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

THIS ISN’T how I expected this conversation to go, and now I’ve dug so deep I can’t get out. Rory’s eyes are bright with competition. I just challenged the most determined guy in professional hockey, and he hates to lose.

Why? Why would I challenge him like that?

“What do you propose?” I’m barely whispering. In my ears, my pulse thunders.

His mouth hitches higher. “I bet I can make you come.”

In my experience, hot guys aren’t that good in bed. They’re selfish because they don’t have to work as hard to get women. And Rory? He’s the best-looking man I’ve ever met.

There’s no way he’ll win.

“You think?” And yet, I’m playing this game with him. Weak, Hazel. So weak.

“I know.”

I can imagine how his tongue would feel, swiping hot, wet circles on my clit, winding me higher. I know how soft his hair is, and I’m itching to tug on it while his head is between my legs.

Holding my gaze, still resting his hand on the door above my head, he dips his fingers into my leggings and strokes me. I arch, lips parting as heat sears through me.

“Are these the panties I bought?” he bites out, and I nod.

He lets out a low laugh, running the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip while his fingers slide over me, drawing firm circles. The muscles between my legs flex around nothing as pressure builds.

“And you’re so wet.” His smile is arrogant, like he’s already won. The approval in his voice has me tightening up, tilting my hips against him for more friction. My center aches, and I wish he was inside me.

I can’t even get a full breath; I’m just taking tiny sips of air. “And what do you get if you win?”

Another slow, wet stroke over my clit. “Anything I want.”

My pussy clenches, sharp and fast, and my teeth clamp down on my bottom lip. Why is the idea of Rory taking whatever he wants so hot?

“And if I win?” I’m fighting to keep from moaning as he circles the tight bud of nerves. “If you can’t?”

There’s that low laugh again, like that isn’t even an option, but sure, he’ll humor me. “Then you can have whatever you want.”

Between my legs, he’s drawing the most intoxicating circles. My head spins.

“You said I should eat what I want,” he adds with a smirk.

I guess I like playing with fire. I guess I forgot how it feels to be burned. Rory’s hands have been on me all night and I’m so worked up, aching between my legs. I’m not thinking straight.

There’s a version of me from months ago who hated Rory, the one who’s screaming at me to shut up now, and I slam the door in her face.

She can wait outside while I make bad choices.

He brings his lips to my ear. “Say yes, Hazel. Let me do something I’ve been thinking about since the day I met you.”

I’m nodding, because consequences be damned. Despite what Rory says, it’s just once.

And I’m really, really curious if Rory will win.

His hand slips out of my leggings and he laughs at my noise of frustration, but then he’s pulling my t-shirt over my head.

His eyes darken as he stares at my breasts, shaking his head. “If you ever thought I wasn’t attracted to you, Hazel,” he tugs one bra cup down and pulls a stiff peak into his mouth, and my back arches as a bolt of pleasure hits me between the legs, “you’re delusional.”

While his mouth is on my nipple, his hands work fast, pushing my leggings down and helping me kick them off before he drops to his knees, looking up at me with a dangerous smile.

“Like this?” I ask as he brushes a kiss on my inner thigh. Self-consciousness streaks through me. I’m standing in front of Rory in two tiny scraps of lace while he’s fully clothed and kneeling in front of me, but the look in his eyes is pure heat, pure bliss, as his hands move over my thighs and waist.

“Mhm.” A trail of soft kisses up my thigh, over my hip. “Exactly like this. Want to see you in what I bought.”

He slips his hand beneath the front of my panties, drags a thumb over my clit, gaze flicking between my face and his hand, and a moan slips out of me. Sharp pleasure courses through me as he winds me higher, and I claw at the door with my nails for something to hold on to.

“Put your hands in my hair,” he tells me in a low voice, and when I do, he makes a pleased noise. His thumb is unrelenting and firm, stroking over me, winding the coil around the base of my spine tighter.

Rory touching my clit is beyond incredible—the pressure and speed are perfect, and seeing this big hockey player on the floor in front of me, looking at my body with reverence, feeds my bruised ego and confidence. His eyes meet mine, and the corner of his mouth lifts.

“Rory.” It’s a desperate plea because, holy hell, Rory Miller is so fucking hot, and I’m soaked.

“Holy fuck, I like that,” he says, spreading my wetness over me, swirling, winding me higher. “I like it when you say my name like that, Hazel.”

His fingers slide lower, push inside me, and my eyes roll back as the intense feeling rolls through me.

“Fuck,” I gasp. I’m so full, and it’s only his fingers. What’s it going to be like when it’s him inside me? I’m going to break in half.

“Tell me it’s good, Hazel.”

“It’s fine at best,” I choke out, wanting to tease him even now, but he laughs, and his fingers hook against a spot that makes my vision blur.

Who am I kidding? I’d say anything to make him keep going.

“It’s good,” I rush out. “It’s so good. Your hand is incredible, Rory.”

He makes that pleased humming noise of approval again, and my muscles clench around his fingers.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

With a big arm around my hips, he hooks my panties aside, pulls me toward his mouth, and licks a long line up my seam. Pleasure ripples through me. I should be embarrassed at the needy, desperate noise that stutters out of me, but I’m not. I don’t care.

“I knew I’d love that,” he growls, and I clench again. His fingers are huge, and my muscles ache around them in the most mind-bending, pleasant way as he slowly strokes in and out of me.

His tongue swirls on my clit, and I’m lost, spinning out. Everything is tightening, tensing, and the pleasure is almost unbearable. Rory’s lips close over my clit and his eyes meet mine as he sucks. He lets out the same groan he did earlier tonight when he was eating, that satisfied, ravenous sound that sends electricity through my limbs.

The sensations are overwhelming—the hot, wet pull of his lips on my clit, the stretch of his fingers inside me, and the silken strands of his hair clutched between my fingers. Everything loops together, building in intensity as Rory coaxes me closer to release.

The noises he’s making? They only wind me higher. Rory Miller has ascended to a whole new level.

It’s never been like this. Never. No one has ever touched me like this, enjoyed touching me and making me feel like this.

A tiny flicker of fear moves through me, because this is going to change things with us. It was so much easier to lump Rory in with the rest of the guys I didn’t care about.

Like he can sense my worry, he yanks my panties down so he doesn’t have to pull them aside. They pool at my feet as he takes one of my hands, interlacing our fingers. My lips part. His hand swallows mine up, but the contact of our palms together while he’s on the floor like that in front of me, while he pulls on my clit and looks up at me like my pleasure is his pleasure?

My mind goes blank, and I sink into the needy, intoxicated feelings in my blood.

He sucks on the sensitive bundle of nerves rhythmically, and my fingers tighten against his. My hips tilt against his mouth, desperate for more friction, more pressure.

The first flutters start, but that stubborn part of me digs her heels in. No, no, no. If he actually does make me come, I don’t know what that will mean, and I hate that he’ll get the satisfaction of winning.

“Stop holding back, Hartley.”

His tongue sweeps fast, so hot and slick. The heated look of ecstasy in his eyes sends a streak of pleasure through me. His face is flushed, and why is that so hot? He’s wearing an expression like my pussy is the best thing he’s ever tasted, like he’ll die if he can’t keep doing this. Inside me, his fingers crook, finding my G-spot.

My release closes in on me, building, expanding, boiling over.

“I’m coming,” I choke out, working myself over his mouth, and his fingers squeeze mine as searing, blinding heat twists and coils through me. “Rory.”

His groan reverberates against me, and I’m still coming. It’s arcing through me, making me shudder and shake on his mouth. I think my eyes are closed, or maybe they’re open and I’m just so overtaken by this orgasm barreling through me that I don’t know the difference. His brow is creased, eyes closed, and I hit another peak, crying out while he squeezes my hand.

The waves subside and my mind clears, and I blink about a hundred times. I usually don’t come during hookups.

“Fuck,” he says desperately against my clit, breathing hard. “Hazel.”

He says my name like a curse, like he’s mad, but he stands and backs me against the door, both of us breathing hard. His eyes are glazed, half-lidded and dark, and his cock juts out, tenting the front of his pants. He brings his fingers to his lips, holding my eyes while he sucks my arousal from them.

A shudder rolls through me.

“Tell me it was good,” he rasps, inches from my mouth.

“I didn’t know it could be like that.” I should say something smart and sharp, but I can’t think anything. Goosebumps scatter across my skin.

A lazy, smug smile hitches on his gorgeous lips and he kisses me, stroking deep into my mouth. I never thought tasting myself on a guy would make my pussy flutter like this, but I never thought Rory Miller would kneel at my feet and draw two orgasms out of me, either.

While he kisses me, I reach for his cock, dragging my palm over the hard length. If this is my only hookup with him, I want to hear what it sounds like when he comes for real.

He catches my wrist before he smiles and shakes his head. His cheekbones have a pink wash across them, like right after a game. “Next time.”

The words there won’t be a next time hover on the tip of my tongue. I picture breaking my rule, letting Rory bend me over and fuck me like he said he wanted to after the Assassin game, and my skin prickles.

I’ve never even had the smallest desire to break my rule, but I can’t get that image out of my head.

That’s concerning.

“Let’s go to bed,” Rory murmurs, walking me to the bed with his lips on my neck, pressing soft, intimate kisses there.

This whole thing was intimate. I have the urge to make a joke like I suppose you’ll want to stay over now or would it be rude to ask you to leave? but nothing sounds funny, it just sounds mean and callous, and I don’t want to be that brittle version of myself right now.

And I want him to stay. I don’t know why, and I don’t want to think about it too hard.

“I’m just going to brush my teeth.” I step out of his touch and reach for a sleeping t-shirt, feeling Rory’s eyes on my body as I pull it over my head and walk on wobbly legs to the bathroom. In the doorway, I pause, heart hammering. “I have an extra one. A toothbrush.” I clear my throat, and his mouth tips up in amusement. “For you. If you want it. The dentist gives me a new one every time I go for a cleaning, but I like a different type, so I have a bunch of spares.”

God, get a grip, Hazel.

Without a word, like he can tell I’m seconds from freaking out, Rory follows me to the bathroom. I can feel his attention as we brush our teeth, and when he leans forward to rinse his mouth, his hand comes to my lower back like it’s an instinct.

I lean against his hand.

Don’t you dare get used to this, I warn myself.

When we head back to bed, Rory moves to his side, watching me with that smug little smile.

“Told you I could make you come.” He pulls me against him, spooning me, and I’ve never done this part before, either—the cuddling after part.

He should leave. I should make him leave. Instead, I reach over and turn out the bedside lamp.

“Don’t gloat, Rory.”

His low, pleased laugh rings out in the dark as I wonder what the fuck just happened.