The Fake Out (Vancouver Storm, #2)(85)

“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.





CHAPTER 62





HAZEL





After Rory carries me into the shower and insists on washing my hair for me to “give my wrist a rest,” we move to the living room.

Excitement flutters through me as I set the stocking I made him in his lap.

“You did this?” His fingers trace the gold stitching of his name.

“Of course.”

On the couch beside him, I pull the blanket over my bare legs and watch with a smile as Rory opens his stocking, setting the items one by one on the coffee table with care. Deodorant, gum, Lindt chocolates, wool socks, an orange, and lip balm.

He chuckles at the plastic key chain I bought the other week—a tiny dragon with a pissed off expression and flames coming out of its mouth.

Amusement sparks in his eyes. “Is this you?”

The apples of my cheeks ache, I’m smiling so much this morning. “I bought it so you could bring it on the road, but that was before I saw you already have a dragon of your own.”

He studies the cheap piece of plastic, turning it over with a smile. “I love it.”

He reaches back into the stocking and pulls out a can of room-temperature beer, grinning at it in surprise.

“I like this kind,” he says.

“I know.” I kiss him on the cheek. My mom always puts beer in my dad’s stocking. I understand the appeal.

“Thank you, Hartley.” He sighs, looking at all the stuff lined up on the table before he shakes his head. “I didn’t expect this.”

My throat closes up with emotion. Even if this all falls through, even if Rory loses interest in me and moves on to someone else, I’ll remember moments like these.

I don’t regret any of this. Rory deserves to be shown that he’s loved.

He kisses me again and I smile. “Thank you,” he says.