The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 2)
The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance: Chapter 61

ON CHRISTMAS MORNING, I wake to Rory carrying a tray into the bedroom.

“Good morning,” he says, crooking a grin at me.

He’s shirtless, wearing black dress slacks and a black bowtie. I burst out laughing.

“What are you wearing?” I ask as he sets the tray on the bedside table.

He hands me a mug. “What, you don’t like it?” He flexes his pecs and I smile harder. His hair is rumpled and his eyes are sleepy but affectionate.

How did I never see this in him, this kind, hilarious, gentle man? My life with Rory is so full, bursting with bright color.

“You look like a stripper.”

“I need a backup in case hockey doesn’t work out.”

He flexes his biceps, shooting me a flirty smile, and I sip my coffee, humming with happiness. Almond milk latte, my favorite. Is this what being in a relationship is like? It seems too good to be true.

“Thank you for the coffee. Wait.” I frown. “You don’t have an espresso maker.” My gaze slides to the chocolate croissant on the tray.

Rory shrugs, settling on the bed on his side. “I found a place nearby that was open today.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” My heart pulses again, warm and delighted. “How long have you been awake?”

“A couple hours.” He looks out the window and worry flickers through his eyes.

My mind goes back to yesterday, when he and his mom looked at each other like they each had so much to say. How he looked so lost.

My protective instincts were on overdrive, seeing the woman who was supposed to love him with everything she had, but who left him. Her expression was full of yearning and regret, though.

They miss each other, and they want a better relationship, but they have no idea how. I’m sure he’s freaking out about going to her place later today.

I set the coffee aside. The need to comfort and distract him has me moving closer on the bed, trailing my fingers through his bedhead. “Your hair is wild.”

“So is yours.”

“I like it.”

His eyes move over me, warm and soft. “I like it, too.”

Heat pulses through me, and I’m flooded with the urge to take care of Rory like he takes care of me. To distract him from his worries and to fill this holiday with good memories.

My hand grazes his neck, flicking the bowtie and making him smile. I drag a slow line down his chest, his abs, until I reach his waistband. I trail lower, brushing over the hardening length between his legs.

His abs tighten, and he sucks in a reluctant breath, eyes going to my wrist.

“My wrist is fine.” I flick the top button of his pants open and slide my hand inside his boxers, palming his erection.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, bucking into my hand.

I love the way his lips part and how his half-lidded gaze stays on me, watching me with fascination.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask lightly as I stroke him.

“Fucking you,” he says on a groan.

“We both know you wouldn’t last one minute inside me.”

“Fuck,” he laughs, and his cock pulses in my hand. “Of course I wouldn’t. Can I touch you?”

“No.”

He makes a frustrated noise, and I smile. Heat flows through me, landing between my legs, making me wet, but toying with Rory is too fun.

“Take your pants off.”

He hurries his pants and boxers off, and his cock springs free, already beading with moisture at the tip. His eyes spark with hot amusement as he pulls the bowtie off and tosses it aside.

When I climb on top of him, his smile drops. “Your ankle—”

“Rory.” My hand sinks into his hair and I grip the strands, straddling his lap and forcing him to look at me instead of my foot. “Shut up,” I say gently.

He nods, eyes going glassy. “Okay.”

I smile again. This is fun.

“I love when you do what I say,” I tell him, reaching down to pull my t-shirt off.

And I love the way his eyes darken when he stares at my chest. My nipples prick under his gaze. When I take his hands and set them on my breasts, his jaw flexes.

“You have the best tits,” he murmurs, running his warm palms over them, playing with the tips.

“I know.”

His breath catches when my hand returns to his cock, stroking him slow and firm. Under my lips on his neck, his skin is hot, his pulse quick, and his breathing shallow. His lips replace mine, kissing me with hunger. Between his hands all over me, in my hair and on my breasts, the way he kisses me like he’ll drown without me, and the low, desperate noises coming from him, I’m aching with arousal.

But I like playing with him too much. My hand speeds up.

“Slow down.”

“No.”

“Please,” he gasps, and his thighs tense, fingers pinching my nipples and sending a hot streak of electricity to my pussy.

I arch an eyebrow. “No.”

“Hazel.” His voice is rough, pleading. “I don’t want to come yet.”

My blood sings with power, and I wear a wicked smile. “So don’t come yet.”

His head falls back on a groan. I grin wider, working my hand around him faster.

“You’re so hot like this,” I whisper, taking in his flushed cheeks, hazy eyes, clenched teeth. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Rory.”

“You don’t even know how beautiful you are,” he grits out. “The second I saw you last year, I lost interest in every other woman on the planet.”

My skin tingles with delight. I can’t help it, I love to hear that. “Good.”

A thought occurs to me. I’m not sure if I want to know the answer, but I ask it anyway.

“When was the last time you had sex?”

He’s breathing hard as our eyes meet, and something flashes in his expression. He hesitates, and I squeeze his cock, making his nostrils flare.

“When?”

“Last summer.” His throat works. He leans forward to press his lips to my neck, inhaling me.

“A year and a half ago?”

He nods, nipping the sensitive skin between my neck and shoulder, and a heavy emotion surges in me. Hope, I think, or maybe affection. Possession. The idea that Rory is mine and all mine is so sweet and necessary, I’m scared to even think about it.

Instead, I move back, settling on my knees between his legs, and lick a long line up his cock. His groan is tortured, shaky, and desperate, and I swirl my tongue over the swollen tip, humming at the way he tastes.

At his sides, his hands make tight fists.

“You’re doing so good,” I murmur before sinking my mouth around him, and his cock pulses against my tongue.

My free hand wraps around his balls, pulling another deep, hoarse noise from him. His fingers are in my hair, tensing with gentle weight, and I suck hard.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, Hazel. I can’t—” He breaks off on a broken moan when I take him to the back of my throat, hollowing out my cheeks.

The desperate edge to his voice? He’s close.

I’m cruel, so I pull off him for a moment. His eyes are feverish, hair a fucking mess, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Don’t come,” I remind him before taking him back into my mouth, smiling around his thick length as he makes tortured noises.

I suck as hard as I can, and he stiffens. His balls tighten, and a second later, hot, salty light floods my mouth. His hips jerk, pushing between my lips, and I swallow his release with greed. My blood thrums between my legs, pounding through me with satisfaction and pride.

“Sorry,” he gasps, pulling me to his chest. “I couldn’t help it.”

“I know.” I laugh. “I wanted you to come.”

“You’re the devil.” He’s still catching his breath, but he’s smiling.

“You love it.”

“I do.”

His sated expression flickers with heat, and his hand drifts between my legs. My toes curl at the burst of sensation.

“My turn?”

I nod, arching into his touch. His hand comes to my waist, and he slides down the bed beneath me before his lips are on my clit.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Mhm.” His eyes close as he drags his tongue over me.

Fire races through me as I ride his face—I’m so worked up from going down on Rory that this won’t take long. My hips tilt in rhythm with his mouth, and pressure gathers between my legs. His mouth is slick, hot, and the perfect amount of pressure, and when he looks up at me, something unfurls in my chest.

“Rory,” I moan.

His hands slide to mine, fingers interlacing, and the stupid little affectionate moment winds me higher. This is so much more intense than any hookup I’ve ever had, and we still haven’t had full sex.

The thought fades away as his lips wrap around my clit and he sucks hard. My muscles flutter, he moans, and the ache behind my clit bursts, soaring through me, making me gasp and work myself shamelessly over his mouth. Pleasure rolls through my limbs, and every thought explodes into dust. Throughout, he grips my hands, steady and strong.

When my release fades, I lift off him, climb down his body, and collapse on his chest. Both of us breathe hard, hearts pounding against each other.

“Best Christmas ever,” he whispers, grinning, and I dissolve into laughter.