The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 2)
The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance: Chapter 74

TELLING Rory I loved him unleashes something in him, because the second we’re in the elevator ascending to our suite, his hands are all over me.

“I thought about this all day,” he says as he rubs slick circles on my clit, hand down the front of my pants with a strong arm locked across my front to hold me close.

In the mirror, I watch my lips part, arching against him. His erection pushes against my ass while he strokes me higher and higher. My body responds to him, thrumming and tightening.

The elevator stops at a floor that isn’t ours, and Rory takes his hand back, straightening up. The doors open, someone steps on, and the three of us stand there in silence while my heart hammers and my clit aches for more attention.

Rory meets my eyes in our reflection and he gives me a tiny smirk. I press down on my laugh.

He’s wild, and he makes me wild, and I can’t imagine the trajectory of my life if we hadn’t gotten together. Life would be so dull without him.

When I’m a hundred years old and thinking back on my life, I’ll think about being in love with Rory Miller.

The person steps off and before the door is fully closed, his mouth crushes mine, claiming me. On our floor, we stumble to the door of our suite, kissing and laughing and fumbling for the keycard.

“We’re not even inside yet,” I laugh as he pulls my jacket off.

“Hurry up, then,” he says.

My sweater is off the second we step in the door. His follows. The path to the bedroom is a trail of discarded clothes. Rory’s hands are everywhere on me. His mouth is urgent, pressing kisses down my neck before returning to my mouth, coaxing me open. He slips an arm around my waist to hold me upright while he yanks my leggings off before his gaze drifts over the cream lace set I’m wearing.

His eyes glaze and he lets out a heavy breath before he hooks the bra cups down and flicks his tongue over my nipple, fingers toying with the other. My pulse thrums between my legs, and I sigh as his mouth works, sinking my fingers into his hair and tugging lightly, pulling a deep moan from him.

It’s not sex with Rory; it’s so much more.

His pants and boxers disappear, and he removes my bra and underwear in a distracted way that makes me smile. He’s already hard, cock jutting out at an angle as he hands me my jersey.

“Put this on,” he says in a rough voice, eyes going dark, and a shiver runs through me.

I’m independent and strong and self-sufficient, but I’m powerless against Rory’s possessive, demanding side.

I slip the jersey over my head, the fabric brushing against my peaked nipples as I pull my hair out of the neckline, and Rory’s gaze roams me with territorial heat. I lean up on my tiptoes to kiss him, savoring the feel of his mouth on mine, the light scrape of his stubble on my chin, the feel of his sculpted chest under my palms.

We kiss for maybe ten seconds before his hands are on my hips and he’s turning me around. We’ve bumped up against the dresser, and above it sits a large mirror.

I meet Rory’s hot gaze in the reflection, just like in the elevator, and his mouth hooks up.

“I love seeing you in my jersey, Hartley.” His teeth nip my neck and I press back into his arousal. His hand drifts between my legs, drawing those same slick circles from the elevator, and more heat blooms inside me while I watch his hand work in the reflection.

“I love when you play nice for me.” His eyes sear me, watching with satisfaction, and I get wetter.

“Rory.” His circles become tighter, firmer, and my eyebrows pull together. “I don’t want to wait.”

“Greedy,” he murmurs. “So fucking greedy for me, aren’t you?”

Every stubborn cell in my body claws at me to argue but I nod, sighing with frustration and impatience. “I want you.”

Something pleased and smug lifts in his expression, and he starts toward his bag for the condom, but I stop him with a hand on his arm. “Wait.” My heart hammers. “I don’t want to use a condom tonight.”

Rory’s breathing turns shallow. “I’ve never done that before.”

“Me neither.”

I’ve never trusted anyone to do this, but I trust Rory. I’ve never loved anyone like I love Rory.

“You sure?” His eyebrow goes up, and his gaze locks with mine, so full of concern.

“I want to. Do you want to?”

He gives me that dark, knowing smile. “Oh, Hartley. I want to.”

His mouth returns to mine, kissing me so sweetly. Rory’s the perfect mix—cocky and competitive and playful, but with a sweet openness that makes me melt into him. His tongue glides against mine, sucking lightly, and I breathe in his masculine scent that’s forever imprinted on me.

He pulls back, turning me to face the mirror, his hand heavy on my shoulder for leverage as he lines himself up at my entrance. I flatten my hands on the dresser, bracing myself.

My thoughts stop as he nudges into me, stretching me, and in the mirror, I see my parted lips. His slack jaw and pinning gaze. His big hand on my shoulder, tightening against my jersey.

“Fuck,” he chokes out as he fills me with his thick length. “This changes things. Holy fuck, Hazel.” He leans closer, seating himself to the hilt inside me while a shudder rolls through me.

“You feel so good,” he groans in my ear, and I could come from hearing Rory’s pleasure alone.

He pulls out and pushes back in, hitting a spot inside me that scatters sparks up my spine.

“It’s so deep this way,” I moan.

“I know.” His hand tightens on my shoulder, holding me steady while he thrusts in and out, replaceing his rhythm, and my nerves start to fray. “So fucking good with you, Hazel. You’re exactly what I need.”

Rory taking his pleasure sends another ripple of heat through me. I clench around his thick length, and a groan rumbles out of him. In the mirror, his eyes burn hotter.

“You like hearing that?” His voice is a low tease in my ear, watching my reflection. “You like hearing that you were exactly what my life was missing and that every moment is better with you?”

My gaze drops to the tattoo over the chiseled muscle of his torso, and I nod.

“Good.” He hits a particularly sensitive spot, making me whimper. “Because you’re so fucking perfect, Hazel.” His hips move faster, and a lock of hair falls into his eyes as he watches me in the mirror with a hungry look.

I moan again, pressing back into him. The way Rory’s hitting my G-spot is making my blood heat and thicken, and I can feel the release building low in my stomach.

“Yes, baby, just like that. Keep taking it.” His eyes are feverish, and the heavy ache between my legs tightens. His gaze drops to the jersey I’m wearing, and his nostrils flare with pride. “As deep as you can.”

My arousal soaks my thighs, and the feel of him inside me with nothing between us? It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

His eyes clench tight like he’s grappling for control. “I’m so fucking close, Hazel.”

“Not yet,” I moan.

He shakes his head, gaze returning to me with a drugged, desperate look in his eyes. “Not yet,” he repeats to himself. “Not yet.” He curses. “You’re so fucking tight.”

I clench my muscles on purpose and his eyes widen.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Hartley,” he says with a laugh. He delivers a sharp slap to my ass before he palms it, squeezing. “I’m obsessed with your ass,” he growls. “Always have been.”

I tighten again, wearing my own smirk as his jaw ticks.

“You want to play?” He leans forward, surrounding me, bringing his hand between my legs, drawing wet circles on my clit in a way he knows is going to make me come.

Fucking antagonist. I hold his eyes in the mirror, clenching tighter, and he shakes his head, wearing that lazy smile, circling faster. A sweet ache of affection takes up all the space in my chest, expanding through me, because knowing Rory and getting to see all the sides of him, it’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten.

Love bursts in my chest, and the tremors start.

“Rory,” I moan, dropping my head. It’s too much, the feel of him inside me, pushing against all the spots that make me lose my mind. The competitive focus in his eyes only makes it hotter.

“I hate to lose, Hartley,” he grits out.

My release closes in on me and I see stars, muscles spasming around his arousal. Wave after wave of pleasure ripples through me but I anchor to the feeling of him inside me, his hand gripping my shoulder, and the desperate, possessive look in his eyes as I spin out, shuddering. Again and again, my pussy clamps down on him, and a moment later, I feel him stiffen.