Hours after asking Paloma on the date, I’m hugging a basket with our ramen as we walk on to the dimly lit course and sit down on one of the hills to enjoy our noodles. When we got to Midnight Miso, she asked if we could get it to go and eat it on the course. I couldn’t say no to having her all to myself.
“Let’s sit here,” she says, laying out the blanket and patting a spot for me to sit. She holds her hands up, grabbing the basket from me. Sitting down next to her, I pull out the containers of ramen and hand her hers and a set of chopsticks.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I say, popping the top and slurping a noodle into my mouth.
“My favorite meal is breakfast, specifically waffles from Maple and Batter,” she says, taking in a deep breath as if she can smell the fluffy dough. I’m chewing on a piece of beef as broth dribbles down my chin. I’m sure I am the picture of a true gentleman. She chuckles but continues, “It’s this little mom-and-pop place. They have the absolute best waffles I’ve ever had.”
“Have you always wanted to play golf?” she asks, taking another bite.
“Not until I hit middle school and my gym coach was a golfer. He brought me out to the course one day, and I fell in love with the game. You learn so many things about yourself, about discipline and life. The game gave me something to focus on and quickly became a passion. He taught me everything he knew.”
“That’s wonderful. He took you under his wing?”
“Yeah, he did. I appreciate all his effort, especially now that I’ll be heading to Europe. I have a full tour scheduled out there in five months. I’m scared as hell to fuck it up, with it having some high-ticket sponsorship, but it’s opened many doors for me. Ones I will be forever grateful for.”
“I almost forgot you’re leaving.” Her voice raises a bit. “For how long?”
“Two years if I don’t choose to extend my time overseas.” And though this doesn’t feel like a normal date—Paloma and I have known each other for five months—it still feels like more than what we both want to let on. Over the past several months, we’ve shared every lunch hour together. I even started to join in on her runs, though I’m not much of a runner, it allows me to spend more time with Paloma. Which is something I alwayswant more of.
Asking her out was selfish, I know it was. I’m leaving in another four months, but the longer I went without asking her on a date the more I craved one. She’s fucking craveable. I’ve never had an issue going after something I wanted, but with her, with the little bits of her life she’s shared with me—I don’t want to hurt her by leaving. When I brought her coffee and a pastry this morning, she mentioned how she could get used to me bringing her breakfast every morning. At the time, I laughed off the thought, but when we were walking to our cars tonight I couldn’t let her go without knowing if she would give me a yes.
“Where did you go?” The softness in her voice pulls me from my internal thoughts, my wants. I think of my wants a moment longer as my gaze tracks up her exposed thighs.
I should tell her the truth, how I’m thinking about how long I have here with her before I need to go. How I’m selfish for wanting her so damn badly. Instead, I say, “I was thinking about how much I want to kiss you.”
Her mouth opens slightly; I can tell by her silence she wasn’t expecting me to say that. Rather than interrupting her thoughts, I let her sit in the silence for a moment longer before she finally leans over and says, “Then why are you sitting so far away?”
Positioning one of my hands on the grass behind her, I steady myself as I close the last bit of distance between us. Her eyes are molten, and the way her mouth parts open, waiting for my kiss has to be the sexiest thing I have ever seen. I slide my hand up her jawline and into her long brown hair and tug her to me.
When I brush my lips over hers, she gives me a teasing bite, and a laugh rumbles in my chest. She has no idea how I would love to take a bite outof her.
Her tongue glides over my own, and I savor the taste of her. I curl my fingers into her hair, needing to feel her closer. When I do, the noodles in her lap fall over and soak her shirt.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” she whisper-shouts as she shoots up to her feet, brushing the noodles off her legs. “Did anything get on you?”
I’m already on my feet, helping her clean off. “Here, let me,” I say, as I lower to my knees.
Grabbing a wet wipe from the bag, I smooth it over her bare legs. Her chest is heaving, as if she’s holding something in. “When I had a dream of you on your knees in front of me, this is not what I was expecting.”
“When did you dream of me on my knees?” I ask her.
“I’ve dreamt of you on your knees, or me on mine, every single night for the last two months, Clint.” Hearing her shorten my name to something only she calls me has me grabbing her thighs.
“Let’s get you back to my place and get you cleaned up.” When she nods her head, I don’t waste time getting to my feet and walking her back to the golf cart.
The ride is only a few minutes but I haven’t managed to take my hand off her thigh, she doesn't remove my palm either. We get up the elevator, I offer her some clothes, and give her the chance to freshen up in the bathroom. After a few minutes, she walks out to me sitting on the couch in the living room and plops down next to me, giving me a sheepish look.
“What’s the matter, Dove?” I tease, using her joke from earlier.
“The bowl of ramen kinda killed the mood, no?”
“Only if we let it,” I respond honestly, because I’m still thinking about her dreaming of me on my knees in front of her.
She thumbs the hem of the shirt sitting snug at her hips and says, “Andif I want to pick up exactly where we left off?”
I don’t say a single word. I slide off the couch and drop to my knees, running my hands up her fleshy thighs I love so much. I tug at the elastic waistband of the joggers and my eyes track the movement of her ass as she lifts off the couch. “Then we pick up exactly where we left off. Me, dying to fucking taste you.”
Her nipples pebble under the shirt she’s wearing, and I damn near drool at the thought of how they’ll feel when I suck one of her brown peaks into my mouth. But the sultry way she asks, “Oh, you’re dying for it?” has my dick straining.
