15. Blake

CHAPTER 15

Blake

Engagement ring shopping.

It’s all in my head now, taking Elise to a jewelry store, letting her pick out whatever diamond—or other stone—she wants. Then putting it on her finger. Having it flash every time she lifts her hand to smooth her hair, or touch up her lipstick.

Having it sitting like a rock on her hand when she’s gripping my cock with her fist, her cherry red lips descending down the length of my shaft…

I shouldn’t care about the ring.

It shouldn’t even be in my head.

The only ring I should care about is the one I’m getting when the Racketeers win the championship this year and I can retire.

That’s what I should be focusing on.

This relationship with Elise is fake. It’s all fucking fake.

She’s doing me a favor.

Yet, I can’t get it out of my head. Dating her, hanging out with her, putting a ring on her finger.

Or the fact that she has two guys who want to fuck her tonight with me.

That she even tried to suggest she and I wouldn’t get naked with each other is fucking laughable.

“Did you really think you were going to sleep over at my condo and we were not going to have sex?” I ask, amused, after I’ve paid our dinner check and we’re heading out of the restaurant.

Elise huffs a little. “I was trying to keep this all straightforward. Simple. Uncomplicated.”

I run my palm over the small of her back as I guide her out the front door. Then drop it lower, to the curve of her generous ass and give a squeeze. “It’s already complicated. I’ve touched you, remember? Me sleeping on the couch isn’t going to change that or make this any less complicated. I wouldn’t sleep a damn wink knowing you’re curled up on my pillow, bare skin on my sheets.”

Just the thought has me clearing my throat.

“How do you know I sleep naked?” she asks, but she sounds a little breathless. I don’t think it’s from the blast of cold air we encounter when we step outside.

Her ass is pressing back against my hand even as she pulls a knit cap onto her head and down over her ears.

This woman.

God. I’m really fucking playing with fire.

But I love to win.

And I have to taste Elise from head to toe. I need to bury myself in her heat.

“You are one fucking hundred percent a sleep naked girl. Don’t even try to deny it. You’re comfortable in your skin and that is so damn sexy.”

She makes a noncommittal sound, but I know I’m right.

“Do you sleep naked?” she asks.

“You’ll have to find out.” I gesture to the right. “My truck is down here.”

“Of course you drive a truck,” she mutters. “You’re huge.”

I lift my fob to start the engine and get the seats heated. “I’m not small. Besides, I can’t drive a sports car in the woods.”

“So many trees in the woods,” she remarks, shaking her head and smiling. “Lovely to look at, but definitely not my dream. I bet you can’t even get food delivery service.”

“Nope.”

Is that a pang of disappointment I feel?

I frown to myself.

It’s not like Elise strikes me as a woman who wants to hike and fish. Nor do I need companionship.

“I’m not cut out for subsistence living,” she adds.

“Uh, not being able to order food day or night is not exactly subsistence living.”

“It is to me.”

I tell myself I’m disappointed by her reaction because of my grandmother. Elise needs to be convincing. “Make sure you tell my grandmother you love the woods.”

I open the passenger door and she climbs in. She pauses, boots on the runner, and pins me with a gaze over her shoulder. “I know the assignment.”

Grunting, I just nod, and she settles into the seat. I push the door closed and go around to the driver’s side.

“These seats are heaven,” she said, wiggling her ass back and forth. “Toasted buns. I love it.”

All that wiggling isn’t helping me focus. Lust is continually clouding my thoughts, which are already muddled enough. “Where is this hotel?”

She rattles off the address, and I put it in my phone.

It’s close by, which is good. I need her naked. Now.

Watching her break as three men take her is going to be hot as hell.

I’m about to say that out loud when she fiddles with her earring and says, “By the way, I have a pinup competition in a few weeks and I think you should be there. If I’m spending half my free time at hockey games, you should support me too. That’s what a fiancé would do.”

“Pinup competition?” I have a sudden vision of her strutting across a stage in heels and a bikini in front of drooling judges. “What is that, exactly?”

“It’s a pageant for women who love the retro pinup look. Lots of dresses and heels and vintage hairstyles. The theme for this one is winter wonderland.”

I have no idea what that means, but I nod firmly. “I’ll be there if I can. Do you do those frequently?”

“Three or four a year. They’re fun for me and good advertising as I try to launch my clothing line, Sugar Starling. That’s my pinup name. Miss Sugar.”

Now I do groan. “Are you fucking trying to kill me? Miss Sugar ?”

As I almost run a red light, she snorts. “It’s going to take more than that to kill you.”

“Do you wear a bikini?” God, I hope she does.

“No. It’s dresses . I need my shapewear back, as a side note.”

“What shapewear?” I know exactly what she's talking about. That vise-like contraption that doubled as underwear. After I went home I admittedly raised it to my nose and then gripped my cock and got myself off, remembering the whole time the way she pumped her hips against my fingers and her soft cries of pleasure.

Then I threw the stretchy underwear thing away.

I don’t think she needs to squeeze herself into anything.

“Blake.”

“What?” I glance over at her.

Her look is full of censure. “Those were expensive.”

“You don’t need them.”

“I didn’t ask your opinion.”

She’s right, of course. It’s none of my business. “I’m sorry. I’ll replace them. But only if you agree to also get one of those bras that has a hole for your nipples. And panties with the slit for my tongue.”

Her jaw drops. Then she laughs. “That’s very specific.”

“I have very specific tastes. You and your incredible body.”

“Well, how can I say no to that?”

“You can’t,” I agree.

I find a parking spot. “We’re here.” I’m edgy with anticipation, just like I am before every game. “They’re in the bar?”

“Yes.” Elise presses her hand to her belly. “I have butterflies, I’m not going to lie.”

“You’ve never done this before?”

She shakes her head. “Not three guys, no. You don’t think they changed their mind, do you? Or that I’m reading their invitation wrong? Maybe they really just want us all to have a drink together and nothing more.”

That’s laughable. “Uh. No. I don’t. This isn’t a casual meet up.”

When we walk into the bar, we immediately spot Aidan and Simon, sitting at a four top table. The bar only has one other lone patron at the actual bar. The guys have chosen a cozy corner, where the lighting is low and far enough away from the bartender that our conversation probably won’t be overheard.

Perfect.

They hear Elise’s arrival because both swivel to look back at the entrance to the bar. There are no doors, just a wide entrance off the lobby. But the floors are marble and her shoes have little heels that make a clicking sound.

It’s Elise’s siren call.

It certainly drives me crazy, so I understand how they’re equally drawn to her.

Simon gives her a charming smile and raises his glass up in salute.

Aidan shifts in his chair, his smile slow and filled with desire.

Then they both flick their gazes to me.

I nod in greeting. I glance down at Elise. She’s taking a deep breath. She feels my gaze and looks up at me.

She seems nervous, but if I’m reading her right, it seems more like excitement, not doubt. “You don’t have to do this,” she says. “I’ll still pretend to be your fiancée publicly.”

I grip her cheeks with both of my hands and stare into her beautiful eyes. Then I kiss her, taking her mouth in a demanding, hungry kiss. I pour myself into tasting her, crowding her space, sweeping my tongue into her mouth.

She moans softly when I pull away.

“I never do anything I don’t want to do,” I tell her. “Except for Racketeers press conferences.”

She laughs softly. “Good to know.”

“Now let’s go join these guys so you can tell them exactly what you want.”

I take her hand. I don't know why. I’m not really a holding hands kind of guy.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

I may be willing to share Elise and our engagement may be fake, but I still want to establish I’m an equal player.

“Hello, love,” Simon says to her as we approach. He stands up and kisses her cheek. He holds his hand out to me. “Good to see you again, Blake.”

He says it as if I haven’t seen him in his underwear.

I shake his hand. “Hey, what’s up?”

Social situations are a breeze for this guy and part of me envies that, the way I have in the past with friends like Crew McNeill and Alexsei Ryan. They always know what to say.

Aidan is the same way. He may not be as charming as Simon, but he always seems comfortable and friendly. He gives Elise a smile as he pulls himself to his feet.

“Hi.” He gives her a hug and shakes my hand as well.

Simon gestures for us to sit down and he casually leans back in his chair, resting his calf over the opposite knee. “How was dinner?”

“Delicious,” Elise says. “How about you two?”

“My filet was perfectly prepared,” he says, lifting his fingers in an “o.” “The chef is amazing.”

“There was no one else in the restaurant,” Aidan tells her. “Simon arranged for private dining.”

“Oooh, that sounds very fancy. You’re on your A game, Simon, I love it.” Elise sits down next to Aidan.

Simon launches into a detailed description of their dinner dishes.

I drag out the chair beside Simon and listen to them make small talk for another five minutes before I can’t stand it.

I fucking hate small talk.

“Is anyone having sex or are we just going to talk about the braised whatever-the-fuck all night?” I demand.

Elise cuts off mid-sentence and gapes at me.

Aidan snorts.

Simon chuckles.

“What?” I ask Elise. “That’s what you want, right?”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little conversation,” she says. She lifts Aidan’s beer to her lips and takes a long swallow.

“My suite is just an elevator ride away,” Simon says. “But Elise sets the pace, Wilder. We do it her way.”

Aidan’s arm has come around her shoulder, and he’s giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Exactly.”

I reach over the table and take her hand, sliding my thumb down her palm. “Would you like to go upstairs right now and get fucked by three men, sugar?”