The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 2)
The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance: Chapter 24

“FUCK, THAT FEELS SO GOOD,” I moan.

Who am I? The stupid crystal dragon sits on my dresser, judging me. Nothing’s changed since this morning, though, and we’re still pretending.

I think.

“What are you thinking about?” he rasps, watching me closely.

God, Rory does a good impression of horny. The low tone goes straight to my aching pussy. His eyes are dark, half-lidded, pinning me, and I wonder if he’s thinking about us doing all of this for real.

I am.

I’m thinking about that thick length pressing against my ass this morning and what it would feel like with him on top of me, pushing into me. My mind imagines what the sweet burn of him inside me would feel like.

My underwear is soaked.

“You,” I admit. “Inside me. You’re so big. The biggest I’ve ever had.”

He wears the laziest, cockiest grin I’ve ever seen, that bastard.

“How’d you get so good at fucking me, Rory?”

More desire flares in his eyes. He likes when I say things like that, or he pretends to. I’m not sure anymore.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he urges, breathing hard and wearing a determined expression.

“When you fuck me, you hit places inside me even I can’t reach.”

“I bet you’re so wet right now.”

His pained expression makes me throb between my legs. God, I just whimpered. I’m a mess. I don’t care, though. This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done and it’s not even real. I’m not even touching myself. Arousal gathers low in my belly and I press my thighs together, desperate for friction.

A sharp burst of pleasure shoots through me, and my lips part. We need to end this before I actually do come.

“I’m there,” I gasp.

“Yes.” He leans in, staring hard at the screen. “Yes, baby. Keep going. I need to see you come.”

“Come with me.”

“I’m close,” he groans. “Now, baby.”

I let out a cry of pleasure, panting through it and gripping my duvet like it’s real, and a ragged, pained groan rips through him.

“Wow,” I say, because I can just see it, him making that agonized expression while he comes inside me.

“Holy shit.” He blinks, broad chest rising and falling to catch his breath.

We look at each other. What the fuck just happened?

Through the bathroom door, we hear Connor leave.

“He’s gone.” A sly grin pulls up on his flushed face. “Nice work.”

“You, too.” I’m still swollen, wet, and aching. I need to deal with this. I can’t be talking to Rory while I’m this horny. “I have to go.”

He jerks a nod. “Me, too.” He clears his throat again. “‘Night, Hartley.”

“Good night,” I say in a weird tone before ending the call.

I toss the phone aside and dip my fingers below the waistband of my leggings. The second I touch my clit, my back arches off the bed.

“Fuck,” I breathe, swirling circles through my wetness. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

My orgasm builds, fills me, expands through every limb before it bursts, radiating heat and intense pleasure from my center while I gasp for air, picturing his intense, focused expression. I’m clenching on nothing, clamping down where Rory’s cock should be, where I’ve imagined it, moaning while my fingers move fast over my soft, sensitive skin.

It’s so good, it’s so fucking good, and yet it’s not enough.

When I’m finally wrung out, pulse beating in my ears and thoughts sluggish, I let out a long breath, roll onto my back, and stare at the ceiling.

That was the strongest orgasm I’ve ever had.

This is going to be a problem.