Relief makes me smile in return. “That’s perfect. For a minute there you gave me a scare.”
“Hey, I’m all in for this. If I have to leave you, it’ll only be for an hour or whatever. But I’ve got your back, Eagle. Don’t forget that.”
Justin said that to me once, and the only thing he had of mine was my pussy. He didn’t care about anything else. I wonder if Mark is trustworthy. Gina said he was, but they’re friends. Well, except for high school and that doesn’t count.
“What’s wrong? Something’s bothering you. I can tell.”
“No, I’m fine. Really.” Shaking off thoughts of my old boyfriend, I put my arms around Mark’s neck and say, “So, what’re our plans for tonight?”
“I thought we could do dinner here if that’s okay?”
“Absolutely, as long as it’s not late. You have an early wake-up call.”
“You read my mind.”
Then something dirty comes to mind. “Can I ask a favor of you?”
“Anything.”
I walk up to him and unzip his pants. “Anything?”
“Hmm-mmm.”
“Good.” When his pants are off and his boxers pushed down, he stands there, fully erect. I take his cock and feel the smooth yet steely length in my fist. I pump him a few times, then I say, “I want to watch you get yourself off.”
His gaze burns into me before he says, “Strip and get on the bed.” Pulling up the desk chair, he faces the end of the bed, where I sit. He removes the rest of his clothes and takes a seat. Then he stares, but the man looks so good, I’m not sure this was such a great idea. Now I want to sink my fingers into his flesh and have him fuck me until I scream. But I don’t move a muscle. I don’t even blink.
“Is this what you want?”
He fists his cock and slides his hand up and down so slowly, I moan, “Yes.”
“And this?” He repeats his action again. And again. Until he picks up a little speed. His cock is hard, and all I want to do now is wrap my lips around it and suck it off. But I’m locked in my position on the bed, trapped by the scene before me. My hand moves between my thighs and runs up and down my slit.
“Open up your sweet pussy for me. I want to see all of you.” Using one hand to spread my lips, I use the other to rub my clit.
“Use your fingers inside you,” he orders. “Two.”
His movement has picked up, and one hand is now on the arm of the chair, gripping it tightly. I’m drenched. I feel it pooling around my hand.
“You’re so wet. I can see it from here. Do you like to see me get myself off?”
“Yes,” I hiss. And I do. It’s fucking sexy as hell, watching him grip his own cock.
“Make yourself come, Riley. I want to see how you do it. What you like.”
I use one finger to rub my clit in a circular motion. But I think what gets me off the most is the visual of him holding his dick. It’s a gorgeous cock—large, tanned with a pinkish hue—and currently the head is slick with his pre-ejaculate. As those thoughts careen through my brain, I come, panting his name. And then I watch him erupt, shooting streams of cum, and it spurs me to action. I fly off the bed, and wrap my hand over his, helping to give him his happy ending. When he’s done, I rub his cum all over his cock, playing with the stuff. Too bad he wears a condom when we have sex.
Our mouths crash together in a storm of need, and too soon, he says, “I need to clean up before we do anything.”
“A shower?” I suggest.
“Good idea. Don’t forget a condom.”
“On it.”
I get the water ready and wait for him. My body’s ready for round two. I hope my heart and brain are because he’s already getting me twisted up.
MARK
The next night, unable to sleep, I roll out of bed and stretch. Riley’s naked body is tempting. However, it would be unfair for me to wake her up for round three when she’s got to be her best on the green tomorrow. Besides, there is plenty I can do. I grab a pair of gym shorts and put them on before heading to my computer to do some work.
The laptop lies open, untouched, as I think about my meeting earlier with Ben and Martin from Rhoades Investments. Ben had taken care of much of the interview. By the time it was over, he said to me, “I’m just going to be honest and say we’ve had our eye on you for a while. Talented finance people who don’t work for the big New York guys are hard to come by.”
He’d ended up offering between salary, incentives, benefits, and perks nearly twice what I’d received at my former job. It should be a no-brainer.
But I’ve gotten several more emails and a few calls from more of my former clients. Most of them are willing to go with me, no matter where I end up. So, what if I go it alone?
The idea of freedom to do things the way I see fit intrigues the hell out of me. I can buy a house in Asheville or even move back to Waynesville with a designated office area and set up shop. There’s something about being my own boss that’s appealing. Setting my hours and being able to get up after making love to a beautiful woman like now to do work is looking better and better. Granted, I’ll have to spend more time watching the market during business hours than I’ve been able to do. Still…
However, working for Rhoades, I will essentially run the Charlotte office with no one to answer to other than Ben and his father, Martin. And as long as everything runs smoothly, we would only have weekly videoconference meetings, or so he claims.
Riley walks out of the room, rubbing her arms. “I’m cold,” she pouts.
“Being naked can do that,” I tease.
Seeing her standing there instantly gives me wood. And the temptress heads straight for me. The idea of getting anything done has me closing my laptop and pushing it to the side. I give her a place to sit by letting her stand between my legs with her ass brushing the desk.
“I’m cold because you left me alone, and I missed you.”
“Hmm, sounds like I have some making up to do.”
She nods and scoots to sit on the desk just as I planned. I roll my chair forward, spreading her legs in the process. Her pussy is gorgeous, smooth, and wide open to me.
“A midnight snack sounds good,” I murmur.
I press my hand to her chest, pushing her back some and dipping my head to lick her sweet sex.
It isn’t long before Riley pants, “You and your talented tongue.”
Sucking in her clit earns me an immediate response from her. She fists my hair and jams my face between her legs. Working with her need, I thrust my tongue into her pretty cunt and fuck her with it until I get my fingers in position. Switching gears, I slide two fingers into her and free up my mouth to kiss the lips between her legs, tonguing them and circling her swollen nub. I curl my fingers inside to touch that button that will send her shooting off like a bottle rocket. Her walls start to contract, and she tightens her grip on my hair. She doesn’t let go until she’s crested the wave. I have to fist my dick so I don’t shoot off. She’s so extraordinarily stunning when she comes.
Riley isn’t selfish. She sees my problem and removes my hand. There is nothing fucking sexier than watching a woman go down on you. As much as I love being inside her, I will not last staring at her beautiful lips wrapped around my cock and sucking it down her throat. I try to hold out because it feels fucking amazing as I jack-hammer into her mouth. When I come, it’s hard. My legs lock, and I have a death grip on her head.
“Fuck,” I groan, finally coming back to myself.
She sucks at the head, sending unbearable tingles through my body. And she knows she’s a fucking pro, teasing me with a self-satisfying smirk on her face.
I cup the back of her head and draw her up for a kiss. She tastes like me, and I like it. It fucking turns me on again. I stand and wrap her legs around me to carry her back to bed. Tomorrow, she’s going to be tired, and Randy’s going to be pissed. But he’ll have to deal because I can’t get enough of this woman.
When the alarm goes off in the morning,
Riley isn’t a happy camper while she heads for the shower. Guilty for keeping her up, I throw on some clothes to grab us something quick to eat from the coffee shop downstairs. There’s no time this morning for room service.
On the other side of the door, a man in a golf shirt holds a bag and a tray with two coffees. He looks familiar, but I’m wondering why he’s here as he dons the same confused expression I’m wearing.
“Can I help you?”
“Actually, I’m looking for Riley Wilde. Maybe the concierge gave me the wrong room number.”
My first thought is to give the hotel staff shit for giving out private information. Then I check myself. I don’t know who this guy is to Riley. He might have every right to know what room she’s in.
“No, you have the right room. She’s in the shower right now.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll wait.”
He eyes the keycard I’m holding. What can I say? No, you can’t go in. Again, I want to so badly. However, this could all be a misunderstanding on my part.
“Why don’t I go tell her you’re waiting?”
Using my key, I open the suite, and he follows me inside like he owns the place. I turn around to tell him to wait here, and his hand is extended.
“I’m Justin Turner, by the way. And you are?”
Shaking his hand, I recognize his name and now his face. He used to be the number three golfer in the world. In the past, I admired his game. Not anymore, I think. Especially if he and Riley have a history.
“Mark,” I say, trying to keep jealousy at bay.
“Mark. Are you her assistant?”
So many things I can say, none of them quite adequate. Riley and I have agreed on exclusivity when it comes to sex, but we haven’t labeled anything else we are.
“I’m caddying for her.”
His brows lift in relief. “Oh, I’ve never seen you before. Have you caddied for anyone else I might know?”
“Not exactly.” This isn’t my world, and somehow I’m sure explaining what I’m doing will only make him think less of me than he already does. Besides, it’s up to Riley to tell this guy what she wants him to know. “She has an early tee time, so let me go tell her you’re here.”
Before I say something wrong, I stride away. Riley’s not mine, I chant in my head.
I close the bedroom door and hear the shower cut off. When I step inside the bathroom, she stares at me funny, and I know I need to check my ego before I speak.
“Hey, that was quick,” she says, looking fucking edible as slick and wet.
“Actually, someone is here to see you. He brought breakfast for the two of you. I’ll go grab something downstairs and give you two a chance to talk.”
I don’t mean to say the word that way. So I flash her a smile and hope I don’t resemble the clown from Stephen King’s movie, It.
“Mark,” she calls, as I try to leave and not say anything that would make me look like a dick.
“Yeah.” I don’t break stride.
The doorknob is in my hand when she says, “Who’s out there?”
“His name is Justin.”
Then I move. I’m out both doors and pressing the button several times for the elevator. The devil on my right shoulder is shouting at me for being a dumbass and leaving. Should I have stayed and marked her as mine? If they have a history, will he go into the room and catch her naked?
Trust is hard when you’ve been burned like I have. But I do trust her, even though all I have is her body. And I recognize what I’m feeling. Jealousy is bred from one thing. And I realize I want more than sex from this woman. I want her heart.
RILEY
What the hell? Why did Mark tear out of here like his hair was on fire, and what in the world is Justin doing here? And why would Mark let him in and leave me here alone? A pit of anger develops in my gut, but quickly expands into the equivalent of a nuclear explosion. Stomping in the room, I rip open drawers, pull out clothes, and get dressed. Then I practically tear all my hair out by the roots when I yank my brush through it. Why do men have to be so damn stupid? Muttering a slew of curse words, beginning with shit and ending with fuck, I sling the door of my bedroom open, startling Justin when I nearly rip the heavy thing off the hinges.
“What the hell did you say to Mark?”
“Huh,” a shocked Justin says.
“Mark. My boyfriend. What did you say to him?”
“Your boyfriend?”
Tilting my head to the ceiling, I pray for patience so I don’t strangle the motherfucker. “Yes, the guy who let you in here. My boyfriend, Mark.”
“He said he was your caddie.”
“He is my caddie for this event, but he’s also my boyfriend. And how did you get my room number?”
Justin fishmouths a few times, and then admits, “I told the concierge I was your fiancé.”
“You did what?” I screech.
He finally gets to his feet and shifts from one foot to the other. “Uh, yeah. I knew they wouldn’t just randomly give out your room number, so I sort of fibbed.”
Now it’s my turn to play guppy. I am so furious, I can’t even speak. My voice has fled the island. The man fucking lied! When I can pull enough oxygen into my starved lungs to allow me to formulate a coherent sentence, I say to him in a low voice, “I’m going to tell you this one time. Get. Out. Of. This. Room. If you ever do anything like this again, I will cut your penis off.”
“But, Riley, I was hoping—”
“Did you hear what I said? Get out now. Or I’m calling security.”
He actually takes the time to gather up the breakfast he brought and leaves. Now I have to figure out where the hell Mark is. I call his cell phone, but as I suspect, he doesn’t answer. So I text him where to meet me. Checking the time, I see I only have about thirty minutes until my tee time. I’ll be surprised if I don’t hit the ball all the way to Africa today. And to top it off, if this can even be topped, I don’t have time to eat, and the dumb fuck who ruined it all took his breakfast with him. Motherfuckingasshole!
When I get to the clubhouse, I grab a gigantic cup of coffee, a protein bar, and head to the carts, where my clubs await me. Mark stands there, sheepishly, and when I see him, I want to scream. But I don’t. I bite my tongue and get behind the wheel of the cart.
When he gets in, he makes the mistake of asking, “Did you have a nice chat?”
“What did he tell you? Justin, I mean. You flew out of there so fast.”
By this time, we’re at the number one tee box. I dig through the pocket of my bag, pull out a tee, set up my ball, and tee off without even taking aim. Everything I did was wrong, and I end up hooking the ball. It flies left off the fairway and into the rough. It’s bad. Really bad. I can’t help but feel how much my life resembles that ball right now. The rough on the course is knee deep. I’d rather be an inch deep in the bunker. A stream of unladylike words flies out of my mouth.
“Um, that wasn’t your best,” Mark says.
I wish I could wake up and start the day over again, sans Justin. “Why did you let him in? He lied to the concierge to get my room number.”
“What?”
“Justin. Why did you let him in? Are we not exclusive?”
“Yes, of course, we are.”
“So, some guy who you never met, shows up at our hotel door, and you let him in. I just want you to know that I’ll never let some strange woman into our room. What I consider exclusive and what you do must be two different things.”
He certainly wears confusion well, I’ll give him that. “It wasn’t like that. I figured he was a friend of yours. When I told you his name, you never said you didn’t know him.”
“I know him, but he’s no friend. Justin and I dated in the past, but I caught him cheating on me and dropped him like a hot poker. And do you know what? It was the best thing that ever happened because the guy’s a moron. And it freed me up for you.”
Mark stares at me with a possessive expression, and the corners of his mouth cur
ve upward.
But we can’t stand here and debate this issue. Instead of doing that, I tee up another ball, which is totally against regulation, but at this point, I don’t give a fuck. I’ll deal with it later. This time I hit a perfect shot. We don’t say much during the front nine. When we make the turn, he offers to grab me some food, and I gladly take him up on it. I use the restroom, and when we get back, we’re off to the back nine. I’m glad Randy’s not around. While I’m playing fairly well, considering, my mood is shit.
We’re approaching number seventeen when Mark says, “I’m sorry.”
The rest of the game is played in silence, and I’m glad for the concentration it affords me. Afterward, I head to the pitching green. My drives have been consistent, other than the first one, so I’m going to concentrate on pitching and hitting some shots out of the sand trap. After a couple of hours, I call it a day. We head back together, and I go straight to the hotel bar for a drink. Mark follows. When I move to sit at the bar, he steers me in a different direction. We end up sitting at a private booth, back in the corner. After our drinks are delivered and we take a few sips, he begins.
“I realized something today.” He paused. “Do you want to know what?”
“What?”
He still holds my hand when he says, “I want you to be mine. As in my girl. And only my girl.”
I draw circles on the table with the index finger of my other hand. “See, this is where the confusion comes in. I thought I already was your girl. And I have to admit that the fact that we’ve said we’re exclusive, and spending this kind of time together you still had some doubts, really blows.” The truth is, it’s more than confusion. It hurts. It hurts that he didn’t feel the same.
“You are my girl. At least I think of you that way.”
“Then let’s start fresh and put this behind us.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” he asks, with a devilish look in his eye.
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