Page 111 of Playing for the Hat Trick
I slide my hand down, fingertips grazing my stomach, teasing the waistband of my panties.
“Fuck, Scottie,” he rasps. “You’re killing me. You’re so fucking beautiful. So fucking mine.”
The raw hunger in his voice sends a rush of need through me, so hot it almost aches.
I dip my fingers lower, slipping beneath the thin cotton, finding the slick heat waiting for him.
Jason groans, biting his lip so hard it goes white. “Take them off,” he orders roughly. “I need to see all of you.”
I hook my thumbs into the waistband and shimmy out of them, tossing them off the bed. His curse rips through the speaker.
“God, look at you,” he says, almost like he’s in pain. “Fucking perfect.”
I trail my fingers back down, slow and deliberate, spreading my thighs just enough for him to see.
He lets out a rough, broken sound that sends a jolt of heat straight through me.
“Touch your clit, sweetheart. Just your clit. Slow circles. I want to see you get desperate for it.”
I obey, dragging slow, torturous circles over the throbbing bundle of nerves. My breath stutters out in a ragged shudder.Jason leans closer to the screen as if he could reach through it and touch me if he just got close enough.
“That’s it,” he says, his voice wrecked and wild. “God, you’re fucking perfect. You feel good, don’t you?”
I whimper, nodding, losing my grasp on words, language—basic cognitive function, honestly.
“I wish I was there,” he rasps. “Wish I could suck that sweet pussy until you’re begging. Wish I could slide inside you nice and slow. Make you scream my name so loud you lose your fucking voice.”
“Jason . . .” I breathe, hips jerking helplessly with the rhythm of my hand.
“Don’t stop,” he growls. “Don’t you fucking dare. I need to see you come. I need to see you fall apart for me.”
Tension coils tighter, winding me up until I’m teetering right at the edge of no return, the heat sparking hotter with every second. And through it all, he’s there—watching me like he’s starved like I’m the only thing he’s ever fucking wanted.
His voice drops lower, rough and almost reverent. It’s my undoing.
“Come for me, baby. Give it to me. Let me see how fucking good I make you feel—even from three thousand miles away.”
That’s all it takes.
I shatter with a gasping cry, pleasure tearing through me in wild, blinding waves.
Jason groans, low and guttural, the sound vibrating straight through the screen and into my bones like he can feel it, too.
I collapse onto the bed, panting, dazed, my body still twitching with aftershocks.
On the screen, Jason’s forehead drops to his arm, his whole body quaking like he’s barely stitched together.
“Fuck,” he mutters, voice wrecked and raw. “I’m so fucking in love with you, it’s disgusting.”
I blink at him, my heart lurching like someone hit it with a taser. Did he—? Did he really say ‘love’?
I just . . . stare. Frozen. Bracing for the take-back.
But he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t soften it with a joke. He just looks at me like I’m the best stupid mistake he’s ever made.
And somewhere deep inside me—beneath the panic, beneath the fear—something warm and reckless stirs awake.
My throat closes up, my heart cartwheeling in my chest like an idiot with no self-preservation instincts.
