“I am.”

“The pact is working.”

“Maybe, or maybe we’re just a good team. And hello, when did you become a hockey fan?”

“I’ve taken an interest in it lately.”

“You researching hockey is hella hot, babe.”

I turn the corner. “You know what else is hella hot?”

Fitz moans, all raspy and sexy. “Tell me.”

“You, me, video chat. Are you home?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be back to my flat in fifteen.”

“Good, but let’s keep talking now,” Fitz says.

“Obviously. I’m not letting you go,” I say.

“When you say that . . .”

“When I say what?” I tease. It’s so easy to flirt with him, it’s like we never hit pause.

His voice is rough and needy. “Do you know what it does to me when you say that?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

His answer comes in a long, appreciative rumble. “Everything. It does everything to me. Turns me on, makes me happy, all at once. But I think that’s how I’d describe you.”

I laugh lightly. “I turn you on and I make you happy?”

“Yes. You do. Now call me on video. I want to see your face as you walk home.”

I give him what he wants. I want it too. I switch to a video call, and there Fitz is, looking so unbelievably handsome in—

“Are you wearing a fucking suit?”

Fitz wiggles his brows. “I am. Heading to a preseason game.”

I shake my head in appreciation. “You look incredible,” I say, drinking in how handsome he is in a tailored dark-blue suit, clearly custom-fitted, as well as a crisp shirt and light-green tie. “Mmm. That tie. If I were there, I would put it on you.”

His lips curve up. “You would?”

“Drape it around your neck, line it up, loop the tail over . . .” I’m getting ridiculously aroused as I walk home, telling Fitz how I want to knot his tie. If I were to put on his tie, my hands would be on him. “Thread the fabric through, tighten the knot, and adjust it against your neck.”

He breathes out hard, his chest rising and falling, his fingers tugging at his collar. “Look what you’re doing to me. You’re turning me on telling me how you’re going to accessorize me.”

“You’re not the only one turned on.” My whole body is buzzing. “I think all of South Bank must know I have a hard-on.”

“Thanks for mentioning your dick. Now I’m rock hard too.”

“You were pretty hard already, I bet.”

“I was,” Fitz says as he unknots the neckwear.

I blink, processing what he’s doing. “Are you going to get undressed right now? While I’m on the street?”

“I am. I’m too worked up not to.”

I glance around. “I’m almost home. Just wait. I can’t have everyone seeing you.”

“Better walk fast, babe.”

“You dickhead,” I say, but I’m smiling as I pick up the pace while he tosses the tie to the floor. Soon I’m at my building, up the stairs, in my flat, and slamming the door shut just as he parks himself on his couch, unzipping his trousers and taking out his cock.

I don’t even make it to the couch. I’m standing against the door, one hand on the phone, the other unzipping my jeans. In seconds, I’m stroking my dick and watching Fitz take his length in his hand, and it all feels so damn right.

Like this is where I’m supposed to be.

Reconnecting with him.

“Look at you,” he growls as he watches me jerking myself. “God, I missed that. I miss you. Want to have my hands on you right now, my mouth everywhere.”

I’m already breathing hard, close to the edge, pleasure blasting through my veins as I watch him shuttling his fist up and down his cock, sitting like a king on his couch in that suit, looking so powerful. “I want to get on my knees right now. Take you in my mouth,” I tell him, my voice hoarse with desire.

“Yes, that. Fuck, I want that.” His eyes squeeze shut, and he groans his release. The sight of him coming in his hand sends me over the edge as an orgasm rockets through my body.

I pant, groan, and slump against the door.

When I open my eyes, he’s sitting there, smirking. “I’m going to call you right back. I need to put on a new shirt,” he says.

“You do that.”

I hang up, head to the bathroom in this hazy, heady state, wash my hands, clean up. I return to the living room, flop down on the couch, and grab the phone when he calls back.

On video again.

“Hi,” I say.

He’s in his bedroom, the phone balanced on the bureau, and he’s sliding his strong arms into a crisp, starched shirt. “Do I look more civilized?”

“I don’t know how I’d keep my hands off you if I saw you wearing a suit in person.”

He finishes sliding the top shirt button into the hole. “Don’t ever say such a horrible thing. Keep your hands off me? That’s crazy talk.”


Tags: Lauren Blakely Romance
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