Page 82 of Puck Tease
"Liar," he murmured, but there was no heat in it. "I checked the nest camera. You've been down here for forty."
My face flushed. "I wanted to be ready."
"You're always ready."
He stepped back. He started to undo his cufflinks. He tossed them onto the side table. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms. They were thicker than last year, corded with muscle and veined from the exertion of the game.
"Stand up," he said.
I stood. My legs were stiff. The plug shifted, a heavy, dragging sensation that made me gasp softly.
Jax caught the sound. His pupils blew wide, swallowing the blue.
"You're wearing it?"
"Rule Number One," I reminded him. "Availability."
"Good boy."
He reached out and grabbed the hem of the jersey. He lifted it.
He inspected me. He looked at my chest, my stomach, my hips. He checked for marks. There weren't any new ones—he hadn't touched me since the morning skate.
He dropped the jersey.
"Turn around."
I turned. I felt the cool air of the penthouse on my bare legs.
Jax stepped in close. He pressed his chest against my back. The wool of his suit trousers scratched against my thighs.
He wrapped his arms around my waist, locking his hands over my stomach. He buried his face in my neck, inhaling deeply.
"Home," he breathed.
"Welcome home."
He kissed the sensitive spot behind my ear. "I missed you."
"You were gone for six hours, Jax."
"Too long."
He moved his hands down. He gripped my ass through the jersey. He squeezed, testing the give.
"Take it out," he ordered.
I reached between us. I found the base of the plug.
I pulled.
It slid out with a wet, hollow sound. The relief was immediate, followed by the familiar, aching emptiness.
I handed it to him.
He took it. He set it on the table without looking at it.
"Bend over," he said. "Hands on the floor."
