Shay…
“Mmm...morning.” Ben growl-purred the baritone greeting.
I sighed, then sleepily smiled. “Morning.”
“Shaaay...” His lips twitched at the corners. “What are you doing?”
“I’m layin’ on you.” How ’bout that? No hesitation. No reservations. It felt natural—safe. I shimmied my hips, basking in the incredible warmth he radiated. “What’s it feel like I’m doin’?”
“But what are you really doing?’ Strong hands skimmed up my back, under my T-shirt.
I rested my chin on his chest, staring up at him, well aware he’d slept stark-naked all night, even though I hadn’t. “Does it seem like I’m doing something else?”
“I don’t know.” He gripped my hips, then pulled down as he thrusted up. “You tell me.”
“Oh, wow.” No mistaking that iron hardness, even through my cotton boy-short underwear.
“Yep. ‘Oh, wow.’”
“All from just me...on you?”
His fingers traced lazy circles on my back. “Apparently.”
“Not morning wood?”
“Not even close.” He blew out a measured breath.
“Harder?” I gave my hips another tiny shimmy.
He groaned low. “Like rock beats paper.”
“I thought paper beats rock.”
“Not from where I’m layin’.”
That hardness gave a tantalizing kick up against my sensitized nerves. I gasped as a sensual ache fired through me. My whole body shivered.
He groaned again. “You have some kind of power over me.”
I wiggled my hips faster, more than thrilled by the action and his reaction. “A superpower.”
He hooked his thumbs into my waistband and tugged my underwear halfway down my hips. “Why aren’t you naked?”
“Uhhh, because you tried to strike up hour-long conversations with my cagey homeless friends on each Mickey D’s delivery? You dragged my ass back here late, and I was tired.”
“That question was rhetorical.” He bent his leg, hooked his foot into the fabric over my butt, then dragged my underwear down my legs. “It means get naked.”
“What did you think of everyone? You never said.”
“I was too busy being impressed with you last night. And they were...interesting?”
My underwear got caught on my second ankle. I shook it free. “Good interesting?”
“Yes. Good.” He yanked my shirt to my shoulders, then pulled it over my head and arms. “No more talking about anyone else. I’m busy being impressed with you now. And it’s my day. My rules.”
I pressed my lips together, hiding a smile, unwilling to go down without a fight. Even though my skin tingled awake and my breath quickened as flashes of pleasure spiked between my legs. “We never decided who won yesterday.”
“You did,” he clipped out.
Before another syllable made it out of my mouth, he arched up and kissed me...hard at first, then softer and a hell of a lot sexier.
A guttural moan vibrated in my throat as a constant deeper ache unfurled between my legs, throbbing and undeniable.
All of a sudden, he gripped my hips and the world spun.
I squealed out midair, but then my back hit the bed, and the rest of the air knocked out of me. “Thought I was gonna make the next move.”
He shifted, sitting up before leaning back. “You did.”
As he adjusted, the soft white sheet slid down his muscular chest, drifted over taut abs, then got caught at his lean hips.
My gaze traveled back up from the dusting of black hair below his navel, along the primal black markings tattooed around his chiseled biceps, to a face I’d come to love, from the scruff of his beard to the fierceness in his charcoal eyes.
Mischief glittered in his gaze before he grabbed my hips again, flipped me over, and dragged me down a good foot. My forearms braced against my pillow, my cheek pressed against cold sheet.
There you are. The real Ben. Filled with ferociousness and passion. Only instead of a devastating storm barreling down to destroy me, he’d become the vibrant lightning bolt I wanted to catch.
“But I wanted to wild things up.” Face my fears, rewrite more of my memories about touch. My way. With control.
“You had your fun. Now I get to play.”
With a resigned exhale, I relaxed onto the sheet.
Maybe his way was better. Surrender control. Trust him, completely.
The warm pressure of his hand slid up the inside of my knee, my thigh, until his fingers slicked through my center.
I gasped as an electric jolt of pleasure sparked hot, then sizzled outward, deeper.
His expert fingers teased, massaging in light slides then firmer presses, fast flicks then slower circles.
My breaths grew ragged. Low whimpers sounded from my throat. A heavy ache coiled tight inside, and I began to shake with the need for release.
All the while, his strong protective body curved over me. The thrilling mixed sensation of rough beard then soft kisses branded a fiery trail over my hip, toward the center of my back, and meandered up to my shoulders.
Skin to skin, heart and soul, every move he made, each soft caress, made me feel cherished...loved.
“Sooo wet.” His growled words vibrated against my shoulder as his weight shifted. His circling fingers vanished, but a firm blunt pressure stroked across my sparking nerves, once...twice.
Then the pressure dragged backward. His blunt tip caught at my entrance.
But he didn’t move.
His heavy breaths fanned across my shoulder blades, then fogged forward up my neck, across the shell of my ear.
I panted, breathless, consumed with aching need and undeniable want.
When I turned my face, he kissed me, soft and slow.
“Please,” I begged, arching my hips back.
“Please...what?” He pressed the slightest bit inside, then pulled back.
My pulse raced through my veins, throbbed mercilessly between my legs.
“Please,” I rasped out. “I need...”
“Need? Or want...” Another slow press forward, a little more inside. And then a slower drag backward.
I swallowed hard, overwhelmed with sensation. “Want. Definitely want.”
“Enough” —he pushed forward, inch by inch— “to wait?”
But instead of pulling back, he eased forward, stretching me wide, filling me up...further, deeper, claiming everything, all the way.
His muscular body covered me. His hands skimmed up my arms before his fingers curled into mine. But inside? Where hot hardness owned every aching nerve ending? He didn’t move.
Our banter finally penetrated the haze in my brain. What we’d said before, about a kiss.
“No.” I smiled, then bucked under his solid weight. “No waiting.”
A warm half-laugh feathered over my ear. He eased back a couple of inches, then pressed forward again. “Not even if I make it worth the wait?”
I shook my head, arched my back as best I could, then gyrated my hips. Which resulted in a delicious twitch from him inside me. I moaned low. “Not unless you want me to die of ache.”
“Maybe only near-death pleasure...” His hips jerked forward, burying himself deeper and igniting a new round of sizzling sparks.
But the next time he moved back—gave me enough wiggle room beneath him—I took advantage of the opportunity. I drove my left hip into the mattress, twisted my upper body, and lodged a shoulder against his chest.
Somehow, he shifted with me, anticipated where I’d be. As I twisted around, he grabbed one of my calves, bent my leg, then angled it up against his chest. The other leg followed, until both of my ankles were at his shoulders. And before I could pull in a solid breath, he surged forward, claiming all of me with every generous inch of him as he pinned me back down to the mattress.
I gasped at the intensity as I gazed up at the beautiful man who’d stolen my heart.
Dark eyes stared down at me, penetrating, as if willing me to feel every emotion he did.
I do. I feel you. “Right there with you,” I whispered.
One corner of his mouth twitched up. His fingers touched right above where we connected, first with firm steady pressure, then leisurely tormenting slides back and forth.
Between one beat and the next, he eased back, then drove forward. His fingers grazed across my clit before circling over it harder...faster.
White-hot pleasure sparked through me, and I threw my head back into the pillows with a low moan. But the pressure only built further...breath held, pulse racing.
In a slow-motion collapse, he lowered down onto me. My legs fell along his sides until they cradled his hips. Hot damp skin covered me from belly to chest. Tender hands caressed my face.
And his soft lips captured mine as he began to thrust deep inside me with fierce hard strokes.
I held on, lost in our passionate kiss, as we rode the cresting wave of pleasure together.
Low moans mixed with small whimpers, his, mine. I couldn’t tell. Didn’t care.
As I hung right at the edge, every last nerve ending taut, sparking hot and ready to explode, he froze. His whole body tightened. He drew back a little and blinked hard, brows drawn low, tension etched into the severe lines on his face.
I surged forward and kissed him. My hips curved up, drawing him deeper. I arched, then curved, chasing my orgasm, plunging over the edge. He thrusted hard once, twice, a third time...then he sucked in a tortured breath and groaned, letting go, falling with me.
Long seconds dragged by as we held on to each other.
Gasping breaths started to lengthen.
Racing hearts began to slow.
A glittering shaft of sunlight rested on his skin, and mine, warm and brilliant.
After a lazy minute or two, he eased back a little and stared down at me, surprise and wonder in his gaze.
I smiled, so incredibly happy to have caused him such intense emotion.
His brows twitched down infinitesimally. “Why does this feel so....”
“More?” More than I’d ever hoped for, so much deeper and righter than I’d ever imagined.
“Yeah.” He brushed strands of hair out of my eyes. “More.”
“No idea.” Something rare had happened between us. We’d forged a connection that breached our differing worlds, strengthened by the sameness we’d endured.
I wrapped my arms around him, holding on tight to his strong body and fierce heart, uncertain if we’d be able to weather whatever difficult challenges we’d face.
And I knew challenges would come. Adversity always tested the happy.
Pinching my eyes shut, I forced out the fear that had edged its way into our blissful moment.
A firm kiss pressed to my forehead. Then he let out a long exhale. “Me either.”
His heavy sigh spoke volumes.
And the way he curved his body around me, held me close against him, said he feared too.
But he held on all the tighter. As if his actions proved he’d refuse to budge one inch when the going got rough.
Me too. I clamped my hands over his arms, holding on, unwilling to let him go.
“Me too,” I whispered.
I’m going to fight for you too.
Kiki and I walked into the last pro shop right as my phone vibrated. I pulled the sparkly pink thing out of my back jeans pocket and smiled. It gave me a serious happy every time its brightness hit me. Because Ben had given it to me. And he was the one vibrating my ass.
Running late. Ten minutes, tops.
Kiki gave me a quick nod while I typed a reply to Ben. Then I heard her ask someone to let the general manager know we were there for our appointment.
No worries. Our spiel is quick and boring. Business stuff.
I scrunched my nose.
Before I had a chance to stuff the phone back into my pocket, it vibrated again.
You just made a face, didn’t you?
I laughed. Three women examining golf shoes all jerked judgmental stares at me. “Geez. What is this, a library?” I muttered.
But I didn’t budge. I stood five feet away from them in an open carpeted area between ridiculous women’s accessories, designer men’s golf shirts, and the front counter with its display of enameled ball markers and club-branded coffee mugs.
There a hidden camera in here?
I scanned up and around the ceiling and spotted all three obvious security cameras.
Nope. Just imagined you sayin that.
“Kiki Michaelson. It’s a pleasure to see you.” A portly man with salt-and-pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses strolled in through the open french doors, from the country club’s main lobby. “What brings you here today?”
I pocketed my phone and stood beside her while she draped the samples of our shirts over the counter. He stepped around to the employee side, sweeping his gaze across an expanse of windows that revealed a row of shining golf carts, eager attendants, and members walking up with their bags before he landed his attention back on us.
“Mr. Jensen, this is my business partner, Shay Morgan. We have an exciting opportunity for you.”
The man gave me a cursory look from above those wiry glasses, but extended no hand to shake.
No surprise. We’d gotten the same icy reception from each of the managers at all three pretentious clubs.
I’d gone ahead and worn the dark gray collared golf shirt Ben had picked out for me. But the jeans stayed. My way of being defiant in an established world full of suffocating rules. I compromised on the shoes: ditched the beat-up Converse for my cute black sandals.
But Mr. Jensen wasn’t looking at my feet. Not my jeans, either. He’d no doubt already looked down his nose at them the moment he’d walked through the doors.
“Exciting,” he droned out with the enthusiasm of a weary basset hound.
Yeah, this’ll go well. The guy wouldn’t know exciting if it bit him in the ass.
Kiki rattled out the spiel: to inject freshness into golf fashion, modern lines with an edgy vibe, appealing to a younger generation.
“...and the young at heart,” I finished with my strong belief. Because I planned to never grow up. But there had to be grown-ups out there that still wanted to embrace their playful side. Mr. Jensen wasn’t one of them.
He gave a pointed glance at the judgy threesome. Those women weren’t either.
Kiki gave me a knowing look, then rolled her eyes toward Mr. Jensen.
We’d lost him at “exciting.” She knew it. I knew it.
But a wicked smile curved her lips. Yeah. She’s gonna go the distance anyway.
“You haven’t heard the best part.” She lifted the top shirt, a solid black. “Besides having the softest Pima cotton, the most comfortable cut in the arms, and the requisite collar, each has a witty golf saying.”
“Witty.” His tone deadened further.
And naughty. I bit back a smile. Miss Politically Correct Kiki had begun to toy with him.
Kiki held up a collar corner. “I dream of a” —she pointed toward the other corner— “slow, long stroke.”
I lifted the next shirt, joining the fun. “Give me your...hard steel shaft.”
Mr. Jensen’s pudgy face began to turn beet red.
Kiki plucked at the herringbone’s collar. “Drive straight into...my sweet spot.”
He began to shake. “Well, I...never,” he whispered.
First time for everything. “I like to play...with a firm grip.”
“Never!” he barked, a vein bulging in the center of his forehead.
Kiki scooped up our samples before Mr. Elitist’s scorching glare burst them into flames. “You’re making a mistake, Mr. Jensen. Because Victoria Michaelson wouldn’t have her grip any other way. No self-respecting golfer would. And I’m certain she’ll be proud to wear one of our quality shirts. And so will all of her friends.”
“I won’t allow it on my course,” he ground out through gritted teeth.
“You’re just a manager here. It’s not your course. It’s our course, the members.”
“It’s breaking the rules.”
“Which rule? It has a collar.” Kiki fingered the corner of one, right below its embroidered saying.
“It’s profane.”
“Do you see the word ‘fuck’ on here, Shay? Because hell, I don’t see it.”
“Well, damn. I don’t. Don’t see ‘shit’ either.”
Mr. Jensen frosted us with a glacial glare. “Ladies, this is a reputable establishment. It’s not what the words actually say, it’s what people who read them will be thinking.”
“And you have the authority to censor their minds?” No way in hell I’d let that slide.
Kiki gave me an approving nod. “We know you have a dirty mind, Mr. Jensen. Shouldn’t we leave it up to members who choose to wear our shirts and those who read them to find out if they appreciate them?”
His face reddened again. “Go ahead and try it. I’ll have you thrown off the course.”
“Us?” I arched my brows. He couldn’t hear clearly through the haze of his criticizing anger.
Kiki crossed her arms. “You mean my mom? Her friends? You go ahead and try it. I think every member of this club would pay a thousand dollars a pop for tickets to see that happen.”
“I’d pay ten times that.” A deep voice boomed from behind us.
Ben.
Kiki shot a smug look at Mr. Jensen, whose expression had morphed from disgusted outrage to aghast mortification.
But in a cool split second, he schooled his expression and gave a cursory nod toward Ben. “Mr. Bishop.” Then he shook his head, as if to clear it from all things disreputable. “Good day, Miss Michaelson, Miss Morgan.” He gave a polite nod toward each of us, then hightailed it over to the shoe threesome. “Ladies, may I help you with something?”
Yeaaah...whatever.
Without giving a damn about propriety, I breezed by the asinine group discussing the merits of various golf shoes and threw myself into Ben’s waiting arms.
“Ooomph,” he grunted as my body slammed into him. But then he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me soundly.
“Hey, bro.” Kiki knuckle-bumped him as I eased back from his embrace. “How long you been here?”
“Long enough. They all been that brutal?” He glanced from her to me.
I gave a halfhearted shrug. “Nothin’ we didn’t expect. Can’t change eons of staunch tradition in a few minutes of shop talk.”
“Never fear.” Kiki gave me a determined look. “My mom and her connected friends? Totally gonna love and wear these shirts.”
“Speaking of who’s wearing what...” Because I kept forgetting to ask. “What exactly is the dress code for the gala Saturday night?” I glanced at Ben, then Kiki.
“Ball gown, cocktail dress,” Kiki replied, tone matter-of-fact.
“Yeah, I got neither.”
“Ben gave a nod toward Kiki. “I bet our designer could help us out.”
Kiki’s face brightened. “And by designer, you both mean fairy godmother, right?”
I shot Ben an amused look. “She had a pumpkin.” I mimicked the grouchy tone he’d used.
“And mice.” His lips twitched at the corners.
Kiki stared at Ben, then me, then shook her head. “Not even gonna ask. And I’m outta here. Gotta meet my mom, AKA our future biggest golf-shirt supporter, for lunch.” Kiki pointed at me. “Friday.” Then she held a thumb-and-pinky-hand-phone gesture near her ear. “Call me with a time. We’ll raid my closet.”
“Done.” I nodded with a grin.
Ben put his solid arms around me again, in full view of Mr. Jenson and his judgy ladies.
I didn’t care who saw or what they thought, about me, Ben, or our edgy shirts. Inventors and adventurers didn’t waste brain cells on stupid customs and outdated rules. They made their own and forged ahead.
“This is turning into an awesome day. And it’s your day.” Especially with its sexy beginning, and in spite of all the stuffy business in between then and him holding me now.
He huffed out a sigh with a resigned expression. “Well, brace yourself. It’s about to get a little tricky.”
“It is?” I cocked my head, curious.
“How do you feel about dinner with my parents?”
My heart leapt into my throat. My lungs seized.
But I stared up into beautiful charcoal eyes filled with compassion and saw a humble plea in their depths.
I gusted out a long breath and decided he deserved an honest answer.
“Terrified.”