19. Maren

Locke opens the car door and slides us both out. He doesn't even bother shutting the door because he's too busy kissing me back harder.

We're frenzied, nails digging into each other, tongues pressing into each other's mouths. Moans and grunts slip between us as he navigates us through his house.

My back hits the banister of his stairs. His shoulder hits the doorframe of his bedroom.

When he throws me back against the pillows, I pause to take in his room. This feels monumental, like I've made it to some marker that qualifies me to see it.

I angle my head upside down to stare at the white abstract painting above his headboard. The ceiling is so high it seems like an optical illusion, and the black canopy bed is connected at the top in a modern open square. To my right there are large French doors, which I assume open into a bathroom, and to my left sit two low chairs in front of the biggest pane of glass I've ever seen.

It's exquisite, but there is no way he decorated this. I'd never imagine Locke as someone with a canopy bed.

"I bought it furnished," he says, voice low, watching me from the end of the bed .

I'm suddenly very aware that Locke somehow managed to get my golf dress off down to my waist between the car and here, and it's blindingly bright. I start to cover myself with my hands.

"Don't do that," Locke says gruffly. "Arms above your head."

I listen, although it's not fast or unhesitant enough for him based on his look of annoyance.

He steps up against the end of his bed, grips my dress bunched around my waist, and starts tugging. "You're going to feel as sexy as you actually are when I get through with you, Maren."

My dress goes down my hips and causes my legs to fly up in the air when Locke pulls it down and off my body completely. He lets it fall to the floor next to his feet, but his eyes never leave mine.

Part of my brain doesn't want my legs to fall open and be this exposed for someone who has never seen me naked, but the majority of my body fights that thought. Since last night, I haven't had a moment to calm myself enough to not be turned on, and I want him to touch me desperately, no matter what it takes.

Locke smirks, closed-lip and not enough to make his dimples appear, but enough to make his devilish look send a shock straight to my clit.

"Do you normally go commando under your dresses?" he asks, voice gravelly, "Or were you hoping I'd find you today in the photography closet and fuck you?"

"Both," I whisper, widening my knees.

He's still clothed, just staring at me, but the crotch of his pants is pulled out tight. "Wider," Locke says.

This time my obedience earns a hum from deep in his throat as he slinks to his knees. He grabs my thighs and slides me closer to the edge of the bed.

Locke licks two of his fingers and runs them over my clit. The cold sensation snaps through my blistering hot core like a slingshot. I gasp when two of his fingers enter me .

"This pussy is perfect," he says, eyes never straying from between my legs. "I wish you could be inside my brain right now. See how perfect you feel. How warm and tight you are." He pulls his fingers out slowly before he sucks them into his mouth. I whimper at the loss. "How good you taste. I would give up every single thing I have to be inside you right now."

"You can be," I huff under my breath, "without giving up anything."

Locke shakes his head. His palm rubs over me, two fingers go in quickly before he pulls them out and stands to hover over me. "Repeat after me," he says, running his fingers over my lips. "‘My pussy is perfect.'"

I've never called or thought of my vagina as my pussy in my life. But something about thinking about it this way makes my pussy pulse, fire violently rushing down my core.

"My pussy is perfect," I whisper.

He smiles, this time with dimples, then presses his fingers into my mouth and praises me, "Good girl."

I moan around his fingers as my veins ignite.

"Have you ever been edged before?" he asks, dropping his face into my neck.

He kisses his way to my boobs and circles his tongue around each of my nipples.

Every time I suck in a breath, Locke looks me in the eye and does it again, like he's making sure he got it right, memorizing my body. Every curve, every dip, every notch, every blemish. The intensity is every bit as… intense as I imagined. What made me ever think this would be a bad idea? Because Locke Hughes notices . He learns and keeps learning, and he demands perfection from himself.

He bites my hip bone. "Focus."

"How can I focus when you're looking at me like that?" I ask breathily and shake my head. "Except for the last twenty-four hours, no, I've never been edged. "

Based on his stare, he likes my answer. "Do you want to be?"

I pick my head up to look down my body at him as he trails his fingertips along the inside of my thighs.

"I don't know," I admit, but the thought intrigues me. "Do I want to be?"

Locke doesn't answer me. Instead, he lowers his face into my pussy and licks me once slowly with a flat tongue.

"Fuck," I gasp, my hands flying down to braid into his blond hair at the same time my hips arch. Every inch of my body needs his tongue back on me.

He resists my attempts to get him to make contact again, then smirks, eyes like charcoal, and drags his tongue across his bottom lip like he's savoring the taste of me. "I'm going to have trouble stopping myself, but yes, I think you want to be. I'll make you come so hard you'll think you passed out. But we're playing by my rules."

"Which are?"

"Simple. Repeat after me." I wait for him to elaborate, but he just watches me when I bite my lip. "Yes or no?"

"Yes," I say like I hadn't already decided the moment his tongue met my clit that I'd do anything for this man.

I swear Locke's eyes lighten for a split second as he breathes against me, "No one has ever made me as happy as you make me."

Fisting the sheets, I try to keep my heart from fluttering by pressing down against the mattress. He doesn't mean it literally, it's just a game. A kink.

His mouth is back on me, tongue swirling, slowly at first before he picks up speed and inserts his middle finger. Thanks to my night and day full of sex dreams, I've been wet since I woke up.

He sucks lightly, causing me to take a sharp breath and grind against his face. He breaks contact like it's painful for him.

"I'm so beautiful," he commands.

I scrunch my eyebrows, thinking he's talking about himself, until I remember the rules. A blush starts in my cheeks and travels down my neck and chest.

"I'm so beautiful," I say shyly.

Locke pierces me with his eyes as his fingers pick up speed, curling into my G-spot. I know exactly what he wants.

"I'm so beautiful," I say again with more conviction. The blush subsides as the wave builds, and I swear my body loosens. "I'm beautiful."

"Louder."

"God," I groan as my orgasm starts to build. "I'm beautiful!"

And then everything comes to a halt when Locke pulls back.

For a minute, I forgot what we were doing. The momentum was almost past the point of no return, and every muscle in my body is vibrating.

Slowly, I come down from the short high, breathing heavily. Locke watches, cued into my body like he's learning a golf course. He kisses my inner knee before nibbling his way closer, where he bites me harder and then sits back to admire the little crescent shapes that must be indented on my skin.

"What?" I ask him while a smile plays around on his lips.

"Mine," he whispers, licking his bite mark and making his way back between my legs.

I run the tip of my index finger over the little marks. "Yours," I whisper back.

‘Just sex' is fun. Maybe the most fun I've ever had.

The sun catches a set of golf clubs in the corner and reflects around the room. And the first thought that I have is one I could never say out loud.

I throw my head back when he sucks again, lightly at first. His tongue is hitting a perfect rhythm, and I'm already seeing stars behind my eyelids after five seconds.

"Locke," I plead when he adds a finger .

"Look at you," he says, pulling back. The thumb of his other hand presses and circles my clit. I've reached a point where I would do anything to chase this high, and my hips are being downright shameless. "You're fucking gorgeous when you let yourself go and take what you want. ‘I'm gorgeous.'"

"I'm gorgeous," I moan so loudly I surprise myself. I feel gorgeous—and wet, but I have no time to be embarrassed about that right now. I can mostly only feel gorgeous, like I'm radiating beyond my control.

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, he knows . 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.

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 of me and 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.