My heart rate quickens, because did he really? I can’t say why the idea of that has me so giddy.
Me:Wow now you’re smothering ME
Lover:I wish I were smothering you
Lover:in a sexy way
Me:yeah super turned on by the idea of you asphyxiating me
Except…I sort of am. Imagining his hands on my throat, not enough to bruise but enough tofeelit—it has me pressing my thighs together a little.
Lover:I could make it work
Lover:what are you wearing
Me:you’re seriously asking me that?
Lover:I’m alone in a hotel room and I haven’t touched you in two days. Of course I am.
I roll my eyes even as my grin widens, because it’s such a Jack thing to say. Still, I can’t pretend that I’m not a little turned on by the idea of him alone in his hotel room, desperate for me. In fact, I like that idea a lot.
Maybe that’s what makes me bold.
Me:Facetime me and find out
My heart is pounding in my chest now, so hard I can feel it thumping in my neck and hear it pulsing in my ears. I don’t know what will come of this, but I know it’s something I’ve never done before. Then again, I’ve never felt this turned on by someone I can’t even see at the moment.
By the time the video call comes through, I’m a mess of hormones and nerves.
Somehow, that only makes me more excited when I swipe to answer it.
Twenty
Jack
We won our fourth gameagainst Dallas on their turf, and by those standards I should be over the moon, which I am, to a degree. It’s just that Coach took me out after the first period because of a particularly rough hit into the boards, and for the remaining two periods, I had to sit on the sidelines with my thumb up my ass, wishing I could be more helpful. We won by one pointagain, and the game being so close still feels like a direct result of my inability to have more ice time. Which I suppose might seem bigheaded, but in reality, it’s just my guilt talking.
The rest of the guys went out to celebrate after, but I just wasn’t feeling it. Truth be told, the only thing I could imagine doing was talking to Abby, which would alarm me if I weren’t so fucking enamored with her. The last few weeks have been a rush of kisses and touches and whisperings of the promise of more—and with every moment I spend with her, I find myself onlywantingmore. It’s becoming a bit of a problem. Not to mention the fact that sheseems to be the only thing that can pull me out of my mood when I’m feeling like this.
We’ve been texting back and forth for the last several minutes, and already it’s enough to make me feel better. Almost like I can hear her voice through the screen. I don’t really expect much when I shoot her the flirtywhat are you wearingtext, so when she texts back for me to FaceTime her and find out, I slam the call button so fast, I nearly break my finger.
Her face on the screen is like a breath of fresh air, making all the worry and stress I’ve carried from tonight’s game seem to melt away when she gives me that small smile of hers.
“Hey,” she says.
I notice the shirt she’s wearing, feeling a stirring between my legs because she looksdamngood in my clothes. The shirt is so big on her that it almost falls off one of her shoulders, and just that peek of bare skin is enough to have me leaning in closer to the screen, almost as if I might be able to reach out and taste her through it.
“Someonereallymissed me,” I tease.
She shrugs that same bare shoulder. “Like I said, maybe a little.”
“You look better in my clothes than I do,” I tell her.
She bites her lower lip. “You think so?”
“You’d look better out of them though.”
She arches a brow. “Are you trying to get me naked?”
