She never has to say she’s home; I can hear her.
When I reached out to hug her, she kissed me long and slow, then slid her lips down my neck to bury her face between my breasts.
“Greeting the girls?” I asked, my voice catching.
“Hell, these are ladies,” she said.
“I think it’s funny that you anthropomorphize them,” I said. “Maybe they should have their own names.”
“Sweet old-fashioned names,” she murmured into my cleavage.
“We can call this one Chastity,” I offered helpfully.
“Perfect. Then we’ll call this one Irony.”