Page 32 of Trick Shot (Miami Blazers #1)

He slams his mouth against mine, swallowing the rest of my confession like it’s a prize he’s been waiting to collect. His lips are soft, his stubble is rough, and he’s feeding off every piece of information on Ghost.

And it doesn’t stop him. I think it fuels him.

“Do you think you’d still feel the same if you met him in person?” He pumps slow, torturous strokes inside me with his fingers, his body still looming.

“Do you think you’d still get wet for his voice if you saw who it came from?” His fingers curl inside me and I cry out, but he doesn’t stop.

“Would he still be your safe space if he had a face and a name?”

“Jace,” I breathe, eyes wide, orgasm building too fast.

“Because you did hate him when you met him again,” he whispers, lips brushing my jaw.

My heart kicks even more.

“You hated him when you saw his face. When you learned his name.”

“What are you saying?” My chest is heaving now, my heart is thrashing, and my body craves his touch more and more with each second.

His fingers slide in again, torturously slow.

“You hate him right now,” he breathes, lips against my ear, “with his fingers buried in your little pussy.”

This is a punishment. That’s what it is. This is why he was so calm—he was planning out how to torture me. And this is what he chooses? Psychological games? Trying to make me believe it’s Ghost?

“I don’t know what game you’re playing,” I snap, voice cracking. “But it’s sick.”

I try to move, but his body keeps mine pinned.

“I liked the one with the white brick wall in the front,” he says calmly.

“And the French windows,” he adds. “That little alcove in the back? That’s gonna be perfect when the sun hits the blooms.”

My chest tightens as panic crawls inside it. Is he talking about… my flower shop?

“Jace, wait,” I whisper right before his fingers enter me again.

His lips graze my ear as I cry out.

“You were right. The flowers will pop against the white.”

My heart stops, starts again, and goes completely crazy against my ribs.

No.

He’s trying to mess with my head. And he’s succeeding. Because he’s not supposed to know about these things. He’s not supposed to know about the raspberry wine, about the pickles, about the way I take my coffee—and definitely not about the flower shop.

“You…” My voice breaks into a whimper.

No. The world can’t be this cruel. And this perfect.

I’m panicking now, chest heaving, but Jace keeps going.

“I love it when you send them to me,” he says.

I shake my head, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?

“So tell me, Bunny?” he whispers, fingers still pumping between my thighs.

Bunny.

My mouth opens, but only gasps come out. I stare up at him, wide-eyed, at the edge of an orgasm, with my mind running a million miles a second.

He leans in close, eyes blazing.

“What the fuck does Ghost have that I don’t?” His lips brush mine. “When we’ve been the same person this entire time?”

His words slam into me.

My world is turning upside down—only my body hasn’t caught up.

I’m struck between craving him and scrambling to process what he said.

Then he pulls away, leaving me dazed and breathless, body pulsing from the loss of his fingers.

He pulls the front of his pants down, freeing his cock. My core tightens in anticipation, completely separate from my mind.

“You’re…” I breathe, still trying to figure out if he said what I think he said.

He’s breathing heavy, chest rising like he’s trying to stay in control. But his eyes are feral.

His cock is in his hand now, thick and long, and he’s so handsome it almost hurts. And to think…

Is this really the face under the mask? The body under the black costume? Is this the man I’ve been falling for the past ten months?

“Jace…” I whisper, legs still spread, body still begging.

“Still hate me?” he asks, voice a whisper as he drags the tip of his cock along my lips—not pushing in, just teasing.

I can’t answer. All I can think about is how long he’s known who I am. How long he’s pretended he doesn’t know me—while he’s the person who knows me best.

My throat is dry, my brain’s fried—I do everything but process what’s happening as he drags the tip of his cock along my entrance.

“So let me help.” His voice turns to a whisper, thick with venom and heat. “I piss you off. I’m cocky. I’m arrogant. I’m just… what did you call me? Your brother’s insufferable teammate.”

“Oh my god,” I gasp, remembering exactly what I called him—what I said to Ghost… about himself.

He nudges the tip of his cock inside me, but doesn’t give me more.

“Please!” My hips buck toward him, my body betraying my mind.

His voice drops to a whisper. “Beg for the rest.”

“What?” I blink, face flushing.

“Beg me, Bunny,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my cheek. “Beg for my cock. Not his.”

“Please,” I whisper, breath hitching as I try to lift my hips. “Please, more.”

“More of what?” His voice is wicked silk, dragging a shiver up my spine.

“You. All of you.” I breathe, hands clawing for him.

He thrusts fully inside me and the breath leaves my lungs. His hand claps over my mouth just in time to catch the scream I can’t hold in. He moves slowly, possessively, and the heat builds so fast it’s dizzying.

“Now you have all of me, Melody,” he murmurs against my temple.

He rolls his hips, deep and grinding, hitting a spot that makes my whole body spasm. My nails dig into his back as I try to ground myself, but nothing is solid anymore—only him. His name, his presence, the stretch of him inside me, all of it consuming every inch of me.

His hand slides down to my thigh, lifts it, and angles me wider. The next thrust has me crying out, broken and breathless.

My back arches and his hand slides from my mouth to my cheek, cupping it tenderly, almost reverently, in contrast to the brutal way he’s moving inside me. His lips find the shell of my ear as he grinds deeper, dragging friction that makes me sob.

My body clenches around him, still sore from earlier, still sensitive, but it doesn’t matter. I want more..

“Who’s inside you now?” he growls, his voice low and devastating.

“Jace,” I pant, helpless, writhing beneath him.

He thrusts harder, and the sound of him moaning—deep and wrecked—sends another tremor through me. My body’s unraveling, orgasm building fast, too fast.

“You like that?” he murmurs, sensing it. He slows his thumb, dragging it over my clit with cruel patience. My hips lift, chasing friction, desperate.

He leans down, mouth rough against mine, hand fists the sheets beside my head while angling his thrusts even deeper.

"Go on, baby. Hate me," he breathes into my mouth. "Curse me. Scream at me. But you’ll still come on my dick.”

His thumb circles faster, and I’m shaking, teetering on the edge, lost in the stretch and heat of him.

My back bows, my vision shatters, and I come so hard it steals the air from my lungs. My body locks around him, clenching, pulsing, breaking open as I scream into his shoulder from the force of it.

He groans against my throat, still moving, fucking me through the aftershocks, voice ragged. “That’s it, baby… take it.”

His thrusts get rougher, faster. His control is slipping, I can feel it in the way his hands tighten on my body, in the ragged edge of his breath.

“Fuck—” he chokes, pulling out suddenly.

Warmth hits my belly in thick, hot spurts as he groans my name through gritted teeth, body shaking above mine. He strokes himself once more, breath heavy, his chest heaving as he collapses beside me.