Page 70 of Playing for the Hat Trick
“It’s reckless.”
“Good thing I’ve been injured before. I can take a hit.”
“This doesn’t fix anything.”
He leans in just an inch. “No. I’ll make you forget what’s broken, Scottie. Just come undone for me.”
I break first.
Because of course I do.
Because he’s standing there with patience on his face and sin in his eyes, I’ve never been good at resisting anything wrapped in the shape of a bad idea I desperately want to touch.
I stand up slowly, bracing myself on the counter.
His breath catches. Only slightly. Just enough for me to know I’m not the only one unraveling.
Then I step into him.
Close enough to press my chest to his.
Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin and the hard ridge already forming beneath the thin cotton of his sweatpants.
“Don’t you dare go gentle,” I murmur, fingers curling in the hem of his hoodie.
Jason’s grin is slow. Filthy. Honest.
“Baby,” he says, already lifting me onto the counter, “I wouldn’t know how.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jason
The Taste-First, Ask-Questions-Later Maneuver
That’s the moment.
The precise instant she tilts her chin, not in defiance or invitation—no, it’s something worse. She trusts me. Trusts that I’ll behave. That I’ll deliver exactly what she wants, how she wants it, and I won’t hold back.
I won’t. I fucking can’t.
I’m totally done. I have to give it all. Her lips part like she’s about to whisper my name. Her eyes glint like she knows what I’m about to do and is already cataloging all the ways she’s going to pretend to be surprised about it later.
My restraint? Picture a Post-it note clinging to the fridge door during a tornado. That’s where we’re at.
I lunge.
No finesse, no slow burn tease—just years of pent-up need crashing into her like I’ve lost the ability to think. My hands find her face, jaw cradled between my palms like she’s precious. Breakable. I know she’s not, but it feels right—holding her like I’ve been dreaming of this exact grip for way too long.
Like, I’m afraid she’ll leave because I know she can just walk away right now. But she doesn’t.
Her gasp is soft, involuntary, and, fuck, that sound.
My lips brush hers like an apology I don’t mean, a warning I have no intention of following. Her breath catches—right before I take her mouth for real.
This isn’t some polite first-date peck.
This is lips crashing, tongues tangling, my body pressed flush to hers as if we’ve got to make up for every damn second we didn’t do this before. My thumbs sweep along her jaw. Her fingers fist in my shirt, dragging me closer like I wasn’t already trying to crawl inside her skin.
