Fake Dating the Defenseman Next Door (Soltero Beach Scorpions Hockey #1)

11. Angela

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Angela

I ’m vaguely aware of the room full of oversized, grown men with massive shoulders and curious gazes. But my gaze locks on Diego, who’s running a hand through his hair in agitation as he glares daggers at the older man before him.

When his eyes land on me, the smile he gives me sends a shiver of awareness rippling through my body.

Since that first kiss, I haven’t been able to stop wondering just what else that mouth of his can do. It’s turned me into a restless, writhing, overheated mess every time the memory of it crosses my mind.

Even now. Heat pools together in my center as he stalks my way.

His gaze roves over my body, mouth twitching as a mischievous look glints in his eye.

“I’m a little late,” I say, chewing my lip and glancing up at his tense face.

“I see that.”

I think I must’ve made a mistake coming down here. I missed most of the start of the game, but I didn’t miss the snatches of conversation I’d overheard in the concourse as I ran around frantically trying to find someone who could get these damn donuts to him.

They’d criticized him openly, talked about how he’d lost an edge and wasn’t having a good game. One fan even speculated that maybe the pressure was too much, that Diego wasn’t half the player his father had been and maybe it was time for him to be traded elsewhere.

That made my feet go double time as I rushed up to a counter manned by people in suits and business attire, demanding to be taken to the players’ dressing room.

Was his job really in jeopardy? Did he really play that badly without a donut in his belly?

“Thought you could use a pick-me-up.” I hold up the box like an offering.

Without warning, he scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. I yelp, the box tipping dangerously in my arms as he carts me out of the room.

“Diego! Put me down!” Indignant, I’m hyper aware of my ass stuck in the air as he carts me out of the locker room while loud chuckles echo behind us. “Are you some kind of caveman? Put. Me. Down.”

“You said, ‘pick me up’.” His voice is nonchalant as he nods to his sister who was still standing in the hallway. “Hey, Cass.”

“D,” she murmurs, her mouth twitching as she watches him carry me off.

“Time?” I ask.

“There’s fifteen minutes left on the clock.”

“Thanks, sis.”

Sis. I can’t see the woman who lead me down to the annals of the arena, but my ears burn with the knowledge that I’d lied to her face about who I am.

By the time Diego pushes through another doorway and deposits me on the floor, I’m thoroughly embarrassed.

“What the hell was that? I thought you wanted me to come meet the boys at the rink.” I push my bangs out of my hair with my free hand and glance around. I’m in a room surrounded by rows and racks of equipment. Sticks, jerseys, skates, helmets, tape, socks, pads, you-name-it.

“I do, but now’s not the best time.”

He takes the box from me, sets it on one of the desks of the room we’re in, and flips the lid.

“Nice. You’ve got all my favorites.” A warm, pleased smile pulls at his lips as he blinks at me. “You remembered.”

I shrug, not daring to admit that I’d crushed on him so hard that summer that I memorized practically everything about him. What time he came, who he came with, how many and which type of donuts he went for.

I’d been as obsessed with him as much as he’d been obsessed with my grandma’s donuts.

“I can’t believe you remembered.” He says this softly before he rounds on me, dragging his gaze up-and-down my body. There’s enough heat in it to make me back up against the desk and bump the box. When he reaches for my hips and draws me close, I have to tilt my head back even further since his skates add to his height.

“If you step on me, you’ll slice off my toes with your skates, and you’ll be back to not having any donuts.”

“Not gonna happen. I’m wearing skate guards, but better be safe than sorry.” He hauls me up and plants me on the desk. Then he reaches for the edge of my sweater and starts tugging it up.

“Wh—what are you doing?” I stammer, eyes darting to the definitely-not-locked door. My hands slap at his, fighting to pull it back down.

Diego’s warm, rough hands cup mine. In a voice laced with steel, he calmly says, “You can’t wear this.”

“Why not? It’s cold in here! You work at a massive ice rink.”

“Because silver and purple are the other team’s colors.”

“Oh.”

I let go of the fabric and let him pull the sweater off. My top goes with it, and I’m left in my simple black T-shirt bra, fighting the urge to cover myself up.

The only thing that stops me is the look on his face, the heat in his hazel eyes.

Full of raw, raging desire.

I swallow hard as Diego’s calloused hands skim over the soft, generous curves of my hips, sending heat spiraling through my center. My eyes flutter shut as he skates over my soft belly and drifts over the thin fabric of my T-shirt bra. My nipples tighten, peaking at the slightest brush and I wish, not for the first time, that the curves I’d been given were more evenly distributed over my body.

“You’re so fucking perfect, Angie,” he rasps as he cups my breast and pinches my nipple. “Stunning.”

I gasp, arching into his touch.

“I’ve got to get back out there soon,” he murmurs, nuzzling into the curve of my neck. “But I think you’re right. I could use a pick-me-up.”

Flexing his fingers over my hips, he drags me to the edge of the desk and nudges my legs apart so he can stand between my thighs.

A thrill goes through me even though he’s big and sweaty and wearing padded hockey pants.

Tilting my head back, I ask, “The sweet kind?”

“This kind.” He brushes his lips against mine, soft and sweet.

His hand slips under the thin fabric of my bra, rolling my peaked bud with enough pressure to send a shiver of need through me.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I slip my fingers into his hair and cling to him while the kiss turns molten. With hungry lashes of his tongue against mine, I feel electrified. Like his touch has the power to spark something great and powerful, if only I could just find it.

I wriggle against him, whimpering softly when he switches to my other breast.

“My sweet, sweet girl,” Diego murmurs against the curve of my neck, dropping kisses along my shoulder. “You taste like sugar and raspberries. I want to lick you all over and see what other flavors I find.”

Oh, sweet God in heaven.

Heat floods my aching, pulsing center as his nips my shoulder. Catching my bra strap between his teeth, he yanks it to the side and exposes my breast to the cool air. Then he dips his head low and wraps his lips over my nipple.

“Diego,” I gasp, my whole body vibrating with sensation and white-hot need. “Please.”

“Please what?” he asks, the question sounding far too coy and innocent as he flicks my stiff peak with his tongue.

“Touch me,” I clasp a hand over his and move it down to the radiating center of my heat. “Please.”

With a victorious growl, he rises and reclaims my mouth, plunging his tongue deep while he flips the button of my jeans open and undoes the zipper. My heart pounds as his free hand snakes down and cups my most intimate space.

Through the plain, thin cotton underwear, he strokes me and I let out a gasp.

“Angie, your panties are soaked.”

“It’s all your fault,” I whisper hotly, shivering when his kisses trace along the column of my throat and his fingers idly swipe at my heat. “You do things to me.”

He groans as my hips tilt, seeking more of his touch. “Baby, you’re killing me here. I’m dying to take care of this needy pussy. Want to see you cum all over my fingers. Need to taste your cream.”

I let out a short, low laugh. “You’re so food-driven.”

His fingers still as his gaze bores into mine, burning with an intensity that warms me to my core.

“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. And all I want is to feast on you, Angie.”

I swallow hard. Tell myself they’re just words, sparked by these fake roles we’ve taken on. The heat of the moment. The proximity we’ve found ourselves in.

But the truth and desperation in his husky voice do something to me.

Floods me with heat.

Fills me with courage.

Makes me bold.

“Touch me, please,” I repeat, spreading my thighs wide and rocking my hips against his hand. His hot gaze travels over me, taking in my flushed cheeks, my bared breast, and my undulating hips.

In the next breath, his fingers slide under the waistband of my panties, through my curls and brush against my throbbing clit. I throw my head back, gasping as he finds my center. His calloused fingers slide between my folds and an electric current snaps through me. My mind empties. My body takes over.

“That’s right, baby. Let yourself go. I got you.”

My building need has my hands flexing over his shoulders and nipping his lip the way he’d done to mine. And while I cling to him for dear life, he slips a finger into my heat.

“Oh my god.”

“Like that?”

“Yesssss,” I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut. A tidal wave of sensation rises up in me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Angie. Eyes on me, baby. Look at me when I make you come.”

I open my eyes as Diego drives into me with two fingers. Throaty, low moans slip free from my throat as my body stretches over him and the fullness of him pushes me closer to the edge.

Diego smiles as his fingers curl wickedly inside me, making me whimper.

“This pussy is mine. Your sweet cream is all mine. Let me have it. Come for me.”

Then, he grinds his palm against my clit with his fingers buried deep and I fly apart, shuddering while Diego swallows my loud moan with a searing kiss. He finger fucks me through the tidal wave of pleasure, drawing out the orgasm until I go boneless.

“Oh my god,” I whisper, burying my face in the crook of his neck. “That was…”

Explosive.

Incredible.

A life-changing gift.

“Fucking beautiful,” he says, withdrawing his hand and bringing it to his lips.

I watch as he sucks the moisture from his fingers, making a satisfying mmmm sound in his throat.

God. Why is that so fucking hot?

He turns away, reaching for one of the spare jerseys hanging on the racks.

A sharp rap of knuckles bangs against the door. I jump off the table, fumbling with buttoning up my jeans and tucking my boob away as a female voice calls out, “Two minute warning, D! Coaches are on their way.”

“Be there in a minute,” Diego calls back, yanking the jersey over my head. It’s oversized, but as I’m not a small woman, it’s not too loose. But it is heavier than I thought it’d be.

“How do I look?” I ask, lifting the baggy arms up and glancing at him.

“My jersey looks good on you.” He smirks and puts his hands on my shoulders. “I meant what I said, Trouble. That sweet pussy of yours is mine. And I mean to have it.”

My throat tightens. This isn’t the heat of the moment. This feels… earnest. Real. And if I was honest, I want to give him something, too.

Something to fight for.

C’mon, Ang. Fortune favors the brave.

“You really want to fuck me?”

His eyes flash. “I do.”

I fish out a donut from the pink box, take a bite.

“Then you better play your ass off and start winning some games. I know you can do it, Diego. I believe in you. Plus, I don’t want to hear any more talk about your game being shit.”

Then I raise the donut to his lips and pop it into his shocked, open mouth before I walk out.