Griz: A Fake Relationship College Hockey Romance

by E. Cleveland

  “I know someone.” She looks at me solemnly.

  “Really? Who?”

  “Hattie? Could I have it?”

  “Oh, I think that would be a great idea. Promise you’ll take good care of it?” I place it in her hand, and she’s all smiles.

  “I promise. I’ll wear it tomorrow. You’ll see me, right?” She’s so excited that she talks super fast.

  “I promise I’ll see you then.” I stand up, and Griz joins me. “Goodnight, girls.” I wave to everyone, walk away from the kid’s table and out of the bar. We leave it all behind as we cross the lobby to the elevators.

  “That was really cool that you did that.” The intensity in his eyes makes me stand taller and feel sort of shy at the same time.

  “It wasn’t really a family heirloom or anything.” I brush off his words. I didn’t tell Chloe that for a pat on the back. I did it because being the big girl doesn’t mean you’re not the pretty girl, and that child deserves to feel confident about herself.

  “I figured.” He laughs. “You know that’s not what I mean though.” He meets my eyes and they pin me, speechless and motionless for three heartbeats. I know because I can hear it whooshing in my ears.

  “Maybe it’ll help her hold her head up higher.” I shrug. “It took me a while to learn that the world’s more interesting when you’re not staring at your feet.”

  When I was a teenager, I got so self-conscious. I’d roll my shoulders forward and practically fold over onto myself. I don’t want to remember all the summers I sweat it out in jeans and hoodies. I risked heat stroke to hide my body. I would give hair clips to every girl on earth if it meant they never had to feel that level of self-loathing. It’s been a journey, getting to a place with my body where I’m good with my “baby fat”. Where I’m good with me. I mean, like eighty-five percent of the time, because I’m human.

  “If you were always staring at your feet, no one would get to see how beautiful you are,” he murmurs, and I smile.

  “Thanks.” I am not sure why I say it. I guess because I’m not sure what to say now.

  “Hattie.” My sister’s voice makes me wince. I push the button for the elevator about ten times in a row, keeping my back turned to her.

  “Come on,” I whisper.

  “You’ve gotta come back in.” Her shoes clop as she walks our way. “You can’t leave yet. There are toasts and speeches. Don’t you have a toast for us?”

  I do not. However, I don’t share this with my sister because right now I’m hoping if I don’t move, she will stop seeing me. It’s called magical thinking, and I am giving it my all right now.

  “Come on,” my whisper strains. I don’t think these elevator call buttons actually do anything. Clearly they are for show. This is all just a farce.

  Griz pulls me in against him. So tight. It takes me back to this morning. I might have been half asleep when he jumped on top of me, but that cock woke me up faster than any alarm clock. He felt so thick. And heavy. I’ve thought about that a lot today. A lot.

  He runs his thumb under my jaw, and I tilt my head up to him. There’s a second of pause. It’s just long enough to make me wonder if he’s actually going to…

  His kiss is soft but urgent. My elevator anxiety disappears, and I block out everything else when my eyes slide closed. Our kiss deepens. I’m lost in it. Consumed by it. It wakes me up, and I didn’t even know I was sleeping. I want more of his lips, his tongue, his closeness, his scent, his everything, when the elevators slide open at last.

  Griz lifts me up and walks me inside. My sister reappears like a mirage, if mirages were about bitchiness instead of water.

  “Hattie,” she scowls. “What about my toast?” Yes, that is my older sister who just stamped her foot like a toddler.

  I can’t tell her that I never wrote it. Not that I didn’t try. Every time I started, the words weren’t good enough. I couldn’t do it.

  Griz turns around. “Congrats on your first wedding.” He drops his hand to the panel and hits the button that forces the doors to close on Clemmie’s temper tantrum.

  “Goodnight,” I call out, smiling wide. It feels so good to leave Bridezilla and all the wedding stuff behind.

  18

  Sexy Isn’t Measured in Inches

  Hattie

  “Is this what you’re wearing tomorrow?” Griz comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered, in nothing but those pajama pants again. I want to feel the weight of all those muscles back on top of me. I want to feel the ridge of his hard cock grind into me again.

  My body does an involuntary clench. It’s not unpleasant. It feels like a Kegel but for my entire pussy, ass and belly too. I didn’t realize you could really feel your nipples get hard under your clothes. It probably helps that I ditched my bra and dress for another tank top and some comfy, gray yoga pants.

  “Yep, this is the dress my sister picked out for me.” I sigh at the blue floral disaster. It’s bad enough that the sleeves drape off the shoulders, bringing much unneeded attention to my breasts. Normally the waistline starting right below the boobs is a look that flatters almost every frame. Not so with this satiny, clingy material.

  This dress makes me feel like a hippie picking flowers during the summer of love. It makes me look like that hippie got pregnant. The light catches and curves in all the wrong places. I’m not sure if my sister meant to pick out something that seems so uniquely designed to highlight all the places I curve out instead of in, but I’d like to think she’s not at evil-villain levels of pettiness. I’m not sure though.

  Griz lifts the dress where I have it laid out on one of the queen-size beds. Tonight there won’t be any issues with figuring out where we’re sleeping. That morning wake up call will be missed though. The curve of his cock against his plaid pants catches my eye, and that Kegel-squeeze feeling hits again. My inner thighs tighten up this time too, and I suddenly become aware of my own heartbeat…because I can feel it in my pussy.

  “It’s not that bad.” He holds it up in front of me, and I roll my eyes. “Really.” His eyes glance down to the nylons, bra and underwear I had stuffed under the dress. “Oh, I didn’t know you had that stuff there.” His eyebrows pinch together when he stares at the only item I wish he didn’t see. “Tell me you’re not wearing that.” He points to the Extreme Hourglass waist trainer. It’s black, stiff, and it has three rows of hooks and eyes that promise to transform the way that dress fits.

  I pick up all my under gear and drop it into a drawer beside the bed. “I’m not sure.” I avoid his eyes.

  “You really want to spend your whole day with a dumb spandex vest pinching you? Come on.” He runs his hand over his beard. “You don’t need a fucking corset. I guarantee the dress looks better without it.”

  “It’s a waist trainer,” I say, like changing the words will change it’s function.

  Griz isn’t buying the new branding attempt. “It’s stupid.”

  Sighing, I hang the dress in the closet. “You don’t know what it’s like.” I tell him the truth. Guys like him and girls like me have grown up with the exact opposite experience. “Your size has been celebrated your whole life. Being big has been a huge asset for you, but it’s not like that for girls. For us, it’s a liability.”

  “Fuck that.” He brushes me off. “You’re sexier than any girl I’ve met.” He combs his fingers through his wet hair, and his arms naturally flex. His shoulders are thick. All of his is thick. All of him. My new pussy heartbeat pulses stronger with the memory of just how thick he was in certain places.

  “It’s not about big or small or tall or whatever,” Griz continues. He’s just casually going about his life, apparently oblivious to the effects his tight, toned man-chest are having on me. “Sexy isn’t measured in inches. It’s something you feel. You are or you aren’t. And, you are. Trust me.” He nods down to his cock and my eyes immediately snap back down. “If we weren’t doing the Ken-doll experience, you’d know how worked up you get me.”

  “So
rry, back up the bus.” I point my fingers in the air and whirl them in little circles. “Did you just call this the Ken-doll experience?” I laugh.

  “Yeah, you know, no genitals. No peen for the poon. No sex. You know what I mean.”

  The same moment that’s been popping into my head all day comes back with a roar. I played with those dolls as a kid, and Griz isn’t that.

  “You didn’t feel like a Ken doll this morning.” My lips twitch up at the memory.

  “Exactly.” He nods like I just made his point for him.

  I shake my head. “So, you don’t think I should wear a waist trainer,” I start.

  “It’s a fucking corset,” he cuts in.

  I ignore that. “Because you find me sexy without it.”

  “Right.” He claps his hands together. “I’m glad that’s all cleared up.”

  “But maybe I don’t want to wear it so people will think I’m sexy. Maybe I want to wear it for me,” I counter. It’s a devil’s advocate lie in the making, but I throw it out there anyway.

  “Do you hate breathing?”

  “No, but seriously.” I smile.

  “No, but seriously.” He doesn’t. “Is that why you’d wear it? For you?”

  His “seriously” was more serious than mine. It wipes the smile off my face when I realize the answer. This isn’t something I want to discuss anymore.

  I shrug. “If I wear it or I don’t, that’s up to me. Right now there are more pressing matters.” My eyes wander. Shamelessly and slowly, they wander over the tattoos down his arms. They wander over his broad chest. To his perfect nipples. They step down his cut stomach muscles to the path of dark hair, and they keep on going. I clear my throat and force myself not to stare at the generous curve of his cock. “How does that Ken-doll thing work?”

  “What do you mean?”

  What do I mean? “What’s the next level up from the Ken-doll thing?”

  “The boyfriend experience, I guess.”

  I flush with heat. “Is that the one where the genitals reappear?” I try to keep joking around, but my voice sort of cracks and reveals the yearning behind my words.

  “Yeah, there’s definite genital action with the boyfriend experience.” He completely rolls with it.

  I can’t fall for him. I know I could, but I won’t.

  “What if…I wanted to upgrade?” I immediately hate my choice of words. I want to stuff them back in my mouth, but instead I just blurt out more. “What if I want more?”

  “Is that what you want?” Griz steps in toward me. He slides his arms around me.

  “It is.” I look up at him.

  My thighs clench first, but it moves up my body. I tighten inside, wanting his lips on mine so bad I’m bordering on impatience. I can feel my heartbeat between my legs again. I’ve never met a man who’s given my pussy a pulse before. I never realized you could want to feel someone this much. It’s like an ache. A desperation.

  “You know, I was doing good on my New Year’s promise. Get more discipline. Some restraint. No girls, just hockey.” Griz slowly walks me backwards. His lips are hovering over mine, and I can barely understand the words coming out of them because it’s torture to not be kissing them.

  He stops when my legs hit the edge of the bed, and his lips part mine. I’m caught up in our kiss. It makes me all fluttery.

  “I want you so fucking bad.” His voice is hoarse. “You kill my restraint.”

  He kisses me again, and it makes me lose my sense of time and place. I step back, and the mattress buckles me behind the knee, collapsing me backward.

  I laugh at how unsexy it is to fall back unexpectedly. Griz joins me on the bed, and any embarrassment or self consciousness I was feeling is fleeting. It’s gone.

  His kisses aren’t hurried. His hands slide under my top. He starts tugging it up on the sides, and I realize that the self consciousness isn’t completely gone.

  “I’m just going to leave that on,” I whisper. I don't want to say it loud. I don't want to say it at all. I want the same confidence every girl does. I want to feel good enough about myself that I could skinny dip on a minute’s notice. I wish I didn’t worry about how parts of me wiggle or jiggle or roll.

  “Did you want to stop?” Griz pulls his hands back out, and I already feel awkward because I know I’m going to have to go and explain…

  “No, I don’t want to stop. I just, I don’t know, feel nervous.”

  That did nothing to help the look of concern on his face.

  “Nervous?”

  “About you seeing me.” My voice is strained. I don’t want to explain any more than that.

  “You want to hide from me? Hide these perfect fucking tits?” He presses them together and kisses them to the edge of my tank top. “This cute belly?” He kisses down over my stomach, and butterflies explode in it. “Are you going to hide the sexy slope of your hips too?” He eases the waistband of my yoga pants down.

  “No.”

  “Good.” He tugs my pants down, then my underwear.

  “Sexy thighs.” His lips graze the inside of one, and a shiver runs down my spine.

  “Sexy pussy. I told you, sexy isn’t measured in inches.” His voice rumbles against the inside of my thigh. “You either are or you’re not. And you most definitely are.” He kisses the sensitive skin where my thigh meets my mound.

  I’m dying to feel his tongue down there, but anxious too. He slides his hands under my ass and lifts it off the bed a few inches.

  “You’re so fucking sexy,” he murmurs.

  I squirm under the heat of his breath. His full lips surround my clit, I gasp as he sucks it into his mouth.

  I buck up to meet his mouth, but he guides my ass back down to the bed and stops to smirk up at me. “Lay back. Relax. I know I’m gonna enjoy every fucking second of this, but tell me if it’s not what you like. I want to make it good for you.”

  He rolls his tongue over me slowly, deliberately. His lips are pressed around my clit, and he slides his fingers inside me. I don’t need to guide him or give him any instructions. Griz reads me. He listens when I communicate in moans. He responds when I roll my hips up, my body aching for more.

  The build-up is intense, and he takes his time getting me there. I twist the blanket beneath us in my hands. I’m quivering on the edge, my body begging for release.

  “Ohhh, Griz!” It’s the only actual words I can produce. My mouth isn’t working. “Uhhh!” My eyes squeeze shut and my orgasm rolls through me. First with intense bliss, then with a wave of warmth that spreads through every part of me.

  Griz moves up beside me and brushes my hair across my forehead. “Do you want to keep going?”

  “Yes.” I want to so bad.

  “Just a sec.” He gets out of bed.

  Grabbing a condom from his wallet, he comes back with it on so quickly. For a second, it makes me think about how much experience he’s had putting them on to be that fast. It’s not jealousy that he’s been with all those other girls…it’s jealousy that I was never one of them.

  Griz joins me back in the bed and kneels between my legs. He pulls me up so I’m sitting, facing him. “Hattie, you don’t have to take off your shirt if you don’t want to, but I don’t want you to hide from me. You’re so fucking beautiful. I think you’re crazy if you don’t see that. Look what you do to me.” He nods down to his impressive cock. I let my gaze linger, biting my bottom lip. He’s so hard. It makes me fluttery with nerves and excitement for a completely different reason. I’ve never been with a guy so…big.

  “Can I take your top off?” He drags my attention back from his cock. It takes a second for my eyes to budge. Griz makes me feel sexy. Maybe even without my security blanket – I mean my shirt – on.

  That doesn’t mean I feel no fear. “Yes.” There has never been a more shaky and uncertain sounding yes ever spoken. I’m sure of it.

  Griz draws my chin toward him, slides his hand up to my cheek and kisses me. His fingers slip under the side
of my tank top and he begins to lift the fabric. His palms warm my sides as they slide over my belly and up to my breasts.

  I lift my arms, and he removes the shirt. As soon as it hits the floor, I instinctively wrap my arms around my belly. He shakes his head, his eyes locking on mine. There’s so much flashing behind them.

  “Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you.” He guides my hands back to my sides, leaving me exposed. The most exposed I’ve ever felt. I meet his eyes, searching for some kind of criticism or judgement, but there is none.

  “You’re beautiful.” He eases me back on the bed and kisses me again. He kisses my lips, my throat, my tits and even my belly. Each time, he tells me I’m beautiful. Each time, he sounds like he’s never meant it more.

  Griz moves between my legs, holding me captive between his thick arms, his body over mine. His cock pushes against my entrance. “Are you ready?” His voice is a rumble.

  “Mm-hmm.” I slide my hands over his shoulders and he guides his cock inside me.

  “Ahhh.” I breathe out the sound slowly, just like he fills me.

  “Sexy isn't measured in inches.” He smiles smugly. “Lucky for you, a good time is.” Griz thrusts inside me deep, and I flatten my hands on the backs of his shoulders, pulling him in close.

  I’m lost in him. In us. His cock fills me, stretching me around him, claiming me. When he goes harder, I’m surprised that it makes me cum again. So. Fucking. Hard.

  “Ahh, fuck!” Griz growls in my ear. A shudder travels through him. For a moment, we stay together, just breathing. Just two beating hearts. Just two searching souls.

  He doesn’t take long to get the condom off and disposed of. “Can I get you anything?” He looks at me from the bathroom door.

  “No, I’m good,” I answer.

  He slides in under the covers, and he pulls me into his body. I don’t know if it’s just the post-orgasm high, but it feels so good to be in his arms. His breath bursts in warm puffs on the back of my head. He’s the big spoon. Just like he likes. That was question number fourteen on my questionnaire. Because this is a fake relationship. But here I am, my ass pressed back into Griz, his arm shielding me. Lying in post-coital bliss after the very real sex we had.