Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)

Until then, though? He had another way to show her how he felt.

And it was about goddamn time they got down to it.

Wells slowly approached Josephine where she stood at the cart, checking something in her scorebook. The closer he got to her, the more goose bumps appeared on the slope of her neck, highlighted by the sunshine. Her body shifted at his increasing nearness, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, her gaze flickering over at him from beneath her lashes.

Awareness. She was so fucking aware of him.

They’d been like this since the morning after the hurricane, hadn’t they? Thank God he had the freedom to act on it now. Mostly. They were still in view of the clubhouse.

Wells ignored the stab of resentment and leaned in slightly, enjoying the way his proximity made her chest rise and fall faster. “I can tell you want to wrap those gorgeous thighs around me,” he said hoarsely, in the air above her shoulder. “And baby, I need to get under that fucking skirt so bad. Tell me a private place to take you—and it better be close.”

She pressed her lips together to trap a moan. “Now?”

“Now.”

“Um . . . okay. Think.” She shook her head, as if to unscramble it. “We’re the last tee time, so no one is coming behind us. M-maybe . . . oh, I think the third hole has a thunder shelter?”

Wells had never moved faster, circling around the front of the cart and throwing himself into the driver’s seat, while Josephine got in the passenger side—and he gunned that motherfucker toward hole number three. Thunder shelters were in place on a lot of golf courses for players to take cover if the weather took an unexpected turn and they were left inconveniently holding a bunch of metal sticks. But that’s not what they’d be using it for today. Jesus. He couldn’t even make it home with this woman.

“I didn’t realize my swing was so inspiring,” she murmured, dazed.

“Now you know, belle.” He took a hard right to avoid a pin. “You ever want to win an argument with me? Just tee off.”

“I told you I was qualified to give lessons.”

“Oh, you’re giving me lessons, as soon as I can concentrate on anything but getting you off. I want a swing like Josephine Doyle’s.”

She swept him a breathless, sideways look. “You really mean that.”

Wells frowned. “Hell yeah, I mean it,” he roared—just as the thunder shelter came into view.

He pulled up behind the structure, the distance and position taking them well out of view of the clubhouse, and he hit the brakes, preparing to climb out, throw Josephine over his shoulder, and carry her inside, where he would fuck the stuffing out of her. But she surprised Wells by launching herself across the cart and climbing onto his lap, her mouth capturing his eagerly, whimpers popping in her throat. And God bless her, she straddled him in that cocktease skirt, her pussy warm and firm where it pressed down on his erection, rubbing, rubbing.

He had to break the kiss to let his head fall back, his hands naturally finding the tight globes of her butt cheeks and kneading her forward, urging her to hump him.

“Fuck yeah, baby. Good, good girl. Just like that.” He gathered up the material of her panties in a twist, turning the undergarment into a thong and tugging it roughly between her cheeks. Again, again, again. Noticing she humped him faster the harder he pulled, gasping into the kiss. “You want to trade lessons, Josephine?”

She kept right on kissing him, but made an affirmative sound in her throat, riding his lap with more eagerness, more insistence.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He massaged her right cheek, then brought his hand down on it in a sharp slap. “Still yes?”

Her green eyes were glassy as she tried to focus on him. “Yes.”

They never looked away from each other while he spanked her opposite cheek, then back to the right one. Smack. “Here’s your lesson. You wear a skirt, you’re going to get that pussy eaten and eaten good.” He cracked his palm down on her backside, slightly harder than before, and she shuddered, her breath escaping in a rush. “It’s very simple, isn’t it, Josephine?”

“Uh-huh.”

Wells meant every word of that lesson, too. He was starved for her. Needed to get a taste of that warm, wet flesh, now.

His own relief came secondary to the pleasure he’d get giving it to her.

Incapable of waiting another moment, he slid out of the golf cart seat with Josephine still attached to him and placed her sideways, sitting up on the driver’s seat, falling to his knees in front of her. Shoving open her smooth thighs. Biting her through the damp, white panties, all of her, as much as he could cover with his teeth, moaning at the little jolt in her inner thighs. The way her hand flew to the steering wheel to hold on, her belly hollowing in and out.

The same way he’d done with the material of her underwear in back, he did at the front now, twisting the cotton into a thong and tugging it experimentally in the valley of her sex, licking his lips at the sight of her pussy plumping with arousal, parting, moistening. All while her ass writhed helplessly on the seat.

“Fuck, that is sweet,” he gritted out, yanking the panties to one side and diving forward, French kissing her ripe cunt with a starving tongue. “Spread your legs a little wider than the last time I fucked it—you’re my girlfriend now.”

“You have no shame,” she gasped. But her knees fell open another inch, didn’t they?

Gratified to the point of pain, Wells dragged his tongue through her flesh and found her clit, giving her several long strokes, until her thighs started to shake. “You let me act like this, because you know I would—and I will—humble myself in front of the whole fucking world for you, Josephine.” He flicked his tongue against her clit while pressing his middle finger slow and deep into her slick opening. “Isn’t that right?”

Her fingers gripped the leather seat so hard, it creaked. “Yes,” she sobbed.

“I’m on my knees licking it like it’s made of gold.” He added a second finger, drawing them in and out, twisting, marveling over the soft clench of her. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life than the moisture she was leaving on his knuckles. “My woman comes first and hard, so she doesn’t mind when I order her legs to open wide, does she?”

“St-stop,” she chattered, her body shaking head to toe. “It’s going to be over so fast.”

God, so hot. Her honesty. The tremble in her voice. All of her.

“You don’t want it to be over, belle?”

“No,” she hiccupped, sinking her fingers into his hair and tugging him closer, hips lifting to meet his firm licks. “It feels too good.”

Wells started to unfasten his pants with a grappling left hand—and he had no choice—because she was fucking his mouth now, mewling his name. She tasted like honey, clearly on the verge of an orgasm, and he wanted his cock out when it happened. Wanted to be stroking it and pretending it was locked in her snug pussy.

Fucking unreal. She had him panting for it.

On the verge of coming after one stroke.

Desperate for that final Josephine squeeze.

He added a third finger, the resulting wet sound like a hymn in his ears, and bore down with a firm tongue, rubbing her slippery clit until her fingers were twisting in his hair, her gasps growing closer together and then her fever broke at once, the taste of her coating his tongue and fingers, her hips shaking on the leather seat.