The Fake Out (Vancouver Storm, #2)

I moan, arching against him again, chasing friction as I grind my hips into his. His cock hits the bundle of nerves between my legs and my whole body tightens.

He hovers over me, pressing himself into that spot again, making my eyes roll back. His mouth hooks into a smug, pleased smile, eyes hot and pinning me. He rewards me with a line of nipping kisses down my throat before he sucks a sensitive spot at the base of my neck, and I moan, tilting my hips toward him shamelessly.

“Are we doing this tonight?”

“Yes,” I gasp as his tongue does small circles in the divot above my collarbones. “I fucking hope so.”

“Good.” His eyes darken and he rests his forehead on my sternum as he takes a deep breath. His expression tells me this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Me, too, I think.

I want him. I don’t care about the consequences, and I don’t care if I get hurt.

His hand slides between my legs and he presses a firm circle against the front of my panties. My back arches as pleasure loops through me.

“Oh my god,” I murmur, looking up at Rory’s dark, lazy grin.

“You get so wet for me.” A flush spreads over his cheekbones. “I fucking love that, Hazel.”

I jerk a nod, running my hands over his chest while his hand works between my legs, winding me higher, but when I reach for his stiff cock pressing against my stomach, he shakes his head.

“Not yet.”

“Please.”

He lets out a low laugh and lifts his eyebrows, still rubbing intoxicating, pleasurable strokes against that bud of nerves. “I’m not going to last if I give you what you want.”

His gaze drops to my breasts and his expression turns tight. A moment later, he’s on his knees, reaching around to unhook my bra and yank my panties down.

“That’s better,” he says before his hand returns to my pussy and I arch into him.

His lips find my nipple, and the feel of his tongue on the pinched peak sends electricity rippling through me.

I reach for his cock again, but he grasps my wrist and pins it to the bed above my head.

“Give me your other hand,” he says, still massaging my clit, and I desperately want him to keep going, so I do what he says.

He binds my wrists together with his big hand, and a slow smile spreads over his mouth.

“I don’t know why I like this with you,” he says, gaze flicking up to where his hand holds my wrists down, “but I do.” His throat works and he’s breathing hard, studying my face between glances at where his hand moves between my thighs. “I just want you all to myself.”

Pressure builds low in my belly, around the base of my spine, and behind my clit. “I want that, too,” I admit. “I like when you do this.”

He smiles that dark, pleased smile again like it was the perfect thing to say, and I get another hit of pleasure from giving him what he needs. Whatever Rory wants, I want to give it to him.

His jaw tightens as his fingers slide through my wetness. “You know you’re mine, right?”

I nod again, eyelids drooping at the increasing ache behind my clit.

“Mine and only mine.”

My toes curl. I never thought I’d love hearing those possessive words out of Rory’s mouth, but here I am, soaking them up with delight.

“Say it.” His amused voice is cut with possession, and his gaze pins me.

“Yours and only yours,” I breathe. “I need to come.”

He sucks in a sharp breath and releases my wrists. “Get on your stomach.”

“What?” I lift my head as he kneels, waiting. His cock juts out, begging for my attention, moisture beading on the tip. I lean forward and lick it off, and his hand sinks into my hair, gripping tight. “Hazel.” His tone is dark and teasing as he pulls me back from his cock by the hair. “What did I just say?”

Even though I’m wound tight, swirling with heat and pressure and the desperate need to come, I’m laughing silently.

“I can’t remember,” I lie, grinning at him, and he shakes his head, eyes bright and mouth curling into something wicked.

Wicked and fucking hot.

“I was going to fuck you,” he says in that playfully threatening voice, still holding the back of my hair in his fist. “But now I’ve changed my mind because you’re a fucking brat.”





CHAPTER 67





HAZEL





Excitement swoops in my stomach. This is it, isn’t it? This is exactly what I’ve always needed in a guy. What Rory and I have trickles into everything. He is what I’ve always needed in a guy. My pulse picks up in anticipation.

“Get on all fours.”

I’ve barely turned over when his hands come to my hips and he hauls me to my knees, wet and bared for him. Hesitation streaks through me—I haven’t been in this position for years. It’s submissive and vulnerable, and I usually don’t like it.

Like he senses my skittish thoughts, his big hand smooths over my lower back. “You okay, baby?”

I focus on the warmth of his hand on my skin and nod, dragging in a deep breath. “Uh-huh.”

He’d never push me too far. He’s always watching me, gauging my reaction.

Behind me, he shifts, and his lips are on my back, kissing a trail down my spine. “Do you trust me, Hazel?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” I’m wet and aching, waiting for him to get me off, and my frustration slips through in my tone. “I trust you.”

He makes that low, pleased noise I love. “Good.”

His tongue circles my asshole and my eyes go wide at the warm, wet sensation. A hoarse noise of pleasure chokes out of me and his fingers tense on my hip.

“Have you done this before?” he murmurs as he strokes back and forth.

I’m blinking at nothing, my full attention on where his tongue touches me as heat moves through my body. “No.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” I gasp. I’m getting wetter. “Rory,” I moan. “I need to come. I need more.”

“I know you do.” Still, his tongue draws those lazy, slick circles against the tight pucker. “How badly do you want to come?”

My hands clench into fists. “I’m going to fucking kill you later.”

“I have no doubt.” His tongue delves inside me and I moan, high and needy. My spine is tingling. “Oh, fuck, Hazel,” he groans. “You just clenched on my tongue. That’s so good, baby. You’re doing so good.”

I grit my teeth, breathing hard. I’m about to burst out of my skin.

“If you want more, you need to earn it.”

I whimper, teetering on the edge of insanity. This is torture, but I love it. “What do you want?”

“Stay with me here until the League Classic.”

“What?” I can’t think straight when he’s touching me like that. “Until New Year’s?”

He pauses before pressing a kiss to my lower back, exhaling against my skin. “I like you being here. It feels right.”

His words and the way he says them, soft and sincere, settle right into my heart. “Okay. Yes. I’ll stay here.”

I’d probably say anything right now, with the way he has me worked up, but the past few days have been a dream, us in our own little snow globe.

“Say that it feels right.”

“It feels right.”

Stephanie Archer's books