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

14. Diego

fourteen

Diego

I ’m going to fucking die.

My brain shorts out as she seats herself fully on my cock. Sweat breaks across my brow as I hold still, willing myself from thrusting into her too hard, too fast.

“How do you feel?” I rasp, dropping kisses along the curve of her shoulder. I follow the pretty pattern of cherry blossoms inked on her skin, scraping my teeth lightly across her flesh.

“Full.” Angie leans back and stares at the place where we’re joined. Her movements change the angle, drawing me even further into her tight heat.

I grit my teeth, sure they’ll crack soon.

“How do you feel?” she asks.

“Amazing.”

She looks at me doubtfully. “Really? Because it looks like you’re in pain.”

A gruff laugh bursts from my lips like an expulsion of breath. “That’s because I’m being gentlemanly.”

“Really?” She shifts in my lap. Her grin growing as wide as a cheshire cat’s when I groan. “What would you do if you weren’t being gentlemanly?”

“Are you asking me not to be?”

“Maybe.”

“If I wasn’t being gentlemanly, I’d drag your hot little cunt up and down my cock. I’d suck on your perfect, perky tits until you screamed my name and begged for more. I’d devote myself to making you come again and again, until I know your body like I know my playbook. And let me tell you, baby. I’m not afraid to study all. Night. Long.”

Her eyes go wide, a pretty pink blush creeping higher up her neck and into her cheeks as she squirms in my lap. When she finds her voice, it comes out in a husky croak. “Do it, then.”

My smile is wicked as I cup her ass and spread her cheeks, bringing us even closer. Then I watch her face as lift her gently and drag her back down my length.

“Oh,” she breathes, eyes flaring.

I withdraw further before thrusting upward to meet her hips. Her hair spills over her shoulder as she tips her head back and makes a throaty sound at my ceiling.

“More,” she breathes. “I want more.”

I do as she asks, loving how her fingernails dig into my shoulders. Giving her pleasure heightens my own as I smile against the skin of her throat and slide her body over mine.

“You’re so wet for me, Angie. So tight. I want to fill you up with my seed. Add to your cream with my own.”

Her voice breaks as I drive into her. Harder. Faster. “Ohhh, god.”

“My name’s Diego,” I smile against her lips as I kiss her, rolling us over so I’m pinning her into the mattress once again. My tongue slides against hers and I capture her wandering hands from playing with my nipples. Any more stimulation from her and I won’t last.

“Let me touch you,” she pouts, slanting me a look as I lift my hips. When I promptly drive back into her heat, her eyes roll back in her head and her expression melts. “Okay, we do it your way. This once.”

“Oh, we’re definitely doing this more than once.” I cup her breast in one hand and tweak one of her taut, puckered nipples. “This pussy is mine now, understand? Mine to taste. Mine to fuck. Mine to make feel good. Got it?”

“Yessss,” she moans.

“Say it,” I demand.

“My pussy’s yours.”

“What’s my name?” I ask, lacing my fingers through hers and tonguing her nipple.

She hisses, hips bucking.

“Tease,” she snaps, wrapping her thighs around my waist and lifting her hips. Chasing me for more. My hips snap forward, picking up the pace.

“Wrong. Try again, Trouble.” My hips keep moving. Slow. Steady. The pressure inside of us building, building, building.

She’s restless beneath me, writhing and wanting.

“Big D.” Her breath hitches as my fingers find her clit. Her thighs quake, but I don’t let up as she bucks beneath me. “Oh, god.”

“Say my name, baby. Give me that cream. Let me feel you come all over my dick.” My thrusts turn furious as I strum her clit, fighting not to blow my load before I can get her there.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod.” She reaches for my ass, digs her nails in as she urges me on and pistons her hips in sync with me. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

“ My name .”

“Diego,” she screams, body bowing off the bed as her pussy quakes over me. Squeezes me tight until my balls draw up and I can’t hold back any longer. Hot streams of cum spurt from my cock, straight into her heat as she cries out and claws at me.

Long minutes pass before her cries subside and I clutch her close. I kiss her hard while try to catch my breath.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, her breath tickling my ear. “Diego, that… that was incredible.”

“You were incredible,” I say, rolling us both so I don’t crush her.

Her fingers dance over my chest, drawing idle patterns, tracing the outline of my nipple with one hand. Then, she lifts her gaze to mine and grins. “D’you really think you can do that all night long?”

I quirk a brow at her. “Are you asking me to?”

“No,” she says, gaze sliding up to mine. “I’m telling you to.”

My resounding laugh booms throughout the condo.

All night long for Angie winds up being a wet and wild romp in my stand up shower and a sweet, lazy coupling in my bed before she passes out, naked and satiated, dead center of my bed.

When morning comes, the sunlight filtering through the gauzy drapes I forgot to close, my fingers reach for her and only find cool sheets.

Groaning, I pry my eyes open and find my bed woefully empty. No note, no warmth. No Angie.

I press my nose to the pillow, inhale her lingering scent there and try to sort out the knot that’s bloomed in my stomach. Waking up without last night’s lover in my bed isn’t a new experience for me, but why the fuck does this one feel like some kind of blow?

Did I fuck up?

I’d told her what I wanted. I was clear about what me claiming her body would mean for me. I meant it.

Was it too much?

Was it not enough?

Inhale that sweet, spun sugar scent. Exhale a shaky breath.

Rolling onto my back, I hear the soft snick of the front door closing. Curiosity has me rising up, slipping into athletic shorts and a T-shirt. I pad into the kitchen where Angie lays out mixing bowls, flour, sugar, and other baking bits. She’s freshly showered, her wet hair bound on top of her head, exposing the long line of her delicate neck bearing the unmistakable darkened purple mark of one of my harder kisses.

My cock stirs at the sight of her in my kitchen, commanding the limited cookware I’ve got and making herself right at home.

At the thought, my heart stutters.

I could wake up every day and watch her take control of my space — hell, even of me — and never grow tired of it.

Coming up behind her, I wrap my arms around her waist and draw her back against my body.

“Good morning, Trouble,” I murmur against the shell of her ear and plant kisses down the side of her neck. “What are you making?”

“ We’re making donuts. Homemade style, so they won’t be exactly like the ones in the shop but good enough for small batch portions. Thought you might like to learn how it’s done.”

I grin. “Did I tell you I’m kind of a lost cause in the kitchen? Apart from the five dishes I know how to make, that is. None of which are baked goods.”

“Your barren cookery cabinets speak for themselves.”

I laugh and press my lips to the darkened mark on her skin. “I might’ve left a little love bite on you. Sorry about that. I must’ve gotten carried away.”

She pats my forearm and turns in my embrace. With sparkling eyes fixated on my own neck, she lays a finger low on one side.

“Might’ve left you a little something to remember me by, too,” she smirks.

“Are you serious?” My eyes widen, then I laugh. “I haven’t had a hickey since I was a teenager. I’m going to get so much shit for this when I go to practice.”

She laughs and shrugs. “Well, it’s a rite of passage I didn’t have as a teen. Consider it me making up for lost time.”

“I don’t get it,” I say, watching as she weighs and measures ingredients seemingly from memory.

“What?”

“Why guys weren’t falling all over themselves trying to catch your eye in high school. I know if you’d shown me an ounce of interest, I would’ve been vying for your attention every summer.” I prod my cheek with my tongue. “In fact, had I ever seen you without Grandma Grace around, I would’ve tried harder to flirt with you. But you didn’t give me the time of day back then.”

“Me?” she squeaks. Her wide, shocked brown gaze flies to me as she fumbles the measuring cup. Sugar spills across my countertop and onto the floor as the measuring cup clatters into the sink. She curses and drops to her knees, sweeping at the floor with her fingers, trying to pile the tiny white granules together.

“Yes, you. You were a little cutie, you worked at my favorite shop on the boardwalk, and you always gave me extra doughnuts. How could I not crush hard on you? And now you’re all grown up, my sexy little troublesome smokeshow.”

A blush stains her cheeks as she stares at me, open-mouthed, fingers coated in sugar.

“Don’t worry about that. Let me clean it up. I’m good for that much, at least.” I urge her to stand. “You keep throwing that together, and let me know how I can help. I’ll get this swept up.”

As I do, I feel her eyes on me.

“I wasn’t…” she starts, washing her hands and refocusing on her measurements. “I wasn’t someone people cared to impress. I was often the butt of jokes. The odd one out. The one that didn’t quite fit.”

I frown. “Why not?”

She huffs out a breath, adds more ingredients to the bowl, plunges her hands into it and works on bringing the dough together. She directs all her words and, seemingly, her emotions, into the bowl.

“I just wasn’t like everyone else. I didn’t have two parents, I only had my grandparents. I didn’t come from old money and my family didn’t have generational wealth. And most kids around here didn’t look like me, didn’t eat the kind of food I ate, and generally didn’t understand people that were different from them.”

“I get that. I was sent off to live with different billet families in Canada and the Northeast from the time I was a teenager. I had to grow up fast, fend for myself, and try to live up to the expectations of being the son of a Hall of Fame hockey player.” I finish swiping the sugar off the counter and put away the dustpan. “It’s lonely, isn’t it? Being different.”

Angie sets aside the dough and washes her hands again. When she turns to me again, there’s an assessing glint in her eye. Like she’s seeing me in a different light.

“You know, I wondered if you’d be cut from the same cloth as the other Soltero Beach boys. Rich. Attractive. Popular.” She crosses her arms under her chest. “Thought you’d be just as stuck up and snooty as the other guys in this town and you wouldn’t take notice of anyone you deemed beneath you.”

“And what do you think now?”

She steps up, cups my cheek with one hand and looks into my eyes with a soft, tender expression. “That your kind eyes are a window to a gentle, sensitive, thoughtful soul. That you’re nothing like those assholes I grew up with. And that instead of hiding myself away, I should’ve been braver and made it more obvious that I had the biggest crush on you back in the day.”

“Yeah?” I ask, pulling her into my arms and pushing back an escaped tendril of her hair.

“Yeah,” she says back, lacing her fingers behind my neck and reaching up for a kiss.

“Now I’ve got the biggest crush on you, Trouble.” I lean down, taking her mouth in a sweet, sensual kiss. My heart thuds in my chest as the word mine, mine, mine echoes in my brain and a need for more of her has me lifting her up and pressing her against the cool surface of my stainless steel refrigerator.

Her thick thighs band around my waist and she moans softly, shifting herself against my thickening erection.

She tips her head back, giving me access to kiss the line of her throat.

“I’m not sure I’m totally convinced,” she sighs.

“This isn’t convincing enough?” I ask, grinding against her heated core and grinning when her mouth drops open in a small o-shape. “Then let me make myself clear. I want you, Angie. Be my girlfriend. For real.”