Page 16 of Wood

“As pretty as your photos,” he murmurs, tugging me to him, his body hard against mine as his big hands explore my back. Butterflies in my gut threaten to become hummingbirds, and I inhale a shaky breath against his neck. His scent is spicy and woodsy, sandalwood perhaps. His arms are hard and tight around me, bulging biceps against my sides. Then his hands rise under my t-shirt, lifting it off, and I raise my arms to let him.

“So pretty,” he croons, calloused palms rubbing over my pecs, making my nipples pebble and goosebumps rise all over my arms and chest. My cock is rock hard. His generous mouth nibbles my lips, and I open for him, letting him press his lips to mine, licking inside.

“Mmm, responsive,” he says, then gently guides me back to sitting on his overstuffed couch. The chocolate leather is buttery soft and cool on my back. I sink in as he follows me down, turning me sideways so I am laying back. Fuck, he moves fast. None of the endless small talk from a woman, no getting to know you, just this. He kisses his way down my body, sucking on a nipple as he loosens the tie on my shorts and wiggles them down, taking my boxer-briefs with them. and my cock bounces free, smacking his cheek, pre-cum glistening.

“Gorgeous,” he groans, wrapping a big hand around my shaft and stroking. God, that feels so good, so different than my own hand or any of the smaller women’s hands. His mouth is on me and I can’t help thrusting up with a grunt, shoving my cock into his throat. He swallows, humming his approval and holllly fuck, I am in his throat. Sucks and licking, his tongue firm, he wraps a hand around my balls, tugging them, and my eyes roll back. He wiggles his body between my thighs, shoving my legs open with his shoulders. I hear a whimper coming from my throat and fuck, I am already close.

I tangle my fingers into his silver hair, hand flexing on his head. Soft hair, thick. His hand on my balls releases, and he keeps sucking, swirling his tongue around the head, then plunging down his throat. He leans over a little and I hear the snick of a bottle top, then his hand is back, slick and a finger brushes over my hole. Shiiiiiit, that feels amazing. I am panting, trying to keep my climax at bay as this feels so good I don’t want it to end yet. His mouth sucks and tugs on my cock as his finger circles my virgin ass, tapping my taint then pressing against my hole. Up and down he sucks, suctioning harder than I’ve ever had before. Ungt, that’s so good. Around and around his finger goes, back and forth between my taint and my hole until a slick fingertip probes and I’m gone.

“Fuuuuuuck!” I scream. Wave after wave grips me, each stroke of his finger and his mouth pulling another pulse from me. “Oh my god, holy fuck, jeezus, what are you, ahhhhh!” My words are nonsense, and I can feel his lips smiling around my dick, his mustache and beard brushing against my thigh as he turns his head to watch my face.

As my shudders stop, he releases my cock with a last lick, pulling his hand from me and reaching into a discreet wooden box of wipes. He uses one to clean his hands, then another to remove all the lube from my ass, spit from my cock, kissing my knee as he brushes the wet cloth over me.

He crawls up my body, lying down next to me and pulls me into his side, his hand running up and down my back as I come down.

“Drink,” he demands, handing me one glass and taking a deep swallow from the other. The water is cold, good going down my hoarse throat. I down half of it and he takes the glass back.

“Do you want…” I ask, placing my hand on his thigh.

He shakes his head with a smile. “I got what I wanted.”

“Wow,” I breathe, “that was…”

He huffs a chuckle. “Glad you enjoyed.”

I can’t help but laugh. The evidence is down his throat.

The short drive back to the hotel isn’t long enough to wrap my head around what just happened. Michael’s epic blow job runs through my mind over and over. The rasp of his beard on my thigh, his big hand tugging on my balls, his throat swallowing around my cock and then that fucking glorious finger, blasting me into space and it didn’t even get inside me.

By the time I am back at the hotel, my cock is rigid again. Dammit. I should have stayed for round two. I didn’t even touch him, feel his cock in my hand. Or my mouth. Or next to mine. Damn, this has not helped the craving at all. If anything, it is worse. I want more.

I have to be up at the crack of dawn, before even, no time to find another hookup, drive, do it and be back in time to eat and sleep.

Room service it is: pasta with meatballs and some garlic bread, then some granola with yogurt and fruit for a snack later, making sure to hit the macros Ben gave me.

I cum twice more.

Ben and I pored over my notes for the pin locations as we ate breakfast. I have notes upon notes for each hole, and our strategy is sound. If Ben nails each shot, he will easily make the top twenty, like he wants.

Cameras and videographers, and freaking fans are everywhere. I’d not imagined it would be this in-your-face intense. We are with two other players, and the chat is low key as we walk to the first tee box.

“Ben, good to see you! New caddie?” says Buster Stevens as they shake.

Ben nods. “Yep, this is Geoff. How is Sarah?”

“Good, good, somewhere in the crowd, I assume, unless she is off spending my prize money,” Buster laughs and turns to the third player. “Ronald, how’s the hip replacement doing?”

“Hundred percent, doc says I am good to go,” the heavy redhead quips. “Good weather today, eh?” His Maine twang almost makes me giggle, but I school my face and stop near Ben, pull his three wood and hand it to him before stepping well back. The crowd around the tee is a bit unnerving, as are the drones hovering above us, but I stand stock still, waiting. A deep breath that I see Ben notice and copy. Calm.

The day is warm, the dew burned off, and Ben does some stretches, then starts off the round with a perfect swing, dropping it right where we’d planned. His face is blank as he hands the club back. Once the other two players have teed off, we are on our way.

Ben warned me that cameras would be zoomed into our faces, so talking should be minimal, smiles small, frowns never. We have our plan, and my job is to help him execute it: measure distance, pull the right club, keep his gear clean, and let him stay focused. We wrap the first hole with a birdie while the other two players hit par. The gallery claps for each putt, and Ben just waves an acknowledgment as he retrieves his ball and hands it and his putter to me. On to the second hole.

We pause after four holes to snack and rehydrate. Buster hams up to the spectators, handing out tees and balls to a couple of kids. Ronald exchanges fist bumps with a few guys, then we are onto the tee box for hole five.

We reach the eleventh hole, the blind par three. The wind holds and will carry the ball up and onto the green nicely. Ronald has sent one into the bunker with a wince, and we heard Buster’s shot hit the green with a solid smack.

Ben takes the nine from me, not even batting an eyelash. We studied the pin placement together, and it is so close to where he landed the ball during practice that my stomach is fluttering. I try to not hold my breath as he pulls back and sends the ball up. We hear the distinct plunk onto the green, then the gallery erupts.