As she stares straight ahead, watching Max line up his putt, I watch her, noticing the way her chest hitches with her shuddering intake of breath. “So bad…” she practically whimpers, and I can see the torture burning in her faraway gaze.
I stifle a groan because it’s so fucking hot. “I bet you’re soaked… that sweet arousal making those sexy thighs all sticky.”
She licks her full lips, rolling them together and breathing in hard, her blue eyes meeting mine with a look that is just about my undoing. “I need to come,” she practically sobs.
“Aw, I know you do, baby,” I coo, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You’re doing so good. Such a good fucking girl.”
The gallery claps, pulling me from the moment, none the wiser to what’s happening between Poppy and me while cheering on Max’s fourth birdie of the day, and I straighten, walking over to give my caddy-turned-teammate a high five and pat him on his back. Glancing back as Poppy picks up my bag and slings it over her shoulder, she offers me the fakest, most forced smile that only makes me snicker, flashing her a promising wink.
Just you wait, baby.
CHAPTER 37
POPPY
Brookes and Max ended up clinching the W, finishing four strokes under. And as I stand with Max’s caddy, his father, who is beaming all proud like most fathers should be of their son, I’m barely hanging on by a goddamn thread as we watch the trophy presentation.
My smile remains, although I doubt it appears at all genuine, my legs crossed at the ankles, my panties and my under-shorties absolutely wrecked; I am so turned on, I could cry. I’m like a ticking time bomb, about ready to come at any second. And unless Brookes wants me to orgasm right here, in front of fans, media, sponsors, and golfing greats, he better not even think about touching that controller because right now, I don’t care—let ’em watch as far as I’m concerned. I’ll be sure to put on a good show.
When Max and Brookes start back up toward the clubhouse, they stop to shake hands with fans, take a few selfies, and all the while I don’t miss the way Brookes glances at me, watching me from the corner of his eye, the hint of the smile ghosting his lips knowing and so smug that if I had a golf ball handy, I’d throw it at his head.
He is so going to pay for this.
“Hey, baby.” Brookes stops by me, pressing a kiss to my heated forehead. I refrain from spearing him with a glower or, I don’t know, punching him in his dick, smiling vapidly like the perfect little golf girlfriend.
“Mr. Connor.” Brookes reaches around me, shaking Max’s father’s hand.
“Great round, Brookes.” Mr. Connor smiles up at Brookes, enamored by him, just like everyone else.
“Thank you, sir,” Brookes says, slapping Max on his shoulder, “but it’s this one right here who was guiding me the whole way. Your boy is destined for greatness.”
Max’s smile is adorably shy and infectious, and I find myself smiling genuinely for the first time today. But as the men become embroiled in yet another boring golf conversation, I find myself looking out over the dwindling crowd as everyone begins to disperse, wondering if I might be able to sneak off somewhere to… relieve myself.
Suddenly, the damn thing inside me starts vibrating again, a low, steady thrum teasing the one spot deep inside of me that sends a current through my entire body. I suck in a hard breath, my hand gripping Brookes’ ropey arm, nail purposely digging into his skin through the sleeve of his polo shirt, and I spear him with awhat-the-helllook that he intentionally ignores.
“Are you okay, Poppy?” Max asks, his face panicked as he reaches a hand out, touching my shoulder. “It looks like you’re about to pass out.”
From the corner of my eye, Brookes turns the device off, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“I’m fine,” I say, a little too high-pitched and breathless. “I just…” Huffing, I touch a hand to my chest, feeling my heart thunder. “I thought I saw a wasp,” I lie, waving a hand about to swat at the imaginary insect.
Brookes wraps his arm around my waist and I stiffen, feeling his hand barely graze the top of my ass. “Okay, baby, you ready?”
I look up at him, his loaded question lingering, but when I see the fire in his eyes, my stomach bottoms out with the need consuming me, my nod almost frantic because yes, yes, yes. I’m so damn ready.
Taking my hand, Brookes says goodbye, and we head toward the parking lot, my knees barely keeping me upright as my stomach roils with anticipation.
Brookes settles into the driver’s side of his Ferrari, and I stare at him, noticing the shit-eating smirk ghosting his lips, but he won’t look at me, languorously placing his wallet and phone in the center compartment, slipping his ballcap backwards, fastening his seatbelt, checking the goddamn mirrors, and it’s then that I realize he’s taking his sweet-ass time on purpose.
My knee bounces with expectation and frustration. I try to squeeze my thighs together, but it does nothing. The desperation is too much. With a huff, I gape at him and he glances at me, offering a purposely casual smile.
“Can you hurry theeffup?” I grit, folding my arms across my chest.
“Oh, sorry,” he says with a devious chuckle. “You need something?”
I narrow my eyes to slits.
Starting the car, the engine comes to life with a loud, rumbling roar, and I relax back as best as I can. But then the vibrator starts up again, and I snap my head to Brookes, finding him grinning at me with his finger on his watch before pulling out of the parking spot.
