Page 172 of The Wrong Play

I moaned as my legs wrapped around him, and he thrust harder, each stroke a claim, a punishment, a vow. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled as he gripped my hips, tilting me to take him deeper.

The pace built, savage and perfect. His mouth was on my neck, my chest, leaving biting marks all over my skin like he was carving his name. I came again, a shuddering wreck, my nails raking his back as he fucked me through it unyieldingly, chasing his own end. “Say it,” he demanded hoarsely as his hips slammed into mine. “Say you won’t leave.”

“Jace…” I whimpered. I was lost in him. Another orgasm was building too fast, it was too much.

But he didn’t stop, he drove me higher, his grip bruising as his eyes locked on mine.

“Say it, Riley,” he snarled, his thrusts erratic as I teetered on the edge. “You’re mine. Fucking say it.”

“Yes,” I finally sobbed as I shattered again, pleasure tearing me apart as he groaned and spilled his hot cum inside me. It filled me up until it was leaking down my thighs, soaking the bed underneath us. “I’m yours…I won’t leave.”

Jace collapsed over me, breathing hard, his weight pinning me as aftershocks rippled through us. But he wasn’t done. He pulled out, flipped me onto my stomach, and slid in again, slower now, deliberate…drawing it out. “Good girl,” he murmured in a dark, thick voice as his hands roamed my back, my ass. “But we’re going to keep going to make sure you truly understand. You. Are. Mine!”

I lost track of the orgasms, each one stripping me bare, leaving me raw and limp. He fucked me until I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think…until I was just a quivering mess, his name a broken plea on my lips. “Never,” he whispered, final and fierce,as I came one last time, the world fading to black as I passed out, spent and his.

One more thing hit me, though, as I drifted into unconsciousness. There was another difference between Jace and Callum.

I’d never loved Callum.

The only man I’d ever truly loved was…Jace.

JACE

The first rays of morning light crept through the blinds, casting soft, golden streaks over Riley’s sleeping form. She was sprawled out on our bed, her cheek pressed into the pillow, her long, blonde lashes fanning against her skin. The sheets were tangled around her legs, one arm stretched above her head, the other…well. The other was cuffed to the headboard.

With a furry pink handcuff.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the dresser, watching her chest rise and fall in a slow, steady rhythm. Even in sleep, she looked smug, like she already knew she had me wrapped around her little finger. Which, yeah. She did.

But that didn’t mean she could just leave me.

My jaw ticked, the memory of yesterday slamming into me like a full-body hit. That sinking feeling in my gut when I checked her location. That cold, sharp panic when I saw the blinking dot on my phone screen—far away from here, seemingly waiting at a bus stop on the edge of town.

She’d been running.

And if I hadn’t gotten there in time, she would have left me.

Imagine if I hadn’t disabled her car before I’d left for the team hotel the night before. Who knows how far she would have gotten.

The thought still made my ribs ache.

I’d done what any reasonable man would do. Hauled her ass back here, made sure she knew she wasn’t going anywhere, and then spent the entire night proving it. Again. And again. And again.

I knew she was exhausted, fucked into oblivion, mind too hazy to even think about leaving now. But just in case…I’d taken precautions.

The pink handcuff was a nice touch. Her favorite color. It seemed only fair.

Riley stirred, murmuring something unintelligible as she shifted beneath the sheets. My lips curled as her wrist gave a little tug, the chain rattling against the headboard. Her brows furrowed, her nose scrunching up like something wasn’t quite right. And then, slowly, her eyes blinked open.

It took a second. A long, slow second where I could practically see her sleepy brain processing why one of her arms wasn’t moving freely. And then her gaze snapped to her wrist, her entire body going rigid.

“What the hell?” she croaked, her voice rough with sleep. She yanked at the cuff once. Then again. The pink fur made a delightful little contrast against her skin. “Jace?”

“Morning, Riley-girl.” I smirked, pushing off the dresser.

She lifted her head, looking at me, then back at her hand, and then back at me. “Jace,” she repeated slowly, like she was trying to determine whether I’d actually lost my mind. “Are you serious?”

I nodded. “Deadly.”

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