect him. There was always someone else, so no need to stress. But he’d pushed through the rest of the recording that morning, then got in a car and went directly to the airport. Why? Because he was dying to know if Lacey had been a good girl or a bad girl.
Sam grabbed his suitcase from the trunk and went inside. The house was quiet for a second, then the scrabble of nails on wood echoed down the hall. Daisy sprinted toward him, barreling into his legs, her entire body quivering with excitement.
“Oh, hello,” Sam cooed, sitting down on the floor to accept all of her love. Daisy climbed into his lap and licked his face and hands with enthusiasm. “Okay, okay. That’s enough, thank you.”
He listened for the sound of footsteps, but didn’t hear any. It wasn’t that late, so Lacey shouldn’t be asleep. And her car was still there so she hadn’t left. Where was she?
“Lacey?” he called, dragging his suitcase down the hall toward his room.
No answer. Maybe she was downstairs watching a movie?
The door to his room was open a crack.
“Lacey? You in here?” he called, and pushed the door the rest of the way open.
Lacey was laying on his bed on her side, wearing nothing but his silk Brunch Bros jacket. One of her long legs was drawn up in a figure-four, the other one extended, like a flamingo, and her upper body was propped up by her arm.
“I can’t believe you never told me you had custom friendship jackets.” She tsked her tongue in mock disapproval while she ran a fingertip down the teeth of the zipper. His eyes followed that finger all the way down to her hip.
Sam swallowed, his mouth dry and his brain void of any coherent thought.
Lacey rolled onto her stomach, stretching like a cat with her ass in the air. She wasn’t actually naked. A delicate black thong barely covered anything. He wanted to break it like a string.
She drew herself up on her knees, and balanced near the edge of his bed. In the soft glow of the dimmed lights, her cheeks looked rosy. The jacket hung open, but still covered her breasts, which was disappointing yet tantalizing. She smiled invitingly at him.
“I was texting with Annie today,” she said, playing with the zipper, “and she told me about the jackets. So I got a little nosey, checked your closet, and what did I find? Hmm?” Lacey’s smile widened, but it was cracking at the edges.
Sam found enough brain power to move himself across the floor, dragging his suitcase behind him.
“You’re wearing my clothes now?” he asked, parking his suitcase next to the bed. He reached out to touch her, but she swatted his hand away.
“Fake girlfriend perks,” Lacey said. “And you’re not supposed to touch, remember?”
He glared, but she knew it wasn’t serious because she smiled at him again.
“Were you a good girl, sunshine?”
“I was a very, very”—she paused, and his heart found another gear he didn’t know it had—“good girl.”
His cock was so hard it threatened to pop the buttons on his fly. Not a great day to wear a button-fly instead of a zipper.
“I guess it’s a good thing I brought home a present from New York then.” Sam laid his suitcase on the ground and opened it. If there was one advantage to his desperately horny brain, it was the planning ability. When he’d been packing his bag, he’d thought to grab the leather handcuffs from the locked dresser in his apartment for this exact scenario.
Okay, not exact. Never in a million years would he have guessed that Lacey would go through his closet and pull out his Brunch Bros jacket. The only reason it was in Crane Cove was because he’d brought it for Graham’s wedding and never took it back to Los Angeles.
Sam held up the cuffs, and Lacey gasped. They were custom black Italian leather with silver buckles for the wrists, and an adjustable chain to bind them together.
“Oh my god. You were serious.” She grabbed them, turning them over in her hands, admiring the craftsmanship. “I don’t think I’ve ever owned anything this nice.”
“You like them?” She nodded, and internally Sam did a victory dance. He took them back and laid them on the bed next to her. “Maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll use them on you.”
There was a flash of interested hunger on her face.
“Not tonight, though,” she said, and Sam wondered if there were going to be other nights. She looked him up and down in a slow, appraising, almost judgmental fashion. “Is that what you’re going to wear?”
Sam looked down at his outfit. Dark jeans and a black cashmere sweater. Comfortable, yet stylish. “Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing? ”
“You’re a bit overdressed.” Lacey put her hand on the cuffs, fingering the chain idly. “Strip.”
Sam’s knee-jerk reaction was to argue, put up some kind of fight, draw this out. But then Lacey spread her legs a little bit further apart, and he all but flung his sweater across the room.
“Going for speed over style?” she teased.
“I didn’t see any dollar bills come out, so yes.” He undid his belt with one hand and let it hang open. Lacey’s fingers tightened around the chain. She liked that move. Sam tucked the knowledge away, in case he ever got to use it again.
He unbuttoned the top button of his jeans.
“Can you do that one-handed too?” Lacey asked, a little breathless.
“What? This?” Sam undid the next button with only his right hand.
Lacey bit her bottom lip and moaned. “I don’t know why that’s so fucking hot, but it is.”
“If me unbuttoning my pants gets you going,” Sam began, then nearly jumped out of his skin when something small but firm pressed against his ass. He looked over his shoulder, and there was Daisy, looking at him with soulful, how-dare-you-leave-me-waiting eyes.
Lacey laughed so hard she fell over on the bed.
“Daisy, girl, Daddy’s busy,” he told her. Daisy sat.
Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. There wasn’t enough blood left in his brain to think. If he put her in the hall, she would scratch and whine at the door. That wasn’t sexy. He couldn’t put her outside because there wasn’t a fence. If she wandered off because he was getting his rocks off, Sam would never forgive himself.
The sluggish synapses finally cobbled together a memory.
“Do you want to watch your show?”
Daisy’s ears perked up .
“Come on, let’s go watch your show,” Sam said, hurrying to the door. Luckily, Daisy was directly on his heels.
By accident he’d discovered that Daisy liked to watch reruns of older shows. He’d been trying to work in his studio, and she hadn’t been a fan of the door. Frustrated, Sam had taken her to the TV room to see if a snuggle would help. He’d scrolled through a lot of channels with nothing to watch and finally settled on a rerun of Murder, She Wrote. Daisy was enthralled. When he got up to use the bathroom, she didn’t budge. So he went back into his studio. When he came out two hours later, she was watching an episode of Matlock .
Sam assumed that Daisy used to watch TV with her previous owner. If he could get her to stay downstairs for even one episode of something, he’d be happy.
“Do you want to watch The Golden Girls ?” Sam asked and selected the channel.
Daisy made herself comfortable on the couch and didn’t seem to notice when Sam crept out of the TV room.
Sam hurried back up the stairs, his pants sliding down his hips a little. If that little intermission had cooled Lacey’s jets and she’d changed her mind, he was going to…still love that damn dog. But maybe he wouldn’t try to make the dog biscuit recipe he’d found online.
Lacey was still on his bed, thankfully. But some of her femme fatale glow had dimmed. She smiled at him shyly, then watched the doorway after he’d entered.
“What did you do with her?”
Sam yanked open the rest of the buttons on his jeans, sexiness be damned. “I put the TV on for her.”
That got Lacey’s attention back on him. “You did what?”
“She likes rerun shows. So I put on The Golden Girls. Hopefully we’ll be golden for about half an hour. Do you still want to do this?”
“Yes, I do.”
Sam pushed his jeans down, then kicked them off his feet. “How did you see this going?”
Lacey lounged against the headboard, stroking the sheets by her hips. “I thought you could be up here,” she began, “and you could have your wrists in front of you or above your head, whichever is more comfortable. The important part to me is that you can’t touch your cock once I get started.”
Sam played with the elastic waistband of his underwear. “Are these on or off?”
“Off, if you’re comfortable with that. I want to see it.” Lacey crawled down to the end of the bed. “Then I thought I could be somewhere down here, to remove the temptation for you to try and touch.”
“It doesn’t matter where you are, I’m going to be tempted to touch you,” he pointed out, pushing his boxer briefs off his hips. The head of his cock got caught in the waistband, and when it popped free it smacked him in the stomach. Lacey licked her lips. “You’re allowed to touch me, if you want.”
She shook her head.
“If I start, I won’t be able to stop.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Lacey stood firm. “We’re not touching tonight.” She unbuckled the handcuffs. “Do you want me to stop if you say stop, or do you want me to ignore you when you beg?”
“Ignore me,” Sam said, settling into his spot at the head of the bed. “I’ll say red if I need to end things quickly.”
Lacey grinned, inching her way up the bed on her hands and knees. His jacket hung open, and he could see her boobs. Her dusky rose-colored nipples were hard and pointed. He wanted them in his mouth.
“We’re playing Red Light Green Light?” she asked, sitting back on her heels when she was level with his knees. “Put your hands where you want them.”
Sam put his hands above his head. “I like Red Light Green Light. It’s simple and direct.”
“Do you have any red lights for this scene before we get into it?” Lacey asked, holding the handcuffs.
“Not that I can think of if we’re not touching.”
“Good. Now don’t move.”
Sam held still and held his breath as Lacey straddled his thighs, then rose up on her knees and leaned forward. His nose was level with her sternum, and if he moved his head forward even a little, he could kiss and lick her skin.
“Let me know when they’re tight enough,” she said, sliding the strap into the buckle on his left wrist, tightening the cuff.
“I like notch number four,” he told her, and Lacey counted four of the holes, then slid the prong into the hole. She did the same on the other side.
“Are you sure this is the spot that you want?” Lacey asked, taking his wrists and holding them against the wall. Sam nodded. “Okay, then. You can’t move your arms until I’m done.”
Sam wasn’t attached to anything. If he wanted to, he could have moved. But this was a game of willpower, though he wasn’t sure what the prize was, he didn’t want to lose.
Lacey smiled at him. “You look so pretty like this,” she said.
Did someone hand her his manual? Or give her his password? Because she knew how to press all his buttons.
Deja vu swept over him, and a memory aligned perfectly with the present. He’d had this feeling that he’d known Lacey through the echoes of time back in Barcelona, and it surfaced again.
“You’re always pretty. ”
She blushed, and rolled her eyes. “I’m still not touching you.”
Lacey moved off his body, careful not to touch him, and grabbed a pillow before making herself comfortable closer to the end of his bed. She let her knees fall open, and Sam drank in the sight of her nearly naked body.
“That jacket looks better on you than it ever has on me,” he told her, partly because it was true and partly because he wanted to see her blush again.
She didn’t disappoint.
“Do you want me to keep it on?” Lacey rolled her shoulders and the silk dropped halfway down her biceps.
“That works,” Sam said, then cleared his throat because that had come out in a pitch he hadn’t spoken in since middle school.
“What about this?” Lacey’s middle finger stroked the crotch of her panties.
“Off. Definitely off,” he responded quickly.
“Close your eyes,” she instructed.
Sam frowned. “What? No. Why?”
She sighed heavily. “Because I want to do something. Close your damn eyes, Sam.”
That snappish tone shouldn’t do such filthy things to his libido, but it did. Sam complied, closing his eyes even though he didn’t want to miss a second of the show. The mattress shifted under his legs.
“Can I open my eyes?”
“Not yet.” Lacey’s voice was close.
“You’re killing me, sunshine.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No.”
There was a smug chuckle, then Lacey instructed him to spread his legs, which he did. The mattress moved again, and he got the sense that she was between his legs. A cool, concentrated stream of air tickled his hard shaft, and Sam arched, his hips leaving the mattress.
“You’re not supposed to move,” Lacey reminded him sternly.
“That strictly had to do with my hands,” he retorted. “Can I open my eyes now?”
“I suppose.”
Lacey was laying on her stomach between his legs, her face about two inches from his cock and balls. She pursed her lips and blew again, making his cock throb. Precum leaked from the tip.
“It’s a blow job,” she explained, grinning.
Sam’s head fell back, and he groaned. “You’re a menace.”
“I am.” Lacey hung her thong on his cock like it was an ornament on a Christmas tree. “And you fucking love it.”
He did.
Lacey pushed herself up onto her knees, still sitting between his legs, and cupped her breasts.
“You’re being a much better boy than I thought you’d be,” she said, and whimpered softly as she pinched her nipples.
“Did you think I was going to be a bad boy?”
Lacey nodded, biting her lip as she continued to fondle herself, pinching and rolling her nipples between her fingers, squeezing her perfect little breasts, doing almost all of the things he wanted to be doing to them.
“Mmm…I’ve been so fucking horny the last few days,” Lacey confessed, one hand sliding down her belly toward her pussy. She stopped a few inches from the target. Sam waited for her to start again, and was about to ask what was wrong, when she leaned forward, putting her index and middle finger under his lips. “Spit.”
He obliged. Careful not to lose his contribution to her little show, Lacey lay down, propping herself up on an elbow to keep an eye on him. She planted her feet on the bed on either side of his thighs, opening herself up to him. Her pussy was bare—either clean shaven or waxed—and Sam wanted to bury his face in there and drown.
“You like?”
“I want it,” Sam admitted, on the verge of begging. Being handcuffed, unable to touch himself or her, had become one of his top ten worst ideas. And Sam had had some pretty fucking terrible ideas over the years.
“You can’t have it,” she reminded him. “You have to sit there and watch. Maybe— maybe —if you’re a really good boy, I’ll give you a treat when I’m satisfied.”
Sam half groaned, half whimpered. The worst part about not being tethered to anything was that he couldn’t struggle without compromising everything. There was no relief for the tension that was building in his body like a volcano. He had to remain still and take it.
Lacey was diabolical.
He should’ve tied her to the bed back in Spain so she couldn’t disappear.
She started running her fingers in slow circles over her clit, using his spit as lube. Sam was torn between watching her hand to learn how she liked to be touched, and watching the pleasure build on her face. Her small sighs, moans, and whimpers were a symphony.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly.
“Mmm. A lot of things…like how fucking hot it was watching you stroke that gorgeous cock over the phone…mmm…and…you know…”
Barcelona.
Lacey’s fingers picked up speed. Her eyes fell shut and her breathing changed, becoming rougher, and her chest flushed.
“There you go,” he encouraged. “Come for me, sunshine.”
Her muscles tensed, and her toes curled around his sheets. Lacey gasped, then groaned out a plaintive “Fuck.” Tremors rolled across her body in waves, and she kept rubbing her clit, but slowly and gently, instead of desperate.
By degrees, the tension in Lacey’s body ebbed like the tide leaving the shore, and then she relaxed, a dreamy grin on her glowing face.
“Holy shit. I need to edge myself for a few days more often,” she sighed, her head falling to her shoulder like it was too heavy to hold up. “And you didn’t move at all. Such a good boy.”
With a small grunt of effort, Lacey pushed herself up onto her knees, once again straddling his hips without actually touching him. She put one hand on the wall just above his bound wrists, and the other disappeared between her spread thighs.
“Open your mouth,” she instructed, and Sam did. Lacey placed the same two fingers she’d used to make herself come on his tongue, coated in her sweet, salty wetness. “Suck.”
Sam obediently closed his mouth around her fingers and sucked them clean, swirling his tongue around her fingertips to be sure he didn’t miss anything.
“Good boy,” she purred and pulled her fingers out of his mouth with a pop .
Lacey undid the buckles on his handcuffs, and Sam’s arms dropped to his sides. He rolled his shoulders to loosen them up and get the blood moving correctly again.
“How do you feel?” she asked, moving to sit next to him instead of nearly on him. Sam would’ve preferred fully on him, with his cock nestled snugly inside of her.
“Pent-up,” he admitted, his cock throbbing. Precum had leaked from the tip and ran down the shaft like a candle that had been left burning too long. “And messy.”
“You should take a shower,” Lacey suggested.
“Are you going to join me?”
She grinned at him. “Not a chance.”
Sam stepped out of his steamy shower, languid contentment marred by a nagging anxiety, and wrapped a towel around his waist.
History had a horrible habit of repeating itself. The last time he’d left Lacey alone in his bed to go shower, she’d left without a word before he was done. No note, no number.
Her thong was still on his bathroom sink where he’d left it, but that didn’t mean anything. She could’ve left them as a souvenir. Lacey easily could’ve gotten dressed, grabbed her bag, and been most of the way back to her house by now.
This strange, twisting vulnerability surrounding sex was something Sam hadn’t felt in more than a decade. Not since he was young and inexperienced. Normally he’d be strategizing how to get a bed partner out of his house as soon as possible, not avoiding going into his room to see if they were still there, hoping they were still there.
Sam towel-dried his hair. Then did his skincare routine. Then brushed his teeth. Procrastination and avoidance were a fine art he’d mastered years ago. But he couldn’t stay in the bathroom indefinitely.
His bed was empty.
His bedroom was empty.
Lacey had hung his Brunch Bros silk bomber jacket back in his closet where it belonged.
Disappointment hollowed him out.
Sam found a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt to go downstairs and collect Daisy. At least she would be happy to see him. That was his favorite part about having a dog so far.
Murder, She Wrote had to be over because Sam heard the telltale whistle of the intro music to The Andy Griffith Show before he even entered the TV room. Maybe he’d watch an episode with Daisy before bed. Let Sheriff Andy, Aunt Bee, Opie, and Barney Fife make him laugh.
Sam entered the darkened room, illuminated only by the black and white TV show, and went to the couch. Lacey was there, wearing one of his T-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants, spooning Daisy, one arm wrapped around the dog, her fingers buried in her fur. She gave him a sleepy smile.
“There you are. I was”—she yawned—“starting to think you’d had a slip and fall.”
“You’re still here?” Sam was shocked.
Lacey frowned, pushing herself up on her elbow. “Was I supposed to leave?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I, um, just thought you had.”
“I can go,” she offered, fully sitting up and making Daisy cranky in the process. The dog grumbled, looking back at Lacey incredulously.
“No.” He hoped he didn’t sound desperate. “You can stay. If you want.”
“I’m tired,” Lacey admitted, relaxing back into the couch. “Thanks for not making me drive home.”
Sam sat on the arm of the couch. “Are we watching Andy?”
“I was going to go to sleep…”
“Then let’s go to bed,” he said, grabbing the remote and turning off the TV. “You’re tired. I’m tired. Daisy is tired.”
The room was dark and silent.
“Sam? Are you still here?”
“Um, yeah. I’m waiting for you to come back upstairs with me.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Daisy’s tags on her collar jingled as she got off the couch and trotted past Sam. Sam stood, and was about to ask Lacey if she was coming when her hand found his wrist.
“There you are.” He could hear the nervous smile in her voice. “Is this a good idea?”
“We only have bad ideas, sunshine.”
“True.” Lacey wrapped her hand around his and led him to the door. “Good thing we’ve got Daisy to chaperone us.”
“Better than a nun with a toothache,” Sam agreed.
Daisy did chaperone them. She settled into the expanse of mattress between them, and when Sam woke up in the middle of the night, she was still there, even though he and Lacey gravitated toward each other in their sleep, squishing her between them like a shared stuffed animal.
For once, the return to sleep was swift and easy.