Deke (Fake Boyfriend 3)

I whimper at the loss of his fingers until he eases inside, and the noise coming from me turns into a grunt.

Ollie whispers under his voice, words I don’t understand, which turn into rambling about my ass having the ability to kill him and that death by sex would be worth it if he’d already won a Stanley Cup. Then he starts rattling off hockey stats, and it takes a minute for me to realize he’s trying to distract himself.

We’re both fighting against our own control, both getting lost in the empty thoughts running through our heads where we can only concentrate on one thing, and that’s the feeling of each other. His heat, my want, our combined urgency and need.

Ollie’s cock pulses inside me, harder than steel, and my hips move on their own. Stretching out, I raise my hands above my head, slipping them under the pillow and gripping the sheet tight as I continue to fuck myself slowly on his dick.

Ollie starts moving, his quick detour from hard and fast over with, and he meets my movements, thrust for thrust—the reason I love bottoming. There’s no better feeling than being turned out until I’m walking funny and I can’t remember my stupid name.

Soon he’s taking me at a punishing pace, and hard breathing and the slapping of our bodies are the only sounds to fill the room. Ollie’s grip on my hip tightens, and I lose myself to him a little more. It’s not that I get off on pain but more the possessive way in which he takes my body. It’s the claiming bruises, the lasting aches. Last night was sweet, but this is primal, and I’d be happy to take Ollie either way. Last night, I was cared for. Tonight, I feel needed.

And when he wraps his hand around my cock while shouting his release, it only takes a few strokes for me to fall over the edge after him.

We stay like that, Ollie slowing his thrusts inside me as he continues to empty into the condom. My chest and the bedding are covered in cum, but instead of making a move to clean up when Ollie pulls out of me, I roll onto my back and collapse onto the bed.

A warm tongue licks at my spent cock. I moan as Ollie laps at the overly sensitive flesh, but I don’t stop him.

“Mmm, babe, you taste amazing, but fuck, you came hard. I think you might need to shower.”

“Shower sounds good,” I say, but my eyes drift closed.

Ollie laughs against my skin. “We’re totally the reason these hotels need black lights. You’re lying in a pool of cum.”

I wave him off. “Legs jelly. Brain broken. Sleep now. Bodily fluid cleanup later.”

“I love it when you’re romantic.”

“Sunshine, flowers, candy, semen … it’s allllll romantic.” I’m rambling now, and I don’t even care.

I’m vaguely aware of Ollie leaving the room and coming back with a wet towel to finish cleaning me and the bed up, and as he rejoins me and wraps his arm around me, something niggles at the back of my mind, but I’m too sated to let it come to the foreground.

It’s like that sense when you leave the house and can’t remember if you turned the iron off, or when you needed to do something but totally forgot.

Sleep pulls me under before I remember exactly what it is or why it’s important.

The incessant buzzing of a phone comes from somewhere in the room. A grumble comes from beside me as Ollie rolls over and throws an arm around my waist.

“You should get that,” he mumbles but holds me tighter. “I’ve been ignoring it for, like, ten minutes now.”

“How do you know it’s not yours?”

“Mine’s dead. Died last night, and I forgot my charger.”

“I don’t wanna,” I complain.

“I know. But I guess we better get up. When’s your flight?”

My eyes fly open. “Shit, what’s the time?”

“It’s early. I think.” Ollie slowly releases me and clambers to his feet. On his way to the bathroom, I admire the view, especially when he bends down and picks up my pants off the floor.

I sigh when he throws them at me and they smack me in the face.

“I’m gonna shower. Hurry up and check your messages so you can join me.”

My protest is weak, but after the water starts running, I force myself to get this done, because a wet, naked Ollie should never be passed up.

I pull my phone out of my pants pocket, and my stomach rolls at the sight of numerous notifications on my screen. As someone who doesn’t have many friends, it’s never a good thing when your social media is lit up like a Christmas tree and you have missed calls from your boss, your coworker … and Damon.

But it’s the notification with the preview of a news article that catches my eye. I squint and click the link and hold my breath.