“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.
CHAPTER 75
RORY
Being inside Hazel, watching her face in the mirror as she falls apart for me, it snaps me in half.
My hips jerk against her, rhythm turning erratic as I slide toward my release. There’s no holding off, not when she’s wearing my name on her back so enthusiastically, not when her pussy is still squeezing and gripping my cock like a fist, and sure as fuck not when there’s nothing between us and I can feel every slip and slick inside her perfect pussy. The heavy ache in my balls surges and I’m pounding against her, coming inside her, losing my fucking mind with pleasure and need as I groan her name.
It’s always been Hazel.
I give everything I have to give, spilling into her, eyes locked with hers in the mirror as her pussy flutters around me, and when our orgasms subside, I’m pulling her to me, burying my face in her neck and huffing in her scent.
“You’re mine,” I rasp, chest heaving for air, and she nods.
Running on pure instinct, pure desire to claim her in every way, my hand drops to between her legs. I pull out of her, dipping my fingers inside her, watching as her eyes flare with surprise and desire.
“Like that?” I ask, stroking in and out of her, my fingers slipping against the wetness of my release.
She nods, eyes going hazy.
I drag my fingers up between her cheeks, circling the pucker of her ass, drawing my release over her. My heart pounds and possessive instincts roar through me as I push my wet finger inside.
She gasps. The way she’s positioned, braced against the dresser, bent over and open for me, it both satisfies me and makes me want more. As much as she’s willing to give me.
My perfect, trusting Hazel.
“I’m addicted to that look on your face,” I tell her.
My finger pumps in and out, working my cum back into her, and she tightens around me, meeting my gaze in the mirror, lip curling with need. Blood rushes to my cock, and within seconds, I’m stiff again, aching and ready to go.
With my finger still buried inside her tight asshole, I lift my gaze to hers with a question in my eyes, and she jerks a nod like she can’t wait.
I sink back into her tight pussy, groaning at how wet and hot she feels. Around my finger, she tightens again. My other hand drifts to her clit, and within a minute, her eyes go wide and she starts to flutter around my cock.
“Rory,” she says, gasping for air. “I’m coming again.”
I slam in and out of her, stroking my finger deep inside her ass as she clenches, and a moment later, my release follows.
“This doesn’t happen,” I choke out as I spill into her, heat rushing through my blood and pressure expanding through me. In my hazy thoughts, I remember her saying that to me once. We’ve had a hundred firsts together, and when I think forward to the future, I beg the universe that we’ll have a hundred more.
After, in the shower, I kiss Hazel on every inch of her body while the hot water trickles down her skin.
She once asked me what made me feel worthy and I came up with nothing, but as I wrap her in a towel and carry her to bed, my answer glows bright like the stars outside our window.
CHAPTER 76
RORY
Two days later, I sit in my car outside my mom’s place, staring up at the house with a tight, nervous feeling in my chest. It’s late afternoon, and the January sky is already dim.
“Freaking out yet?” I asked Hazel this morning when we woke up.
She gave me a soft, sleepy smile and shook her head. “Nope.”
After driving home from the League Classic yesterday, we stopped at her place to pick up more of her stuff. Her hair products clutter my shower, the bathroom drawer is now filled with her makeup, and her clothes hang in the closet.
My life is so full with Hazel in it, and now I need to make sure I don’t fuck it all up. I should be at home taking it easy before my game tonight, but after Hazel took the leap and told me how she felt this weekend, I need to address things with my mom so I don’t repeat the pattern. It can’t wait.
And a part of me is addicted to this happy, full feeling. Hazel said my mom misses me. Maybe there’s a chance for us.
Headlights flare behind me as my mom pulls into the driveway, parking beside me. She gets out of the car with a grocery bag in each hand, dipping down to peer in my passenger window.
“Rory?”
I climb out of the car. “Hi, Mom.”
“Don’t you have a game tonight?”
“Yeah.” My eyebrows lift in surprise that she knew that. “Can I talk to you?”
“Of course.” Her expression turns wary. “It’s cold out. Let’s go inside.”
In the foyer, I kick my shoes off and set my jacket over the back of the couch while she zips around, flicking lights on with nervous energy, darting glances at me.
“What can I get you?” she asks. “All I have is water and almond milk, unfortunately. I didn’t know you’d be dropping by.” Her eyebrows shoot up. “Tea. I can make tea.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine. I don’t need anything. We can just talk here.” I take a seat on the couch.
“How’s Hazel?” she asks when she takes the seat across from me, crossing her legs.
“Good. She’s subbing for another teacher tonight at a studio so she won’t be at my game.” She offered to come here with me, but this is something I need to do on my own.
It feels weird, talking with my mom so casually like this. My gaze lands on a framed photo on the side table, and my heart jumps into my throat.
It’s me and my mom on a hike when I was a kid. Joffre Lakes outside Whistler, with the turquoise lake behind us. Her arm around me, both of us wearing big smiles.
“That wasn’t there for the Christmas party,” I tell her, frowning at the photo. My phone buzzes with a text in my back pocket but I ignore it.
She shifts with embarrassment. “I put it away because I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
She thinks me knowing she cherishes those memories of us would make me uncomfortable? “Why would it make me uncomfortable?”
Her mouth tightens. “We don’t have the strongest relationship.”
“You’re my mom.”
The words hang in the air between us, and the embarrassment fades from her eyes, leaving pain. “I know.” Her throat works. “What did you want to talk about?”
There’s no gentle or easy way to say this, so I blurt out the question that’s been sitting in my head for years as my phone buzzes again.
“Why did you leave me?”