“I’m here…right here…just don’t pull away,” she hissed, her words dripping with lust, “don’t leave me in it by myself…” The tips of her fingers, pressed into his skin.
He leaned in until their foreheads touched. “I’m not goin’ nowhere, baby. You locked in with me now.”
Her breath hitched, “Hmmm…then keep goin’…PLEEEEEASE!” Her words forgot how to work through her moans. “Zaire… deeper… deeper… need you to?—”
“Shit,” he bit the tip of her bell pepper nose. “Keep your eyes on me. That’s all I need.”
Meadow found her rhythm and rocked her pussy on him as best as she could. He had her so full she felt like she could feel him moving in her bloodstream.
His hands steadied her hips. “Don’t rush it, let that shit come to you.”
“Ugh,” she grunted.
“Mmhmm,” he hummed, fucking her felt so good. “You deserve this.”
“I do!” She nodded in agreeance like a crazy person.
“And I’m gon’ give it to you every time you need it.”
“Promise?” When her wet eyes met his, Zaire lost it.
He fucked her faster, deeper, rougher. He was on a mission to bring her to her knees but with the sweetness of her voice, she was gonna be the one to bring him to his knees.
Meadow reached out, still folded like a pretzel and smoothed her hand across his face. The tips of her fingers ran across the outline of his lips. “Say it again…say it slower.”
“You deserve this shit, baby,” Zaire repeated.
“Zaire!” Her body grew hot, her ears rung. “Come with me! Please baby, come with me.”
It hit him the second she said his name… that sound in her throat, that breathy break she didn’t mean to let slip.
Before he could even brace himself, heat rushed through his whole body, every nerve tightening as the moment snapped inside him. Meadow wasn’t any better — her cries shook the room, her back arching as her climax ripped through her so hard she had to cling to him to steady herself.
Like a gentleman, Zaire pulled out, his warm nut flying all over her, breathing like he’d run miles just to get to her. When the last wave finally eased out of both of them, he dropped beside her, his arm thrown over his face and his body spent.
Meadow let out a soft little laugh… breathless, shaky, and fucking overwhelmed.
Zaire turned his head to look at her, his own voice rough as gravel. “Damn, baby…you tryna have me call this the real 19th Hole.”
Her eyes fluttered open, cheeks warm, lips swollen. “And what that mean?” she whispered.
A slow grin lifted the corners of his mouth as dragged his knuckles down her thigh. “That extra hole you only reach when you finish the whole course…and you still want one more round.”
Like always, Zaire was up bright and early, hitting ball after ball. It was like rapid fire because he wasn’t doing it to practice. He was just hitting the balls to clear his head. It had been four days since he had his dick buried deep inside Meadow and he still dreamed of the feeling. He still tasted her on his lips and he was still walking lightly around her.
They still talked, but something was off. Their rhythm had changed. Their jokes didn’t land the same. Their silences were too heavy. Zaire didn’t know how Meadow wanted him to move in front of her people, and Meadow didn’t know if Zaire regretted everything the second the sun came up. She’d replayed it a hundred times - her hands on him, the way he came back to kiss her after telling himself not to. And after all that? He didn’t say a word about it, didn’t even bring it up. So she told herself maybe it was just sex…maybe she was the only one who felt the whole world shift under her feet.
Zaire thought about it differently. He felt like she was waiting on him to speak first, but he didn’t know if Meadow wanted that. He didn’t want to embarrass her or move too bold on her land, with her people around, not knowing if she wanted him to stay in his lane or not. He’d been taught his whole life not to disrespect nobody’s house, don’t make nobody’s daughter look bad, and don’t cross a line you can’t hold up. But every time she walked by, his stomach bubbled like he was seventeen again.
Now, Zaire was in his head. He tried to keep things cool, but how could he when he had a strong interest in her outside of just sex. Meadow was soft, beautiful, and sharper than people gave her credit for. She was the type of woman who walked into a room and made everything in it rearrange itself for her. She had a mouth on her, talked shit like it was a sport, but underneath all that spark was a tenderness she tried to hide. A tenderness he’d felt, literally felt, with his hands, with his mouth, with every damn inch of himself that night…and that was the problem. He hadn’t just fucked her. He’dfelther, and Zaire didn’t know what to do with that.
He planted his feet and swung again, sending the ball flying into the gray-blue morning. His muscles pulsed, released, tensed, and released again. He kept going until his palms stung and his shirt clung to him, trying to burn out whatever this thing was sitting in his chest.
Every swing, she was still there.
Every exhale, her voice still moved through him.
Every pause, he remembered the sound she made when his mouth was on her.
