Torn into Pieces(Rewritten)

Chapter 40-Ace

It was a normal day, or at least it started that way. The sun filtered through the blinds, casting soft shadows around the house. The quiet hum of the fridge was the only noise breaking the stillness. I lay there on the couch, half-watching something mindless on TV, trying to distract myself from the growing boredom.

Alexander was at work as usual, doing whatever secretive and important stuff he dealt with. I was stuck here with nothing to do. I cleaned the house, made the bed, even did laundry—yeah, it was that bad. My phone buzzed with notifications every now and then, but it wasn't anything exciting.

And that's when the boredom really set in.

I flipped through social media, swiping aimlessly through pictures of people I hadn't seen in years and didn't really care about anymore. I sighed, glancing at the time. Alexander wouldn't be home for a few more hours at least, and the day was dragging.

Then, an idea crept into my mind, one I couldn't resist. I smirked to myself, unlocking my phone and opening up my message app. If I was going to be bored, I was going to make it interesting for both of us.

Miss me yet? I typed, sending it to Alexander with a devilish grin.

Of course, no response. He was probably buried in paperwork or dealing with something at work, but that only made this more fun. I pictured him reading it, then getting interrupted by something urgent, maybe biting his lip in frustration because he couldn't answer.

I leaned back against the cushions, thumbs dancing over the screen as I typed again.

I've been thinking about you all day, babe. Imagining what I'd do to you if you were here.
Still nothing. I laughed softly to myself. That was okay; I was just getting started.

Can't wait for you to get home so I can show you exactly what I mean.
I tapped send and lay there, my grin growing wider. I knew he'd be feeling the heat now. Alexander was always so composed and focused, but I knew how to break that focus. It was part of the fun.

Another message came to mind, something dirtier, and I quickly typed it out, not holding back.

I'm laying here, thinking about you bending me over the counter, grabbing my hips, and punishing me for teasing you.

A minute passed, and my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen and saw his name pop up with a text. I almost laughed out loud.

Alexander: You're asking for it, baby. Keep going, and you'll regret it when I get home.

Bingo. I had him hooked now. I sent another message, this time with a teasing edge.

Regret? Or love it?

Hours passed, but I kept at it, sending him texts that were filthier and filthier, descriptions of what I wanted to do when he got home, how I'd kneel in front of him, how I'd beg for it. The anticipation built with each message I sent, and I could practically feel his frustration through the phone.

The sun was starting to set by the time I finally stopped texting. I stretched out on the couch, phone clutched in my hand, waiting. The thought of Alexander storming through the door, all worked up because of me, was making my heart race. I couldn't wait to see the look on his face.

I heard the front door creak open, and my pulse quickened. I kept still, playing it cool, as I stared at the TV like I hadn't spent the entire day teasing him.

"Ace," his voice called from the hallway, low and dangerously calm.

I smirked to myself. "In here," I called back.

He appeared in the doorway, and my stomach flipped at the sight of him. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched, and there was a gleam in his eyes that told me I'd pushed him far enough. But there was something else there too—desire. He wasn't just mad. He wanted me.