The Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey) by Gina Azzi (little red riding hood read aloud .TXT) 📕

I’ve ever seen them. The anguish lining his face, the bitterness in the clench of his jaw, has my hand sliding up his chest, around his neck, and to the side of his face. His eyes close and his nostrils flare.

He turns his face into my touch and drags his lips over my palm. “Rielle,” he murmurs. I love the way my name sounds when he says it, but right now, I can’t make out any of the emotions twisted in his tone.

All I know is he’s hurting and it’s making me ache.

He needs comfort and I want nothing more than to provide it.

He’s my husband and I’m his wife.

I turn and get my knees underneath me, gingerly swinging a leg over his torso until I’m straddling his hips. Careful to keep my weight off of his injuries, I grip his face in my hands and look into his eyes.

“Tell me what you want, Torst. Don’t think, just say it,” I throw one of his favorite lines back at him and a spark of recognition flares in his irises.

“You,” he murmurs. “Fuck, I need you, Ri.”

I slide my hands down until they’re flat against his pecs. His muscles ripple under my touch and the fact that this man is thirty-eight and has the body of a twenty-two-year-old, wisdom of a septuagenarian, and the overflowing, brimming heart of a child isn’t lost on me. He’s the best of every season of life, all rolled into one devastating man.

A spark gleams in his eyes as I lower my head to his and press our lips together. Torsten sighs, his one hand cupping my cheek, the other resting on my hip, holding me steady as I press against him and deepen our connection.

His tongue slips inside my mouth and I moan, all the delicious sensations from our nights together culminating in this moment. There’s an added layer of trust between us that makes every touch deeper, each kiss sweeter. His hand threads through my hair as he tries to sit up and take control of the kiss.

I shake my head, pulling back to grin at him. “Uh-uh. You’re the patient. Let me.” I bite my bottom lip, reaching for the tie of his sweatpants.

He half groans, half chuckles, dropping his head back to look to the ceiling, as if for patience. Or strength. Either way, I set to work and shimmy his pants off his hips. Then, I sink to my knees, in the space between his propped leg and his other foot which is bouncing against the floor. I place my hand over the top of his foot to stop the bouncing and he snorts.

“You nervous?” I ask coyly.

“Nervous I’m not going to last,” he admits, glancing down at me. “Seeing you like this is enough to put me over the edge.”

I chuckle and pull the impressive tent he’s already pitching out of his boxers. My hand wraps around his heated skin, silky and already rock hard. I sigh, loving the feel of him, the weight of his need, against my palm.

I stroke him from shaft to tip, pressing kisses along his inner thigh. The closer I inch toward him, the more I let my tongue slip and swirl against his skin. He hardens even more in my hand, his breathing growing ragged.

My heart is pounding at how much I affect him. Torsten’s reputation has always preceded him but right now, he seems nothing like the perpetual bachelor. Instead, he seems like a man warring with himself to keep it together. I like that I affect him so deeply, especially since it’s been years since I’ve given a shit one way or the other how I make a man feel. Sex has always been a casual exchange for me.

But since Torsten, it’s almost too much. Even though my touch is sure, my mind is overflowing with thoughts. And pleas to a higher being that I can make this as spectacular for him as he makes every single thing for me. I lick up his shaft before putting my lips around him. He swears as I begin to bob my head, his fingers lacing through my hair, massaging my scalp. I switch up the pace, alternating between fast and slow, deep and shallow, and he groans, his thigh tightening under my hand. I don’t know how much time passes because I’m so focused on making this good for him, that everything except the feel of his length, the heat of his skin, his groans filling the air, disappear.

His hands tighten in my hair. “Ri, fuck baby, that’s good.”

I hollow out my cheeks, taking him until he hits the back of my throat, and he swears, tugging on my hair.

“Baby, I’m gonna—”

He explodes in my mouth, sticky, salty ribbons of pleasure that I swallow without a second thought, taking an extra moment to lick him clean while his hand wraps around my arm and tries to pull me up.

When I lift my eyes to his, he’s staring at me in awe. “Rielle, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” I cut him off.

“Come here.” He motions for me and I climb back into his lap.

He winces as my foot catches on his injured knee and I freeze. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Shh,” he cuts me off, gripping my waist and pulling until I collapse against his chest and he presses the deepest, dirtiest kiss to my mouth. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, this, but fuck, Rielle, I’m happy you’re here. And it’s got nothing to do with—” He lifts his chin toward his cock, which is already starting to harden for round two.

I snort and he blushes, endearing me to him further.

“Well, maybe not nothing,” he amends. He wraps his good arm around my waist and tries to roll me but I hold firm.

“No.” I shake my head. “Tonight’s about you.”

He freezes, his eyes dropping to the button on my jeans. “Sweetheart, I’m not going to leave you hanging like that.”

I laugh