Page 60 of Perfect Praise

Locke groans against me when he forces himself to stop. “I can’t wait to see how you look when you finally come.”

My head spins from the quick climb, pressure building everywhere, and then the subsequent free fall into nothing. “This is torture,” I smile.

My eyes land on the golf clubs again, and I blame my raging, slutty mind. I’m becoming depraved, and it simply took no time at all.

I look back at Locke when he kisses my other knee this time, sinks his teeth into my thigh a little harder. Then he slides up my body to kiss me.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he says into my mouth as we share the taste of me. He runs his fingers lightly over me, slowly dipping one in and out like he has all day to make me suffer. “Tell me how sexy you are.”

“Shit,” I breathe, arching into his hand when he picks up speed. My fingers dig into his bicep. “I’m so fucking sexy.”

I sound wild and confident, like I know exactly how sexy I am, and any man that sees me like this is the luckiest person to ever grace the planet.

Locke crushes his mouth to mine, finger fucking me until he decides I’ve had enough.

My body is aching, pulsing, deprived. I’ve never needed a release so badly in my life, but I’ve never loved being denied something more because I know how rewarded I’ll be in the end.

When he lifts himself off me, my eyes can’t help but fall back on his golf clubs.

“What do you keep looking at?” he asks curiously, turning his head.

I shut my eyes. “Nothing.”

When I open them again, I can’t tell where Locke’s pupils end and his irises start. His voice is so low and deep in understanding, he sounds animalistic. “Tell me what you want.”

He couldn’t have possibly figured out what I was thinking that quickly… could he?

“Words, Maren,” he presses.

God, heknows. He knows what I’m thinking, and I don’t know whether to be humiliated or proud of myself.

“How many golf clubs do you own?” I ask.

One of his eyebrows hitches in surprise, but his voice comes out teasing. “That’s what you were thinking?”

I nod sheepishly, but I can feel my ears warming.

“Hundreds probably.” He gestures toward the black bag. “This is my favorite set. I usually only use it in the biggest tournaments.”

“Oh,” I say.

He crosses his arms. “Didn’t we already establish that you’re not a very good liar?”

“Possibly.”

“God, I’d be so proud of you,” he says, smiling, “if you told me what you are really thinking.”

My ears turn hot and itchy, but I take a deep breath. “I want to be a dirty slut.”

“How dirty?” he presses further.

There’s no way he will do anything without me giving him consent, but I can tell I’ve made him happy just thinking it, by wanting something that is kinky and submissive and possessive. He’s stroking his erection over his pants like he can’t help himself.

“I want to come on your golf club,” I whisper.

Locke smiles, taking a step toward the bag leaning in the corner and slides one out. He holds the handle up in front of his face before his eyes focus back on me. “You’re such a perfect whore for me. Full of surprises. I’ve never done this before. Have you?”

I shake my head no. My heart jumpstarts at the thought alone, that he’s into it. That he’s going to give me what I want. My legs widen an inch.

---