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The charity skating event is tomorrow. Will she still show up, after the video I sent? Even though she’d never admit it, I know she’s proud of learning to skate. My stomach sinks lower with disappointment.
My phone chirps with the ring tone reserved for Hazel. My pulse jumps as I pull it from my pocket, expecting the worst. Expecting her to tell me we’re done, or that she never wants to talk to me again.
Instead, it’s a picture of some weird mess of black yarn on her duvet. Or maybe they’re shoestrings. My face screws up in confusion.
Not sure about this one, Miller.It needs an instruction manual.
“What?” I murmur, zooming in.
Within the mess of shoestrings is a clothing tag. My gut drops through the floor.
It’s not shoestrings. It’s lingerie, but I didn’t buy that for Hazel.
You’ll see, McKinnon said yesterday.
Jealous rage thunders through me. He sent her a fucking piece of lingerie. I regret not punching McKinnon in the face last night as I stare daggers at the picture.
I’m going to kill that guy.
First, though, I’m going to make sure Hazel knows exactly who sent it.
“Change of plans,” I tell the driver. “I’m going to my girlfriend’s place instead.”
I rattle off Hazel’s address and fold my arms over my chest, seething with jealousy and possessive feelings as we drive.
Hazel ismine.
CHAPTER46
HAZEL
“This video isfor 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.”
