“Whatever you’re thinking, double it,” he growls.
I sigh and run my free hand over my breasts, kneading and squeezing, imagining Knox’s large, calloused fingers in place of my own. Desire pools between my legs and my core clenches, aching to be filled.
“God, I can’t wait until you get home so you can touch me for real.”
“That makes two of us.” Knox squirms and presses his lips together, but his discomfort, his need for me, only fuels my confidence.
I roll my left nipple between my fingers, and a zing of pleasure shoots straight to my core.
Moaning, I repeat the action.
“Now do the other one,” Knox demands, shoulders stiff. Heck, his entire body appears rigid, as if it’s taking all of his self-control to simply sit still and watch.
He’s a big boy. He can take it.
And I’m the one who gets to give it to him. The one who gets to torture and tease. To push him to his limits and drive him wild with lust.
You’re also the one who’s going to pay the price when he gets home.
Worth it.
“You want to see me play with the other one?” I drawl. “Say please.”
His eyes darken, and I have no doubt that if we were in the same room, he’d have me stripped naked in a matter of seconds. “Please.”
“Good boy.” I stare straight into the camera, meeting his intense gaze as I switch breasts, arching my back to give him a better view. He sucks air between his teeth, and I grin. “I’ve never been good at articulating my needs.” I slide my hands down the silky fabric of my nightshirt and pull it up to reveal my panties. “But with you, it feels natural. Like I can be myself without shame or judgment.”
“Of course you can, darlin’. You can always be yourself with me. And I’ll always love y—love that about you.”
Did he just—No. No way. It was a slip of the tongue. He’s distracted. And probably as hard as a rock in the back of a stranger’s car. Which totally explains the flush in his cheeks.
Focus, Ava.
“You know what I love?” I ask, silently cursing myself for echoing the L-word. “I love it when you touch me. The feel of your big, thick fingers filling me up is the sweetest torture.”
“Torture, huh?”
“The sweetest kind,” I repeat, slipping my fingers into the waistband of my underwear. “Just thinking about it makes me wet.”
“Show me.”
Those two little words are all the encouragement I need. I drag a finger through my slick folds and a wave of pleasure radiates from my core.
God, I needed this.
I hold my finger up to the camera. The promise of release is nothing compared to the choking sound Knox makes. “Do you see how much I’ve missed you this week?”
“I’ll make it up to you when I get home.”
“You can try.” Our eyes lock on-screen, and I lick my finger clean.
His eyes nearly bulge out of his head, and satisfaction washes over me. This smart, confident hockey player is as desperate for me as I am for him. It’s intoxicating, and I can’t imagine a world where I’d ever get tired of it.
“You want to talk about torture…”
I smirk. “I’ll give you a little something to hold you over until you get home.”
“If you’re not careful,” he says, gritting his teeth, “you’re going to spoil me.”