The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 2)
The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance: Chapter 48

I PRESS my lips together to hold in the moan as his hand works exactly the way I need. My face is buried in his neck, huffing in his scent as his hand massages my pussy into another state of consciousness.

“Still feeling jealous?” My voice is thin as he slips his fingers beneath the fabric, and our moans mingle as he drags friction over my clit. “Oh my god,” I breathe against his warm skin. Heat builds under his fingers, swirling and gathering at his touch, and I see my release on the horizon.

He makes a low, pleased noise, hand working steadily with flat fingers, wide and firm circles, exactly the way I touch myself. I don’t know how the hell he knows.

“This is helping,” he says.

“Good.” My lips run up his jaw to his ear. “Keep going, then.”

He reaches over his shoulder and pulls his shirt off before shooting me another knowing grin and getting back to work with his hand between my legs. “Give you something pretty to look at while I get you off.”

So sure of himself. It only drives me higher. His fingers swirl and the spring of tension around the base of my spine winds tighter and tighter.

“Only one thing will really help, though,” he murmurs.

His fingers sink into me, and every nerve in my body lights up. I can’t think, I can’t speak other than the breathy, needy noises slipping out of me, and I stare wide-eyed into Rory’s eyes as he pushes his long fingers into me, not even giving my body time to accommodate him.

“Oh,” I gasp as heat shivers through me.

He isn’t gentle, and I like it. He watches my reaction closely and I know any sign of pain or discomfort would stop this whole situation, but that’s the last thing I want.

I want him to keep doing this. I love his expression, like he’s had a taste of control for the first time and needs more.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes.” Rory holding me on his knee and taking what he needs lights up my whole body. “Take what you want, Rory.”

He groans, jaw tight, pinning me with his focus. “This is exactly what I want. I want to keep you here like this.” His gaze drops to where his fingers are deep inside me, touching a part of me I’ve never been able to reach. “I love it when you’re a good girl for me like this.”

Pleasure unfurls through me and I clench my teeth, breathing hard. This might be my kink, watching Rory get what he wants.

“You’re close.”

“No, I’m not.” Yes, I am, but how much further can I push him? “The last time was a fluke.”

His hand moves to the back of my head, and when his fingers thread into my hair, pulling a fistful tight, light blooms through me like a sunrise. It doesn’t hurt, not at all, but with his strength, his size, and the knowing, focused look in his eyes, the message is clear.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, gaze raking over me like his control is fraying. “You’re going to sit on my lap and come on my fingers like I’ve been thinking about for weeks.”

Rory’s expression is awestruck and curious, like he’s surprised himself, pupils huge and mouth slanted up in a reluctant smirk that tells me he’s enjoying this very, very much.

When I clench up around him, he smiles more.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

I’m always in control. Always. But him holding me down in his lap, stuffing me full of his fingers while I spiral higher and higher—it’s working for me. He tilts my head back another inch, baring my throat, and his smug grin slides higher.

“Oh, no,” he says in a low, teasing voice. “You’re not going to come, are you?”

On a broken exhale, I shake my head, still clinging to his gaze.

“Because you don’t do that with guys, right?”

“Right.” My eyes start to close but his grip on my hair tightens.

“Open your eyes and look at me.” Against my hip, his steel cock presses with urgency. “You’re making a mess on me, Hartley.”

He crooks his fingers, replaceing that spot inside me that makes me lose my mind, and my nails dig into his pecs as pleasure arcs through me.

“I love how you try to fight me,” he says in my ear, nipping the sensitive skin between my neck and shoulder. “You don’t know how many times I thought about this when you were tutoring me.”

I bite back a moan, imagining us doing this in the library, me trying to be silent while his fingers stretch me out and make stars dance behind my eyes. The pressure inside me coils tighter and I’m starting to shake against him.

“Don’t stop,” I moan against his shoulder as he works my G-spot. My pleasure bears down on me, circling closer and closer.

“God, Hartley,” he growls as my toes start to curl, “I needed this so bad.”

Around his fingers, my muscles tighten. He grips my hair harder, tipping me back farther to look up into his eyes while he wears that wicked, knowing smile and brings his thumb to my aching clit, rubbing tight, fast circles.

I can’t hold off any longer.

My orgasm hits me hard, bursting behind my vision and sweeping through me. I’m gasping words like please and yes and Rory and oh god while he watches me unravel on his knee, shaking and shattering and sobbing at how fucking incredible the waves of pleasure feel. He doesn’t let up from my G-spot, doesn’t stop his fingers from delving in and out as I clamp around them, and even while blood is whooshing in my ears and my face is in his shoulder, I can hear how wet I am as he fills me again and again.

When I slump against him, catching my breath, his mouth is on my temple, on the shell of my ear, my neck, my cheek. I tip my face up to him, feeling drunk and drained in the best way, and he smiles against my lips.

“Good job me,” he says, and I laugh silently.

“So cocky.”

“Mhm.”

He lifts his hand and sucks his fingers off, and another wave of heat ripples through me as he lets out a low groan. Against my hip, his cock pulses.

God, that shouldn’t be so hot, but it is, seeing him love my taste like that.

“What’s your favorite position, Rory?” I whisper, running my lips down his neck. More than anything, I want to see him lose it. My hand comes to his cock and a hoarse groan rumbles out of him when I stroke his length over his pants.

“Whichever one makes you come the hardest.”

“Good answer.”

Here we fucking go. I adjust on his lap, straddling him, giving him a coy, teasing smile as I push his shoulders back so he’s lying down. His cock presses between my legs, straining against his pants, and I smile at the tortured expression on Rory’s handsome face.

“But we’re not doing that tonight,” he adds, dragging in a deep breath, gaze dropping to my chest and then the damp fabric between my legs.

I lean down, running my mouth over his chest in soft kisses, holding his gaze. “I want to.” Against his erection, I grind down, already feeling the stirring ache again.

There’s something behind his eyes, something he’s holding back from me. Something vulnerable he doesn’t want to say as his throat works.

“What’s the rush?”

I pause. It’s the second time I’ve offered him sex and he’s turned it down. I’d feel rejected if it weren’t for the way he looks like he’s seconds from losing control. The stiff length pressing against my pussy helps, too.

He wants this, so why’s he holding back? I’m not sure how this fits with the Rory’s just interested in a chase narrative I’ve been chanting to myself.

Guys don’t do this. This doesn’t make sense.

His hands come to my hips, his mouth lifts into a sweet smile, and dread settles in my stomach.

Oh god. He’s dragging this out because I told him that I fuck a guy once and never again.

I can’t think about what this means on his end. I can’t think about what he wants. It’s going to give me ideas.

Maybe this is a good thing, not sleeping together. Rory’s so much more than I expected and if I have sex with him, I might fall in love with him, and that can’t happen. I can already feel it starting—this urge to be the loving, encouraging person he needs in his life.

It would be so bad if I fell in love with Rory Miller. It would break me into a million pieces.

He deserves good things, though, and an insistent desire to please him and make him feel good loops through me, so I trail my fingers down his chest and flat stomach, brushing along the V cut into his hips, closer and closer to his waistband as his eyelids droop.

“What, then?” I ask softly, dipping down to kiss his throat. “What do you need?”

His exhale is ragged, and his throat works again.

“What did you think about while you were away?”

His eyes close, and when they open, his gaze sears me. “You lying on the edge of the bed and me fucking your throat.”

The noise that slips out of me is pure want. “So take what you want, Rory.”