Page 93 of Trade Deadline

“Hey, great game tonight!” he grins.

“Thank you.” I sit down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “I fucking miss you, though.”

“I miss you, too. I can’t wait for you to be home.”

“It feels like it’s going to be the longest five days ever.” I groan dramatically. “And by home, do you mean you’ll be waiting for me at my apartment?”

I note the surprise in his eyes. “Well, I meant Chicago, but… I will.”

“How very domestic of us, Alex.”

“Do you hate it?”

“No, I actually like that a lot.” Knowing Alex will be inside my house when I come back feels more likehomethan anything else ever did. It feels right.

“Are you on your own?” He asks, after a couple of seconds.

“Why? Wanna take advantage of me?” I wink.

He drags his teeth over his top lip, and even with the low lighting of his bedside lamp, I can see his blue eyes glistening with mischief. “Maybe.”

“What would you do to me if you were here?”

He raises an eyebrow, and his lips twitch, fighting off a smile.

“What?” I feign innocence.

“Did you really just pull that line on me?” He grins.

Sitting up right, I quickly shed my hoodie and shirt, throwing them down onto the floor, then kicking off my sweatpants. Once I lean back, I move the phone down to rest against my thigh, giving Alex the perfect view of my erection straining against my briefs and the expanse of my chest. I grin at the sound of his breath hitching.

“So?”

He licks his lips, his eyes wide as they gaze over my body.

“Alex?”

“Sorry, what did you just say?”

“What would you do to me if you were here?”

He swallows hard. “I’d take off your boxers first.”

My dick gives an excited twitch as I hook my thumb under the waistband. “Do you want me to take them off, Alex?”

He gives a shaky nod.

I move to pull them off, then stop at the last minute, letting the elastic ping back against my skin.

Alex groans. “Why did you stop?”

“Because I want to hear you say the words, and you’re still wearing a shirt.”

I'm suddenly looking at his bedroom ceiling and hearing the sound of sheets ruffling. When he reappears, sans shirt, his hair is messy and his eyes are wild with heat.

“Much better,” I say.

“Good, now get them off.” He orders.

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