Millie didn’t miss a beat. “I like the anticipation.”
Well, hell. How was a guy supposed to argue with that kind of logic? “Do you?”
“Oh yeah.”
Her voice was rich and deep. Each syllable crashed over him like an ocean wave. Drawing a bracing breath, he let his arm swing down. He set the glass on the floor beside the chair, then carefully placed his hand on his leg. “Okay, fine. Tell me this bedtime story of yours.”
“You comfy?”
Ty glanced at the dark-wash jeans and custom-tailored shirt he’d put on in expectation of seeing her. They weren’t nearly as “comfy” as the sweats he’d ditched when he got home. Hearing her voice made him semihard. Listening to her dictate the way his evening would go left him torn between wresting control of the situation from her pretty little hands and surrendering to her every demand. But Millie had a point. These were early days for them. No need to push until she shoved.
“I’m comfy enough,” he replied at last. “How about you? You…comfy?”
“I’m completely naked.”
The promptness of her reply coupled with the purr in her voice marked the statement a bald-faced lie, but he figured her fib was the kind of untruth a man could get behind. “Oh yeah?”
“Naked and hot. So hot,” she said, letting her voice go wispy at the end.
Acting or not, the image she invoked worked for him. In the blink of an eye, he went from mildly aroused to hard enough to bust a zipper. “What got you so hot?”
He half expected her to come up with some phone sex hotline BS about him and how she’d been thinking about him all night, but as usual, Millie was full of surprises.
“I bought a book of erotica.”
He took a full minute to absorb what she was saying. Not only had his brain short-circuited, but the synapses still firing had also immediately zeroed in on the possibility she hadn’t been teasing when she’d said she was naked. And hot.
“You, uh…” He paused to swallow the boulder lodged in his throat. “You did?”
“Yes, and I have to tell you, this might be the best thing I’ve ever read.”
He blinked, then blew out the breath trapped in his lungs. As he exhaled, Ty slumped in the chair, tugging at the snug denim of his jeans in an effort to make his situation a tad more comfortable. “Is it?”
“Well, I’ve only just started reading,” she confessed. “But when I got to this one story, I thought you might enjoy hearing it.”
“Yeah?”
“The title is ‘One on One’ and stars a woman who likes big, tall basketball players.”
“She does?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He heard a rustling noise, and the throb in his groin area picked up pace. He knew the sound. She was in bed. Or on the bed. Somewhere near a bed. Location didn’t matter. “Let me come over, and you can read your story to me live and in person.”
“No, it’s more fun this way.”
“I could argue otherwise.”
“Don’t.” She spoke with enough decisiveness to make him snap his mouth shut. “Do you want me to read you this story?”
He hesitated long enough to swallow his disappointment and sink down lower into the chair, stretching his legs out wide in front of him. “Yes. Please.”
His phone beeped to indicate an incoming call, and he pulled it from his ear to check the caller. Mari’s face filled the screen. Instinctively, he dismissed the call. The last thing he wanted at this moment was his ex-wife intruding on his time with Millie, even if it was only over the phone.
“Still with me?” Millie asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
In the lull, he heard the distinct sound of pages being flipped. Frowning at the ceiling, he wondered if Millie had taken the time to write down whatever dirty little ditty she wanted to share with him.
“Mind if I pick up where I left off?”
He chuckled. She could start wherever she wanted as long as she kept talking to him. “Not at all.”
“Okay. Here goes.”
She cleared her throat so officiously he had to smile.
“Sweaty. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow. Occasionally, one made a fast break, the tiny droplet of exertion coursing down his temple, over the rise of his cheekbone, then sliding along the sharp angle of his chiseled jaw.”
“Sure, always the guys with the chiseled jawlines,” he murmured.
“You’re no slouch in the sculpted department, so stop moaning,” she said derisively.
Thrilled by the zing of her sharp wit, he sat up straighter, if for no other reason than to prove he was no slouch in any department. “Ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”
“God, I love the way that sounds.” He laughed, but she picked up right where he’d interrupted. “Celeste wanted to lick him. Taste the salty tang of his skin, feel his heat against her tongue. But he was in the zone, and there was nothing more mesmerizing than watching Beck take down his faceless foes. The flex of his calf muscles as he pivoted was a thing of beauty. Stepping onto the asphalt court, Celeste beamed an incendiary glare at the long, baggy shorts he wore. She used to mock the pictures of those hoopsters from days gone by in their snug, tight shorts. Now, she yearned to see him in a pair.”
“Never gonna happen,” he muttered.
“Hush.” The command was crisp, but he heard the smile in her voice.
“Sorry. Hushing.”
“Celeste never considered herself a gambling woman, but she’d bet his quads were a thing of beauty. And to run her hands up those taut hamstrings as she took him deep—‘You playing?’ At first, she didn’t realize that Beck was talking to her. He didn’t look at her. Nor did he miss a step in his charge to the basket. The chink of the metal link net made her nipples tighten to hard, aching buds. The ball fell into Beck’s outstretched hands as soft and silent as a leaf drifting to the ground.
