Page 65 of Sweet Spot
“My place,” I say before sliding from the car.
She’s unbuckled and sitting up by the time I get around the vehicle to open her door. When she places her hand in mine and I start to lead her inside, a weird sensation pulses through my body. It takes me a second to decode the feeling. I’m nervous.
My apartment isn’t big. Kitchen, living-dining room combo, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and it’s sparsely decorated. I’m sure it screams divorced, single man, but Keira walks into the middle of the living room and turns a circle. When her brown eyes land back on me, there’s nothing but delight on her face.
“I love it. It’s exactly how I pictured it. The space is great.”
I chuckle and walk to her, wrap my arms around her waist. “I forget you’ve already seen most of my place.”
“Only in pieces. Plus, I was distracted by you.”
She tips up onto her toes, and I lean down to take her lips in a quick kiss.
“I’m not here often, but it’s on the course and near Gram.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her most my stuff is in storage, make excuses for how bland it is, but then that makes me think of Lacey and how I still haven’t called her back.
“I like it. Honest. It suits you.”
I’m not sure what that says about me, but I don’t think on it too hard.
She goes to the couch and sits, making a big show of crossing her arms over her chest, leaning back, and putting her feet on my coffee table. Forcing a frown, she asks, “Who am I?” Her voice deepens in a shit impersonation of me. “One hundred more reps. Do it until you get it right, and then do it until you can’t do it wrong. No, no, no. That’s garbage! Who taught you how to swing a club?”
“I don’t sound like that, smartass.” I fall onto the cushion beside her and pull her onto my lap, remove my hat and toss it onto the table, then run a hand over my matted down hair. Her eyes follow the movement and then her fingers come up to take over, gently threading through the strands.
My scalp pricks at her touch, and a pleasant warmth spreads through my body. “That feels good.”
She scoots farther onto my lap, knees inching toward the back of the couch. The black skirt she’s wearing lays flat, so I’m not getting a show, but the position and all the ways our bodies are touching is almost as good. My eyes fall closed, and I relax into the leather as she continues to comb through my hair with her fingers.
I bring my hands to her thighs and run my thumb along the hem of her skirt. Her skin is smooth and taut, and even though I’m not looking, I can recall her legs in vivid detail from the hundreds of times I’ve seen them on video.
I’m tired. A bone-deep exhaustion that has nothing to do with lack of sleep and everything to do with the restraint I’ve been holding on to all day. There are a million really good reasons I should stop whatever this is between us, send her on her way, rub one out, and go to bed alone.
I don’t have any delusions of this ending any way other than with Keira eventually finding her swing and us going our separate ways. Maybe we’ll run into one another again or maybe I’ll be at a pro tournament and get to watch her dominate, like I know she will, but we aren’t skipping into the sunset holding hands after tonight.
I know this. She does too. Yet, here we are anyway.
“I love your hair.” She tugs gently. “It’s so soft and thick.” Her voice is quiet and husky, straight-up phone-sex-operator style; though, I know it isn’t intentional.
Weeks of foreplay, of staring at one another through a screen but not being able to reach out and feel the person on the other side, makes everything more intense than it would have been had tonight been a real first date.
I groan a reply, and her hands still. When I open my eyes, she’s staring at me, tongue between her teeth in concentration.
“What?” I ask, suddenly a little self-conscious as her beautiful brown eyes dance slowly over my features.
Instead of answering, she brings her mouth down and presses her lips softly against mine. It’s torture as I let her run the pace. Her nails sweep over the stubble along my jaw as she kisses me.
I hold out on taking control for as long as I can, but when she moves closer so that her sweet heat presses against my dick, I grip her hips and draw her hard against me.
We’re a tangle of tongues and a clash of teeth as we press together as tightly as our clothing will allow. Her tits crush against my chest so that I can feel the rise and fall from her labored breathing. I bring my hands around her back and fist a handful of hair so that her face tilts up and I can reach her neck.
She tastes sweet, the slightest tinge of salt from a day golfing in the sun. A low moan escapes from her as I nip at the sensitive flesh.
“Lincoln.” She says my name in a way that no one has in so long. As if she enjoys being with me. As if she wants me. As if right now is enough.
When I don’t answer her, she pulls back until I look at her.
I lean forward and kiss her collarbone and then retreat so I can see her stunning face again. “Yeah, baby?”
She bites the corner of her lip and smiles. Her hands fist my shirt on either side, and she raises the material an inch. I love that she’s so excited to see my body because that’s a mutual desire. I sit forward and allow her to peel my shirt off for me. She holds it in her hands as her eyes greedily take in my chest.
