When Wells and Josephine walked into the clubhouse at Lone Pine, jaws hit the floor.
Josephine didn’t have access to her sticks and Wells had left his own in Miami, so they were forced to rent—but the chance to watch Josephine smack a few balls was well worth the extra effort. It wasn’t lost on him that she’d stopped holding his hand in the parking lot—and he understood. As they walked through the lobby of the country club, past the bar and downstairs into the pro shop, every eye in the place was trained on them. Some people cheered, others wished them luck at Torrey Pines, but there was no way to miss the knowing expressions.
Wells wanted to wrap an arm around Josephine, draw her into his side, and shield her from those speculative looks, but he’d only make it worse, so he ground his molars and kept walking. He assumed that once they made it to the pro shop to pick up their equipment, the awkward moments would be over, but the worst was yet to come.
A young man wearing a name tag that read “Ren” slapped the counter and rocked back on his heels. “Wow. I thought you were pranking me over the phone.” He knocked over a tiny brochure stand with his elbow. “You’re really them. Wells and Fangirl.”
Josephine’s smile turned queasy. “Um. Hey.”
As the greeting registered, irritation fired up into Wells’s throat like a torpedo. He had not been keeping up on golf news. He never did, because the endless speculation from the commentators could get into the head of the most seasoned professional. Somewhere along the line, had they started referring to Josephine as Fangirl?
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Wells said, planting a fist on the counter. “That’s not her name, kid. Might want to try again.”
“Josephine,” he blurted, blotches forming on his cheeks. “I’m sorry, ma’am. That’s just what they’re calling you on golf X, formerly known as golf Twitter. I meant Josephine. Josephine Doyle.”
She looked a little startled that the young man knew her actual name. “Oh! It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Wells argued.
“It’s just that . . . well, I finally got my girlfriend to watch golf with me, because of you two teaming up. She thinks it’s so romantic.” He rolled his eyes and blushed a little more. “She doesn’t love the fact that you make Fangirl—sorry! Josephine carry your bag—”
Wells threw up his hands. “She’s a caddie.”
“It’s my job.” Josephine bit her lip. “Tell her it’s not as heavy as it looks.”
Ren scoffed. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, I work at a pro shop. They’re heavy as shit.”
“Is there anyone else here who could help us?” Wells asked through his teeth.
“Nope,” Ren answered cheerfully, beginning to punch some buttons on the register. “You’re the last tee time of the day. I’m heading out as soon as your round starts.”
Wells bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “So sorry to see you go.”
The kid nodded, obviously not picking up on Wells’s sarcasm. “Do you want a cart? Or are you planning on making Josephine carry your bag around today, too?”
Josephine burst into laughter.
“We’ll take a cart,” Wells snapped.
Ren beamed. “Chivalry isn’t dead, after all.”
A few minutes later, as they were loading the clubs onto the back of the cart, Josephine elbowed him in the side. “You didn’t take any of that personally, did you?”
He glared at her.
“The fact that you didn’t question whether I was capable of carrying your bag is one of the reasons I . . .” Seeming to catch herself, she closed her mouth quickly. “It’s one of the reasons I started to like you again,” she finished, eventually.
“I hate the reminder that you stopped liking me,” Wells grumbled.
“It was a very small window,” she said, her fingertips tracing the back of his hand.
Kissing her mouth felt inevitable, but then she glanced over his shoulder, pulling back quickly at whatever she saw. “We have an audience.”
Wells turned and squinted toward the clubhouse, unsurprised to see a group of people holding up their phones, filming. “That kid calling you Fangirl, Josephine . . . you were right,” he said, suppressing the urge to rub at the hollow discomfort in his chest. “The way people minimize how important you are to me professionally. They would rather speculate on whether we’re sleeping together than acknowledge how fucking good you are at your job.” He stomped to the driver’s side of the cart. “No one came up with a cute nickname for my last caddie. Or wondered if I was sharing a bed with him at night.”
Josephine climbed into the passenger side, watching him closely. “This is really starting to bother you.”
“Yes. Not only because it isn’t fair, but . . .” He pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing down hard out of frustration. “None of their behavior stops me from wanting everyone in the world to know you’re mine, belle. I’ll never be able to turn that off. Does that make me a barbarian?”
Her look was one of pure understanding. Patience. Because she was an angel. Because she understood he was part caveman and didn’t judge him for it. “I just think it means you like me, too,” she said cheekily.
“Like you?” he echoed, witheringly.
They traded a look heavy with meaning. Wells more than liked Josephine and she damn well knew it. The vulnerability of her expression made him wonder—hope—those much deeper feelings went both ways.
Please God, let her love me back.
But neither of them said the words out loud. It had to be too soon, right?
Wells put the cart in drive and covered the distance to the first hole, stopping to the right of the tee box. They worked in silence, removing their drivers from their bags, the quiet hush of the course a thing of beauty as the sun dipped low in the sky, taking down the temperature and dusting everything in gold. He’d forgotten about these special moments on the golf course, forgotten why he’d found solace here as a pissed-off, neglected teenager, but Josephine had reminded him, hadn’t she?
She did so again now, swaggering toward the tee box and bending forward to wedge her tee into the grass. The wind funneled past, fluttering the hem of her skirt to reveal a peek of white panties, and Wells bit the inside of his cheek, trapping an appreciative sound. Normally he wouldn’t feel the need to keep his vast appreciation of Josephine’s ass to himself, but after the whole Fangirl situation—not to mention the smug looks from the country club bar—he wrestled the groan back down into his belly.
Later.
He’d appreciate her later.
In so many positions, she would lose count.
There was more fluttering fabric as Josephine settled the ball onto the tee and Wells was forced to adjust himself. God, was he just as bad as everyone else? His girlfriend couldn’t even tee off without him wanting to put his hands up her skirt. In his defense, he hadn’t been inside her since last night—and only twice in his lifetime. Far from enough when he felt this fucking much for her. One hole, maybe two, and they were breaking the speed limit to get home.
Every single thought in Wells’s head scattered when Josephine hit the ball.
He dropped the club in his hand, the weight slipping straight from his fingers.
Her form was perfect.
An actual miracle.
He replayed the stroke in his head, searching for a single defect and coming up empty—and then all he could do was watch the ball go sailing, landing in the dead center of the fairway. Bounce, bounce, then rolling to a rest. “Josephine.”
“Yes.”
His tone was pure reverence. “You had to have hit that two hundred and fifty yards.”
If he hadn’t already fallen madly in love with her, the cocky little smile she gave him over her shoulder would have inked the deal. “Jealous?”
His brain cells were still hanging suspended in the air—and honestly, his dick was now at full mast, because hell, Josephine had a more fine-tuned stroke than him, by a fucking mile, and her talent was so unforgivably hot, he just wanted to get closer to it. On top of it. Her. Now.
Maybe that masterful drive knocked some sense into him, though, because his thoughts reorganized in a new way—and suddenly he was thinking very, very clearly.
They had a problem. Josephine needed to be seen as capable and valued. She wanted success through her own merit and she damn well deserved that respect. The media had incorrectly labeled her as someone at the mercy of his kindness. Being in a public relationship would only compound the issue and yet, he already knew that pretending she wasn’t his girlfriend on tour was going to eat him alive. Hiding was beneath them.
Did he have a way to solve these problems in one fell swoop?
Maybe. Yeah.
He just might.
But he needed to take action before he told her anything.
Otherwise, she might try to stop him.
“Do you trust me, Josephine?”
Her red ponytail whipped around. A second later she nodded. “Yes.”
Gratitude spread through his limbs. “I won’t let you regret that.”
She shook her head. “What’s going on with you?”
Being in love with you has altered my brain chemistry. Suddenly he could come up with solutions that would have eluded him before there were stakes involved. High stakes. Apparently when a man needed a woman the way he needed Josephine, he became a human think tank whose sole mission was to come up with numerous ways to keep her.
Wells ached to tell her his plan now, but he needed to show her he meant business. He wanted to give her proof he not only loved her but also understood her, so she wouldn’t have any doubts about him when he said those three words.
Until then, though? He had another way to show her how he felt.
And it was about goddamn time they got down to it.
Wells slowly approached Josephine where she stood at the cart, checking something in her scorebook. The closer he got to her, the more goose bumps appeared on the slope of her neck, highlighted by the sunshine. Her body shifted at his increasing nearness, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, her gaze flickering over at him from beneath her lashes.
Awareness. She was so fucking aware of him.
They’d been like this since the morning after the hurricane, hadn’t they? Thank God he had the freedom to act on it now. Mostly. They were still in view of the clubhouse.
Wells ignored the stab of resentment and leaned in slightly, enjoying the way his proximity made her chest rise and fall faster. “I can tell you want to wrap those gorgeous thighs around me,” he said hoarsely, in the air above her shoulder. “And baby, I need to get under that fucking skirt so bad. Tell me a private place to take you—and it better be close.”
She pressed her lips together to trap a moan. “Now?”
“Now.”
“Um . . . okay. Think.” She shook her head, as if to unscramble it. “We’re the last tee time, so no one is coming behind us. M-maybe . . . oh, I think the third hole has a thunder shelter?”
Wells had never moved faster, circling around the front of the cart and throwing himself into the driver’s seat, while Josephine got in the passenger side—and he gunned that motherfucker toward hole number three. Thunder shelters were in place on a lot of golf courses for players to take cover if the weather took an unexpected turn and they were left inconveniently holding a bunch of metal sticks. But that’s not what they’d be using it for today. Jesus. He couldn’t even make it home with this woman.
“I didn’t realize my swing was so inspiring,” she murmured, dazed.
“Now you know, belle.” He took a hard right to avoid a pin. “You ever want to win an argument with me? Just tee off.”
“I told you I was qualified to give lessons.”
“Oh, you’re giving me lessons, as soon as I can concentrate on anything but getting you off. I want a swing like Josephine Doyle’s.”
She swept him a breathless, sideways look. “You really mean that.”
Wells frowned. “Hell yeah, I mean it,” he roared—just as the thunder shelter came into view.
He pulled up behind the structure, the distance and position taking them well out of view of the clubhouse, and he hit the brakes, preparing to climb out, throw Josephine over his shoulder, and carry her inside, where he would fuck the stuffing out of her. But she surprised Wells by launching herself across the cart and climbing onto his lap, her mouth capturing his eagerly, whimpers popping in her throat. And God bless her, she straddled him in that cocktease skirt, her pussy warm and firm where it pressed down on his erection, rubbing, rubbing.
He had to break the kiss to let his head fall back, his hands naturally finding the tight globes of her butt cheeks and kneading her forward, urging her to hump him.
“Fuck yeah, baby. Good, good girl. Just like that.” He gathered up the material of her panties in a twist, turning the undergarment into a thong and tugging it roughly between her cheeks. Again, again, again. Noticing she humped him faster the harder he pulled, gasping into the kiss. “You want to trade lessons, Josephine?”
She kept right on kissing him, but made an affirmative sound in her throat, riding his lap with more eagerness, more insistence.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He massaged her right cheek, then brought his hand down on it in a sharp slap. “Still yes?”
Her green eyes were glassy as she tried to focus on him. “Yes.”
They never looked away from each other while he spanked her opposite cheek, then back to the right one. Smack. “Here’s your lesson. You wear a skirt, you’re going to get that pussy eaten and eaten good.” He cracked his palm down on her backside, slightly harder than before, and she shuddered, her breath escaping in a rush. “It’s very simple, isn’t it, Josephine?”
“Uh-huh.”
Wells meant every word of that lesson, too. He was starved for her. Needed to get a taste of that warm, wet flesh, now.
His own relief came secondary to the pleasure he’d get giving it to her.
Incapable of waiting another moment, he slid out of the golf cart seat with Josephine still attached to him and placed her sideways, sitting up on the driver’s seat, falling to his knees in front of her. Shoving open her smooth thighs. Biting her through the damp, white panties, all of her, as much as he could cover with his teeth, moaning at the little jolt in her inner thighs. The way her hand flew to the steering wheel to hold on, her belly hollowing in and out.
The same way he’d done with the material of her underwear in back, he did at the front now, twisting the cotton into a thong and tugging it experimentally in the valley of her sex, licking his lips at the sight of her pussy plumping with arousal, parting, moistening. All while her ass writhed helplessly on the seat.
“Fuck, that is sweet,” he gritted out, yanking the panties to one side and diving forward, French kissing her ripe cunt with a starving tongue. “Spread your legs a little wider than the last time I fucked it—you’re my girlfriend now.”
“You have no shame,” she gasped. But her knees fell open another inch, didn’t they?
Gratified to the point of pain, Wells dragged his tongue through her flesh and found her clit, giving her several long strokes, until her thighs started to shake. “You let me act like this, because you know I would—and I will—humble myself in front of the whole fucking world for you, Josephine.” He flicked his tongue against her clit while pressing his middle finger slow and deep into her slick opening. “Isn’t that right?”
Her fingers gripped the leather seat so hard, it creaked. “Yes,” she sobbed.
“I’m on my knees licking it like it’s made of gold.” He added a second finger, drawing them in and out, twisting, marveling over the soft clench of her. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life than the moisture she was leaving on his knuckles. “My woman comes first and hard, so she doesn’t mind when I order her legs to open wide, does she?”
“St-stop,” she chattered, her body shaking head to toe. “It’s going to be over so fast.”
God, so hot. Her honesty. The tremble in her voice. All of her.
“You don’t want it to be over, belle?”
“No,” she hiccupped, sinking her fingers into his hair and tugging him closer, hips lifting to meet his firm licks. “It feels too good.”
Wells started to unfasten his pants with a grappling left hand—and he had no choice—because she was fucking his mouth now, mewling his name. She tasted like honey, clearly on the verge of an orgasm, and he wanted his cock out when it happened. Wanted to be stroking it and pretending it was locked in her snug pussy.
Fucking unreal. She had him panting for it.
On the verge of coming after one stroke.
Desperate for that final Josephine squeeze.
He added a third finger, the resulting wet sound like a hymn in his ears, and bore down with a firm tongue, rubbing her slippery clit until her fingers were twisting in his hair, her gasps growing closer together and then her fever broke at once, the taste of her coating his tongue and fingers, her hips shaking on the leather seat.
“Wells,” she cried out, her elbow inadvertently hitting the horn on the cart, her thighs wrapping tightly around his head to ride out that last wave—and then she was sliding forward and off the seat, catching Wells off guard and forcibly pushing him onto his back in the grass.
She moaned when she saw his dick was already out, hard as nails. Still trembling from her climax, she straddled him, hooking her middle finger around the edge of her soaked, stretched-out panties to keep them pulled to one side, then sank down onto the shaft he offered in his shaking hand. A symphony of obscenities flooded his brain when she took him whole, planting her palms on his shoulders and starting to buck her hips.
“That was so good,” she said breathlessly. “Oh my God, that was so good.”
He had to dig deep for the ability to speak, being inside of her was so off-the-charts incredible. The flesh that welcomed him deep, deep, deep, was swollen from pleasure. Juicy. And there was something about this woman being hot enough for his cock to wrestle him onto his back that made one thing clear. This was going to be the best nut of his life. “What’s this?” he rasped. “A reward?”
“One hundred percent.” She shoved his T-shirt to his throat and raked her tongue over his right nipple, before biting it. Hard. “I guess I don’t have any shame, either.”
Wells was overcome by lust so fucking thick, he had no control of his body as he jackknifed into a sitting position, breathing out of control, both hands on her taut butt cheeks, yanking her as tight to his lap as she would go, while he plundered her mouth with his tongue. There was no such thing as too close or too frantic, they’d gone past any semblance of holding back or playing it cool. They went at it like mating animals in the grass, her hips slapping against him, their lips battling for the deepest taste, fingertips bruising flesh, his heart elevated to his throat and getting stuck there. Completely stuck.
I’m so gone for this woman.
She’s not just the one. She’s . . . the rest of me.
“How was I surviving before, baby?” Wells flipped their positions, rolling her roughly onto her back and hitting a breakneck pace, her knees damn near in her armpits. “What was I doing without you?”
He was afraid of her answer, afraid that he’d exposed too much, so he fastened his mouth over Josephine’s and let the intense blast of relief hit him like a steamroller. It hurt so good, he roared brokenly into their kiss, his hips slamming down those final few times, before stiffening, his balls almost stinging from the sudden loss of pressure. Sweet mother of God.
Like before, he literally had no control of his muscles or intentions as he dropped, totally depleted of anything resembling strength, yet somehow he was the most powerful man alive, because this woman, this gift from heaven, his partner, had perfect breaths that matched his own. And she wasn’t going anywhere. She’s not going anywhere.
For now, whispered a voice in the back of his head.
