Page 139 of Game Misconduct
The board packet sits unopened on the coffee table. My laptop’s in sleep mode. My second glass of bourbon is almost gone.
And Maddox’s name is still sitting at the top of my screen.
I haven’t called him in three days.
We agreed—without saying it—that space was safer. That silence meant strength.
And yet…
My thumb hovers over his name.
I shouldn’t.
But I do.
The call connects before I can second-guess it.
He answers after the first ring, voice low, rough with sleep. “Hey.”
That one word kicks something loose in my chest.
“Hey,” I whisper back, eyes falling shut as I sink deeper into the couch.
There’s a beat of silence. Then a slow inhale on his end, like he already knows where this is going.
“You callin’ me this late for a reason?” he asks, voice dipping.
“I needed to hear you,” I say. Truth, laid bare.
He groans, soft and guttural. “Fuck, Sloane. You can’t say shit like that when I’m a thousand miles away.”
My breath catches.
“What are you wearing?” he asks.
I glance down. “A robe.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I swallow. “Nothing under it.”
“Jesus.” His voice fractures, and I feel it—like heat through the phone. “You touching yourself yet?”
“No.”
“Do it.”
I shift under the blanket, nerves fraying. “Maddox?—”
“Do it,” he growls again, command tight. “You called me. Let me take care of you.”
My hand slides beneath the robe, fingers brushing bare skin, the sound of his voice already lighting me up.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Nice and slow. I want you thinking about my mouth on you. About the way I’d drag my tongue down your body, make you beg before I let you come.”
A sound slips out of me, soft and desperate.
He groans again, but it’s different now—raw, strained. “Fuck, I’m hard just thinking about you.”
