5. Chapter 5
We’ve got this.
I take a deep breath and step onto the fairway, mentally planning my swing.
Nothing else matters except the shot. Not even the fact that I haven’t spoken to my partner since his first hit on the ninth, or that Max bogeyed that hole, leaving it wide open for us to take the lead. The only thing that matters is that I perform.
I line up and hit my tee shot. The ball lands exactly where I planned it to, so I hand my club to Graham and take off my golf gloves to flex my fingers.
JB whistles quietly as he steps up.
I hold my tongue, knowing if I say something I'm going to fuck it all up again. We’ll get in an argument, and it will only make things worse.
He lines up, and I wince.
Don’t do it. Don’t clutch it.
His grip tightens right before impact and he swings.
Thunk.
Disappointment sits heavy in my stomach because even with my eyes closed, I know exactly where that went.
I peek one eye open and blow out a breath.
Yup, it’s in the rough, on the wrong side of the fairway and about fifteen yards short of where it needs to be.
Silence.
JB brings his club down, and no one dares to speak. We all just stare at that stupid white ball sitting on the grass. Me, JB, Max, Jess... all of our caddies.
So close.
We were right there and all JB had to do was not grip his club like he wanted to suffocate it.
Without a word, I hold my head up high and walk to the cart because I need sixty seconds before I open my mouth. I am at least self-aware enough for that.
I get to the cart and start reorganizing my bag for something to do.
Deep breath. In. Out.
It's just a game.
It's just a game and I am fine. I have played out of worse positions than this. One bad shot is not a round and I am completely, entirely okay with it.
When I feel his presence behind me, I can’t help myself, I say, “Your rotation locked again.”
“I know.”
I don’t turn to look at him. I can’t. Instead, I tighten the strap on my bag and force myself to focus on anything except him. The clubs. The zipper pocket. The towel hanging from the side.
Anything.
“You’re overthinking it and trying to fix whatever’s going on mid-swing. That only makes things worse.”
“I know,” he repeats, making my eye twitch.
Why does it annoy me so much?
“Then stop trying to correct it before impact.”
“Whit,” the way he says my name makes me shiver. His voice is different now. The smiling, slightly goofy and flirty catcher from this morning is gone. In his place is a man who commands attention without raising his voice.
I should take the hint, but I can't.
I turn around and look him straight in the eyes. His jaw is tight, his chest is rising and falling to the point that I notice how big his pecs are, but I put that all aside and step into his personal space.
“Then fix it,” I say, my breath mingling with his as I challenge him. “And maybe then we'd have a chance to actually beat Max's ass.”
“Don't get my ass involved in your argument,” Max says from somewhere behind JB.
I don't care. The only thing I'm focused on is JB.
We're staring at each other now, both with pursed lips. Both waiting for the other to break.
“You done?” His voice is low and threatening.
Say yes. Say you're sorry.
Unfortunately, I don't turn down a fight.
“No,” I say, and point to his hand. “Your right hand is still the issue. Your finger placement—”
He laughs out loud. Hearty and bitter.
“You think I have issues with my finger placement?”
“Yes. You’re gripping it like—”
He looks away just as his jaw flexes. Then he looks back at me.
“My finger placement,” he says again slowly before he reaches out and wraps his hand around my wrist, “is just fine, and I'm going to prove it to you right now.”
Without warning, he drags me into the passenger seat of the cart, then he stalks to the other side and gets in.
“JB—” I start.
“Alex! Graham!” he calls over his shoulder as he puts it in drive, and we’re already moving. “We’ll meet you on the fairway in a few minutes.”
“What are you — we can't just—” I twist to look back at the caddies, Jess and Max.
Not one of them is calling us to come back. In fact, I think Jess is dancing with excitement.
“Get it, girl!” she yells as we drive away.
“Are you kidding me?” I turn back to JB who is off the course, driving us to who knows where. “This is a tournament. You can't just drive off in the middle of a—”
“Yeah, well, I need a second with my partner before I lose my fucking mind.”
Just as I'm about to reply, we hit some bumps, making me need to grab the cart for stability.
We're moving down a service track now, between holes that I don't think is technically a designated cart path, but I doubt JB cares about that.
When he stops, we're so far out, we're hidden behind one of the large bushes where no one can see us. The only sound is the cart motor whirring and our labored breathing from yelling at each other.
“You blocked it,” I blurt, because apparently, I can't help myself. “Your finger placement on the right hand has been an issue since the fourth hole and if you'd just—”
I'm mid-sentence when he turns in the seat, cups my jaw and forces me to look at him. Then, all of a sudden, his lips are on mine—hot, frustrated, and demanding.
For half a second, I freeze.
He’s kissing me.
What the fuck?
All the noise in my head suddenly stops. Everything I was thinking about is gone because JB is kissing me like he’s been dying to shut me up all day. His thumb presses firmly under my jaw, holding me exactly where he wants me while his mouth claims mine.
Then his tongue swipes across my bottom lip and any semblance of resistance drops. I want this, too.
So good. He feels so good.
The second I clutch his polo to pull him closer, he growls into my mouth, and the noise sends a tingle straight down my spine.
He pushes me back into the seat, covering me with his body. My legs ride up to make space, nearly knocking the brake in the process. Our mouths are sealed together, our tongues tangled as we try to get as close to each other as possible.
“I thought you were mad at me,” I manage to ask against his lips.
When my back hits the seat, he pulls back just enough to say, “I am mad at you. You’ve been riding me about my grip since the first tee.
Questioning my hands like I don’t catch fucking bullets for a living because you're wound up tighter than a string.” He doesn’t come back to my lips, instead he kisses down my jaw, and neck.
“This is a strange way to show it.” I close my eyes and tip my head back, enjoying the sensation of being touched like this by someone other than myself in a long time.
“Yeah, well, I need some positive energy, and you need to relax so you're going to let me take some of that stress off you, okay?”
“O-okay.” I nod, not entirely sure what I’m agreeing to, but I can’t seem to say no to JB’s fiery gaze.
His hand moves to the back of my head, and he slowly pulls me in, giving me enough time to register where this is going.
He’s going to kiss me again, and as I look down at his smooth, red lips, I know I'm not going to stop him.
I want him. I need him to make me care about something more than winning for once in my life.
When our lips connect, my hand finds his shirt without thinking, and my fingers curl into the fabric as he leans in. His tongue immediately dips into my mouth as his hand holds me in place, and he takes everything I have to offer.
My back arches against his hard chest as his hand trails along my side, following the curve of my body before wrapping around my waist and settling over my chest. His hand is so large it practically covers me completely, and a rush of frustration hits me.
I hate the layers of fabric between us. I want to feel the weight and warmth of his palm against my bare skin.
Smother me. Take all the noise away. Make me feel something.
He’s crawling over me now, making the golf cart shake, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I don't either.
I pull his shirt from his pants and dip my fingers under. He takes in a sharp breath before catching my wrist and pinning it against his chest.
“No,” he says firmly. “This is one thing you aren't going to control,” he murmurs against my lips.
That’s when he falls back into his side of the cart, yanking me along with him until I’m straddling his lap.
JB still doesn't care that the golf cart nearly topples. His mouth never leaves my body. He guides me back down to his lips using the hand on the back of my neck.
I close my eyes and don't say no.
I’m fully committed to JB’s control. Whatever he wants, I want to give.
When his mouth finds mine again, he slides a hand under my polo and wastes no time shoving my bra down. Rough callouses scrape over my nipple as he palms my breast. His tongue dips into my mouth as I gasp against the scratchy feeling.
Just like that. It's all gone. Every worry and every thought leaves my mind, because the only thing I want is to feel him touch every part of me.
His fingers pinch and roll my nipple, giving me too much and not enough at the same time.
"JB," I mutter as I pull away from his lips and clutch his shoulders because the sensation is too much.
He ignores my plea and pinches harder, watching my face as he does as though he’s testing what breaks me fastest.
My eyes roll, my head tilts backs.
So good. It feels so fucking good.
He unwraps my hands him and places them on either side of the dashboard behind me. “Hands on the cart,” he orders, his eyes heavy on mine to confirm that I’ll listen
I nod, making him grin.
JB leans back against the seat and greedily takes in my permanently arched position. My visor is off, my ponytail is a mess, and my shirt is up over my chest, but I don’t care. I’m not in control right now. JB is.
His hand traces all the way up my thigh, until it slips under the hem of my skirt until he reaches the edge of my panties. My core clenches with anticipation, wanting to feel him. His fingers skate across the fabric, and I find myself rocking toward them, craving any relief he’ll give me.
“Fuck, Whit. You’re soaked. Do you like it when someone else takes control?”
“JB...” His name slips out of my mouth, but I don’t have the balls to ask for what I want.
He doesn’t seem to care. He shunts my panties to the side and pushes one thick finger inside me, then a second, stretching me open in one smooth thrust.
I moan, my hips jerking as he uses his other hand to pin my thigh open and pump his fingers quickly.
“Eyes on me,” he snaps, his gaze lingering on my every reaction before he leans down and sucks hard on my nipple. He’s rushed, almost impatient after hours of my critiques as his tongue and fingers work relentlessly, only slowing when he finds the spot that makes me shake hardest.
“JB—fuck—”
He thrusts his fingers faster, and when he curls them I start to see stars. “You going to come on the hands you’ve been bitching about all day?”
I’m trembling, my hands are glued to the dashboard, and I’m completely under his control as I feel the orgasm building in my core. JB keeps his mouth on my breast, sucking and biting lightly while his fingers drive me over the edge.
“Come,” he growls against my skin. “Let me feel it.”
It hits like a wave. I cry out, clenching hard around his fingers as pleasure rips through me.
He doesn’t stop, and keeps stroking me through every pulse, waiting just long enough to drag it out while muttering rough praises.
“Good girl... finally listening... fuck, you feel good falling apart for me.”
I’m still shaking when he slows and eases his fingers out.
My body feels like jelly, and any annoyance from earlier has melted away into nothing. The only thing I care about is the pleasant sensation tingling between my thighs.
“See?” he says, bringing his hand between us. My wetness shines against his skin, and he makes no attempt to remove it. “Finger placement’s just fine.”
Finger placement?
My heart is hammering, my brain is fuzzy and my thighs are slick, and the second his lips meet mine; I'm calm.
He kisses me slower this time, helping me come around after everything that just went down. We shouldn't have done that, but I would happily do it over and over again if it meant all the noise would stop.
Just as I thread my hand through his hair, wanting to deepen the kiss, he pulls back and rests his forehead on mine. “Now. You ready to go finish ten? Or do you need some help to relax on the eleventh as well?”
I stare at him, still trying to remember my own name.
Shit.
That was so good I almost forgot we were in a tournament. One that I'm still currently losing.
He smiles, seemingly watching my reaction. The smug idiot is pleased with himself, and I can’t let him know how much I enjoyed that. Imagine how smug he'd be then.
“One orgasm doesn’t mean your grip is fixed.” I pull my polo down, adjust my panties and shift back to the passenger seat of the golf cart. I press the skirt pleats down, trying to ensure the fish mouth doesn't look creased. The first time in my life I've ever cared about something like that.
When I finish, I find JB is staring at me.
"Problem?" I ask with a raised brow.
He stares at me for a second longer. Then he throws his head back and laughs.
“No problem at all, Coach. In fact, I think we just solved our problems.”
"I'll believe it when I see it," I grumble, ignoring the fact that my core tingles every time I look at his fingers.
As we pull back toward the fairway, the distant sound of the tournament filters back in, I adjust my skirt again to give me something to do other than think about what the hell just happened.
We are so screwed, but damn, I'm a hell of a lot calmer about the tournament than before.