Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Not only that, he was being owned.
Such a simple request. To look at her when he came.
But it was easily the most intimate leap he’d ever taken in his life.
Then she smiled at him toward the end and everything just kind of exploded into place.
The final scrape of sexual frustration left him, for now, exiting on a tide of raw, unparalleled relief, filling her body, her body that received him so perfectly, stroking him with fine muscles and sleek flesh, squeezing to a tempo only they could hear. His spend slowly dripped back out, coating their joined flesh while he groaned, working into her even as his erection subsided, because he simply couldn’t stop, couldn’t quit trying to get as close as possible.
Nothing had ever felt better than this woman. Ever.
“What are you doing between now and the next tournament?” he asked into her neck, voice uneven. “Come to Miami. I have a bathtub.”
Color deepened on her cheeks. Wells just stared at the increase of pink in a total stupor. Like, how had he been living his life without realizing an angel was existing right under his nose?
“I . . . I mean, that sounds amazing,” she started, visibly caught off guard by his offer. And why wouldn’t she be? He’d just taken the postcoital leap from sex to spending nongolf time together. He’d prodded the relationship bear. At least she looked mildly interested in saying yes to coming to Miami. Right? “But I just . . . I really have to get repairs started on the shop—”
“Of course, you do,” Wells rushed to respond. “That’s . . . yeah. Obviously. The shop.” Wells slid out of Josephine with a wince and pulled up his pants. He might have taken a moment to enjoy looking at the mess he’d left on her inner thighs, but he was in this odd place of feeling possessive, bonded with her, exposed. Was this how women felt after sex? Emotionally skinned alive and needing some kind of label stamped on the whole situation that said permanent?
Fuck, it was terrible.
Wells backed into the small bathroom and found a hand towel, returning to clean her up, compelled by some almighty force to kiss her shoulders as he did so.
All right, she didn’t want to come to Miami. Maybe he could go to her? Help fix up the Golden Tee? But what if she wanted distance from him in between tournaments? Considering he was a mega asshole 90 percent of the time, that would be completely reasonable.
Why did the thought of Josephine wanting distance make him feel queasy?
He’d just test the waters to find out where they stood. “Today is Sunday. We’ll need to leave for the Dominican Republic on Wednesday. That doesn’t give you much time to sort out repairs on the shop.” He let out a breath he’d been holding. “Maybe you need some help—”
“The Dominican Republic?”
Josephine had gone pale.
Wells’s brows drew together. “That’s the location of the next tournament.”
“Oh my God.” She pressed a hand to her forehead, slumping back against the lockers. “Wells, I’m such a ding-dong.”
“I promise you, that’s not true.”
“I don’t have a passport.” She opened her mouth, closed it. “My parents were always afraid to take me out of the country in case we lost my supplies or had an emergency . . . I just . . . it never even occurred to me we’d have to leave the States.” She crossed her arms over her tits, like maybe she was cold, so he found her bra and shirt, handing them to her, watching in fascination as she worked tiny, little clasps and straps, eventually pulling the garment on over her head. “I totally understand if you want to find a different caddie—”
His insides nearly became his outsides. “What?”
“Just for the next tournament.”
Why did his pulse feel like it was going to pound straight through his skin? “It’s you and me, Josephine. Or nothing. Period.”
“But you won’t be able to play in the next tournament,” she pointed out. “There’s no way to get a passport in three days.”
“Then I’ll withdraw, and we’ll skip it.” He thought for a moment, which was very hard to do when she’d just proposed that he find another caddie. “California is on the schedule after the Dominican Republic. We’ll pick up there.”
“But Wells.”
“This conversation is over, Josephine.”
She glared up at him, stubbornness on full display, and he couldn’t stop himself from bringing their foreheads together, rolling right, then left. Licking gently into her mouth and kissing her, increasing the rhythm in degrees until their lips were moving at an eager tempo, her hands fisting in the front of his shirt in a way that proved she was affected as much as Wells, thank God. “A week and a half should give you time to make decent headway on the shop,” he said gruffly, their lips damp and rubbing together. “I’m only sorry you’re going to miss me so much.”