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

“THIS VIDEO IS for my girlfriend, Hazel Hartley,” Rory says in the video in a low voice that makes my pussy clench, “who I’ve been thinking about a lot these past few weeks.”

I lie back against my headboard, and the breath whooshes out of me as my eyes land on his dick, fully erect and resting against his flat stomach. I suddenly understand exactly why Rory’s so arrogant.

His cock is perfect—a long, thick length with a swollen head that I imagine wrapping my lips around and sucking on. My thighs press together. With his ridged stomach, roped biceps, toned arms, and big hand resting around the base of him, he’s the definition of virility.

Rory Miller, the god of making me super horny.

It’s only a matter of time before we have sex, and sparks move down my spine at the idea of Rory inside me. Him on top of me, notching himself at my entrance before he slides inside, stretching me in the most mind-bending way with his thickness. I’m still fully clothed, but they feel too tight, too restrictive as I watch him in his dim hotel room.

“And who I miss,” he continues with a small smile, stroking himself slowly, “very, very much.”

My mouth waters, and I picture running my tongue up his cock while he watches in fascination. Heat gathers low inside me and my nipples prick.

“And who I can’t wait to fuck.”

His hand works so torturously slowly. Is he doing this to drive me insane? Or maybe it’s because this is how I’d stroke him, keeping him on the edge of pleasure until he can’t take it anymore.

Wetness blooms between my legs and I squirm, running my hand over my thighs. The second Rory gets home, I’m fucking pouncing on him.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, squinting at something behind the phone. “Just propping up a photo of myself to look at.”

A laugh bursts out of me and I’m flushing with silly, light feelings as he winks at the camera. I’m alone in my apartment, grinning at my phone like a dork.

I wish he were here on my bed so he could see how much I’m enjoying this. My hand slides over my panties and rests on the soft lace. I’m warm, swollen, and soaking wet, and there’s a streak of electricity through me when I press harder against my clit. I clamp my lips together to hold in a moan as Rory strokes himself at an excruciating pace.

His head tips back, eyes closed while he works his length. “I think about my tongue on your pussy every hour of the day.”

So do I.

A shiver runs through me, and I rub a soft circle over the damp fabric, shuddering. I’m going to come so hard from this.

He strokes faster, nostrils flaring as he sucks in a sharp breath. Heat stirs through my limbs, and I move my fingers faster, matching his pace.

“We’re doing this again,” he tells me. “This is going to make me come so fucking hard, Hazel.”

A moan slips out of me and my hips tilt forward as I rub tight swirls over the lace, drawing this out, wishing my hand was his and that I was the one stroking his cock.

If he sent me this video to push me over the edge, to force me to admit I want to fuck him, it worked.

A groan rumbles from deep in his chest, and he wears the most delicious frown as every muscle in his torso tightens. His hand moves fast over his cock.

“I’m going to come,” he murmurs, head tilted back, the long line of his throat working. Every sensation in my body heightens and my lips part with pleasure at his strained expression.

Watching Rory jerk off is the best thing I’ve ever seen. Urgent, insistent pleasure builds between my legs. I’m so close.

His eyes open and he looks at the camera, looks right into my head, before he sends me the cockiest, smuggest grin and nudges the phone with his free hand.

There’s a clacking noise, and now the only thing visible on screen is his hotel room ceiling.

“Fuck, baby,” he grits out, and my eyes are wide as I listen to the sound of him stroking himself.

Listen, not see. I blink at the screen in disbelief. Did he actually—

That fucking dick. He did that on purpose. He did that to tease me, to wind me up and then leave me aching for him. I nearly scream in frustration. I’m too horny, too worked up and desperate and wet and needy.

I just need to come. And I still haven’t seen Rory come, which pisses me off.

I close my eyes, picturing what I wanted to see from the video. Picturing his cock pulsing, his abs tightening, and him spilling hot cum all over his stomach. I imagine his chest rising and falling fast as he catches his breath, shooting me a sated, glazed look, the same one he gave me after I rode his face.

Pressure builds and I’m about to come—

There’s a knock at the door, and I freeze.

“Hazel,” Rory thunders from outside. “Let me in.”