Page 7 of Trick Shot (Miami Blazers #1)

“Already undressing for me?” he asks, voice low and thick.

Before I can even form a coherent clapback, he steps closer. The island counter presses into my lower back, and my heart misses a beat.

His eyes are on mine—no smirk now. Just pure, molten, coiled tension. The kind of look that makes your knees forget their job.

His scent surrounds me, deeper now, from the fabric on my body and the heat of his breath just inches from my face. My hands tremble slightly, still caught in the hem of the hoodie.

“Want a taste?” He lifts his beer, still watching me, and tips it in my direction.

“I don’t drink beer.” I eye the bottle.

His grin widens, teeth white, eyes sharp.

“That right?” he says, and then, slowly, he brings the bottle to his lips and drinks. His throat flexes as he swallows, strong and slow. The muscles in his neck working with every tilt.

I watch him, completely transfixed. The counter is behind me, his body is in front of me, and all I can feel is the heat pouring off his skin and the reckless awareness that my brother is just a few feet away.

And this, whatever this is, is very, very bad.

The silence stretches, taut and dangerous, before he breaks it.

“I’m Jace, by the way,” he murmurs.

Jace.

My breath comes out shallow through my parted lips. His beer bottle rests casually in his fingers as he steps away from me. The movement is slow but intentional, like he wants me to feel the absence of his body.

His eyes flick over me one last time, landing on the hoodie.

“Keep it,” he says, voice quiet now, rougher. Like it’s not a suggestion, but an order.

He turns and walks away, back towards the glass doors. Back to my brother, who definitely didn’t see this. Otherwise, this man would be lying on the floor with a concussion.

Back to the patio.

Back to Dom, like I didn’t just stop breathing for a full minute.

He leaves me standing there, knees weak, my clit throbbing, and one single thought echoing through my head like a warning.

His name is Jace. And I don’t know if I came down here for lemonade,

or for this.

It starts the same way it always does. The mask, the hands. The voice like smoke and sin, curling against the shell of my ear as I stand frozen in the dark.

I can’t see his face. I never see his face.

But his touch, his presence, his heat pressing into me—it’s all him. It’s always him.

Ghost.

He corners me against the wall of a place that doesn’t exist, somewhere between memory and fantasy. His hand wraps gently around my throat, thumb grazing the base of my jaw, holding me still without hurting me.

I tilt my head back, breathing ragged, and he leans in close. Our mouths barely touching.

“You’ve been thinking about me again,” he murmurs.

His fingers trail down the center of my chest, over my bare skin, slow and taunting.

I nod as he slips behind me, his hand splaying across my stomach as he pulls me flush against him. His mouth brushes my neck, lips parting, teeth grazing.

“You looked so good in my hoodie,” he says, voice molten.

I freeze. What?

“Looked so good on you,” he adds, and something inside me twists, hard and hot and wrong.

His fingers slip beneath my panties, dragging over my wet pussy. A whimper slips past my lips, my knees threatening to give out.

“Fuck, you’re soaked. And I haven’t even started.”

I start to turn toward him, to say something, but stop as his other hand comes up to his face. The mask he’s never removed in my dreams before slowly lifts. My breath catches, and my eyes close involuntarily.

“Open your eyes, Bunny.” His mouth dips close to my ear.

I open them, just as his mask falls away. And underneath it… is Jace. His face is inches from mine, eyes burning into me, unapologetic and wicked.

My entire body detonates. A deep throb blooms low in my belly, and I jolt awake. My chest heaves as I sit up, drenched in sweat and heat.

The image clings to me. Jace, in Ghost’s place. Ghost’s touch. Ghost’s hunger.

But it was Jace’s face. Jace’s mouth.

My breathing’s too fast, my pulse thundering. It takes me a full ten seconds to realize where my hand is. Between my legs, pressed against slick cotton. And the worst part is that I’m already moving it, rubbing in circles. Slow, tentative, and guilty—but still moving.

My eyes flutter closed and my back arches, my brain still in a haze. I touch myself like I’m still dreaming, and if I don’t open my eyes, I can stay in that moment.

My breath comes fast and shallow. My hips shift as I chase it. Him. Them.

My mind tries to focus on Ghost—his words, his hands. But every time the pleasure rises, the face is his.

Jace.

My stomach knots, and I suddenly snap out of it. I yank my hand back like I’ve been burned, covering my face with both palms as if that’ll undo what I just did. But it’s too late.

I’m not just wet—I’m soaked. And all I can see when I close my eyes is him.

The same man who saw my nipples poking through my tank top. Who caught me in his hoodie. Who looks at me like he wants to watch me fall apart.

The same man who just invaded the one place that belonged to Ghost.

I’m in trouble. Big, stupid, irreversible trouble.