Page 61 of Perfect Praise

His laugh comes out hoarse and throaty. “Your pussy wants to come on my golf club and then watch me play with it tomorrow, doesn’t it?”

I nod, and Locke steps to the edge of the bed. He slips two of his fingers inside me, then runs them over the handle of his driver, making it glisten.

“You’re going to be taking pictures of me tomorrow as I swing this and think about how hard I made you come with it inside you.”

The anticipation is driving me mad, but I nod like a good girl. Everything is mental. The thought of him playing with it in the tournament tomorrow. That it will be our secret. How he’ll always look at that golf club and think ofmeand how good I was for him, how proud I made him. Locke Hughes, the number one golfer in the world, fucked me with his golf club. I think I could get off on just the fantasy alone at this point.

I’m so laser focused on every move he makes like he’s doing it in slow motion.

He places the end of it against my pussy. I squirm against it as he just holds it there, his eyes glued between my legs. “Such a good fucking girl begging me.”

I moan in pleasure and rub my clit against it again. Locke drops back on his knees.

“So fucking wet,” he says, letting the tip enter me a centimeter before he pulls it out. “Tell me if it hurts.”

I think I’d welcome the pain like pleasure. “I will,” I say.

He presses it further, filling me, and my mind goes black for a split second before bursting into colors that I didn’t know existed.

“That’s the hottest fuckingthing I’ve ever seen,” I say, watching it slide in and out of her dripping wet pussy.

I’m about to come in my pants from the sight alone, from knowing how far her thoughts can go, from how willing she is to please me. I think I’m the only person who has discovered this, and I’m going to get hard thinking about this moment every damn time I tee off for the rest of my life—every time I think about how she’s moaning as I pump it in and out of her, how much she loves it, and most importantly, that it’smymemory only, and no one else’s.

I lean down and swipe my tongue over her clit. Maren moans my name so loudly, the room starts buzzing.

“Fuck,” I say under my breath. It’s slipping in and out so much easier than I thought it would. Something so new and chaotic, that I’ve never experienced before, is ripping through my body. I add my thumb, pressing little circles into her clit. “You own me, Maren. This perfect little submissive cunt may be mine, but you fucking own me for the rest of your life.”

And I might mean it. Because I will literally never forget this.

She sounds delusional. Her eyes roll into the back of her head as she grips my white sheets so hard her knuckles almost match.

“You ownme,” I tell her.

“I own you,” she moans back.

“Whose good girl are you?”

She doesn’t answer. At least, I don’t think she does since nothing coming out of her mouth is coherent, and I’m not entirely sure she heard me.

“Mine,” I answer for her. “Show me how good of a slut you are.”

Her back arches up off the bed.

“You’re amazing,” I tell her. “Absolutely perfect. You deserve to be worshiped. And you know it.”

I replace my thumb with my tongue because she is going to come against my mouthandon my favorite golf club.

Her legs start to shake, and her entire body is jolting in waves of pleasure. I don’t think I’ve ever made a girl come as hard as she is right now.

“Keep coming,” I coax, rolling over her clit faster. “Don’t fucking stop.”

Her hands switch to my hair, lacing into it and pushing my head down harder. This woman is so greedy for me beneath her little sunshine persona that I’d give her anything she asked for if she forever let me be the only person who knew. The flood of chemicals in my brain wants her. And only her. Over and over.

I hear my name in between a jumbled mess of letters and a few curse words, as she grinds her hips, chasing the orgasm, and then she jolts one last time before she goes completely still.

After a minute of me caressing her inner thighs, trailing my nose and tongue along her soft skin, she raises her head. “I think I passed out.”

“Probably,” I chuckle, rising to my feet and scooping her up off the bed, “from dehydration.”

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