The Fake Out (Vancouver Storm, #2)(94)

Her lip curls and she jerks a nod. “You’re hitting my clit,” she gasps. “And everything inside me.”

Smug male satisfaction has me by the throat. Her perfect round tits bounce as I fuck her up the bed, the pressure inside me boiling over. She clenches, searching my eyes, arching, and her delicate lips part. My pulse pounds in my ears, my balls draw close to my body, and my release slams into me.

My mind splinters into a thousand pieces. I spill into her, burying my head in her neck as I groan her name, coming deep inside her.

My Hazel. Mine. With each thrust, her name beats through my blood. I love her, and she’s mine, and now that I have her, I’m never letting her go.

As our releases fade and we catch our breaths, I settle against her, kissing her forehead, stroking her hair. I’m still inside her, but I’m not ready to pull out yet.

“You okay?” I ask. “I wasn’t too rough?”

She shakes her head. “No. It was perfect.” Her lashes flutter as she looks up at me, sighing with a small, sated smile, and my thoughts still at how beautiful she is.

“If you don’t actually want to stay here until the League Classic—”

“I want to.”

Stay forever, I think.

She brings her hand to my chest, over my hammering heart. “I like it here.”

I wonder if she can feel my heart skip a beat at that.

“Your heart’s beating so fast still,” she whispers.

“It’s so fucking good with you, Hazel.” It’s not sex; it’s bliss.

Her eyes widen, and the moment before she speaks lasts an eternity. “I’m falling for you, too.” She’s so quiet, barely above a whisper as her eyes search mine. “I’m scared.”

My fucking heart.

“I know.” I trail my fingers over her forehead, pushing a lock of her hair back. “I think it’s supposed to be scary, and I’ll be right here with you the whole time.” Our eyes meet. “Okay?”

She nods. “Okay.”

She loves me, and one day? I’m going to marry Hazel Hartley.





CHAPTER 69





RORY





It’s Boxing Day, the day after Christmas, and I’m sitting in the Filthy Flamingo with Owens, Volkov, and a few other guys when my phone buzzes with a photo from Hazel.

She’s in the bathtub, covered in bubbles, face flushed with heat and eyes filled with mischief. My fire-breathing dragon.

Thinking about me? I text. My knee bounces as I grin at my phone.

Maybe.

That’s it, I respond. I’m coming straight home.

Don’t you dare. Stay out with the guys and have some fun for once.

For once. It’s laughable. Every moment I’m with Hazel feels like fun.

“Thanks for bringing me to that pickup game,” Owens says. The other players—both professional and pickup league—are debating whether the Storm will make it to the playoffs this season. “Streicher couldn’t make it?”

I shake my head. “Their flight just got in. He said he’d meet us for a drink, though.”

Owens fit right in with the guys on the pickup league, but that’s no surprise. Hayden Owens could be abducted by bloodthirsty aliens, and within an hour, he would have everyone laughing and hanging out and having a great time. The second he stepped on the ice tonight, he understood the team dynamic and played accordingly. Guys passed to him but he didn’t take any shots for himself. To make it more fair on the pickup guys, they made us professional guys play one-handed and in different positions. Volkov made for a terrible goalie, letting shot after shot slip past him while the rest of us howled with laughter, but on offense, Owens was a natural.

My eyes narrow, thinking about a Storm game last week. “You’ve got a hell of a wrist-shot for a D-man,” I tell him.

He shrugs, looking around the bar. “Yeah, well, it was just for fun.”

“It’s a good thing.” Games move so fast, and players need to be ready for anything. “You’re a well-rounded player and an important part of the team.”

Wow. I feel like Ward, saying that. A spark of pride ignites in my chest, rippling through me.

He gives me a close-lipped smile, ducking his head like he’s pleased. “Thanks, Captain.” He clears his throat. “Everything go okay with the stuff I dropped off?”

“Yeah.” I grin, thinking about the gifts Hazel got me. “Thanks for doing that for her. I appreciate it.”

He waves me off. “I owe her for putting up with my lazy ass during physio.” He lifts an eyebrow, teasing me. “She staying at your place tonight?”

I think about Hazel smiling at me from the stands while we played the pickup game tonight, and then the photo she sent me a few minutes ago of her in the bathtub. In a few short days, it’s begun to feel like our place.

My thoughts flip to last night, sinking into her, and how fucking right it felt. And again this morning. The way she moans my name. The way she looks waking up in my bed, tucked against my chest.

Owens crows at whatever my expression is, and a few of the players glance over. “So that’s a yes,” he says, grinning over the rim of his glass.

“She stayed with me the entire break. I’m not going to let her stay alone at her place with a sprained ankle.”