“I hope you bought them all.”
“Not yet, but I will.” If this is what happens when I wear them.
“Good girl,” he purrs, and my thighs clench at the praise.
He bends over me, his breath hot against my skin as he trails kisses over my ass, and then lower, licking me once from clit to ass. I jolt, my cry muffled as I bury my face in the duvet.
He straightens, and without bothering to undress, he lines up and thrusts into me, hard and deep. The sensation is all-consuming, my body stretching to accommodate him. He stills for a moment, his breath uneven.
Then he starts to move, each stroke deliberate and powerful. My body rocks with the force of it, my hands twisting in the sheets. He builds a rhythm, his pace increasing, his body claiming mine in a way that’s primal and raw and perfect.
“You like this, don’t you?” he growls, his fingers digging into my hips. “You like being fucked hard.”
“Yes,” I cry, my body on fire as every coherent thought dissolves into pure sensation. I push back against him as my pleasure builds. My focus narrows to the place where I’m meeting each thrust with a hunger that matches his.
One of his hands snakes around my waist, his fingers finding my clit with unerring accuracy. He starts to circle it, his touchfeatherlight, teasing me even as his thrusts grow harder, more demanding. The tension within me coils tighter and tighter.
“Come with me, Leah,” he growls, his voice a low command. “I want to feel you come apart around me.”
I can’t hold back any longer. With a cry that’s loud enough to be heard down the hall, I come undone, my body convulsing around him, my inner muscles clamping down on him like a vise.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Yes.”
And then his body is jerking against mine, his cock throbbing within me as he finds his release. We ride out the waves of pleasure, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight against his chest as we both struggle to catch our breath. His suit is disheveled, his expensive cologne now mixed with the scent of sex and sweat.
He presses his face into my hair. “Say yes to me, Leah,” he whispers against my ear, his arms tightening around me. “Marry me.”
Chapter twenty-one
Hays
Itwist open a Gatorade and stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my suite. The twinkling lights of Starlight Bay stretch out along the coast, the harbor dotted with boats that bob gently in the evening breeze. Anticipation thrums through my veins. Leah should be here any minute.
“You’re humming,” Rory observes from where he’s sprawled across the leather sectional, reviewing tomorrow’s pin positions.
“Am I?”
“Brother, you’ve been humming more than a princess waiting for her prince this week.”
I turn to face him. “Have you been watching animated movies again?”
“I need to keep up with the latest releases,” he grumbles.
“If it wasn’t for Sophie, I’d think you actually enjoy them.”
He ignores my comment about his niece, sets down the tablet, and fixes me with that look I’ve learned to dread. “Can we get back to focusing on golf, please?”
“Fine. How are we looking for tomorrow?”
“Depends. Are you asking me as your caddy or your best friend?”
“Never a good question,” I mutter.
He arches a brow. “As your caddy, I’m concerned that you’re sitting at four under going into the weekend when Wilcox is at eight under and looking dialed in. Steward’s right behind him at seven, and that bastard always peaks in majors.” He gestures at the tablet. “Plus, Rahmisk shot sixty-six today, and he’s never missed a cut at a major.”
“My iron play has been dialed in,” I counter. “My putting stroke is smooth. And if you haven’t noticed, I’m looser than I’ve ever been.”
“You’re four back against the strongest field in years,” he points out. “McMurphy’s been waiting to get his hands on another major, and Kopp lives for this shit.”
