Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“You asked me to dress like this,” she says, grinning like a maniac.
“You know what you’re doing,” I grumble.
Her grip on my arm tightens. “You think I’m attractive, don’t you? Are you going to be all distracted? You’re going to shoot like shit and blame it on my fine ass.”
I stare up at the clouds, and I hate myself, but she’s probably right. “How about this. Whoever has the better score gets another favor.”
She bites her lip. “You sure you want to do that? I go big when I ask for favors.”
“I’m sure.” We reach my ball and I step away from her, putting down my clubs with a clatter. “No cheating. No bullshit. You in?”
“I’m very in.” She steps back and puts a finger on her lower lip. “Am I allowed to mention that I’m not wearing any panties right now?”
I grunt as I fuck up my practice swing and take a chunk of dirt from the fairway. She howls with laughter at the look on my face. I’m picturing her bare ass under my hands, her hips wriggling with squirmy pleasure, her pussy soaking wet and dripping down my fingers, that white skirt shoved up over her hips as I pin her down on the fucking bed—
“I said no bullshit,” I grunt at her, my cock getting hard, which isn’t great. She’s going to see it through my tight slacks.
And fuck, there she goes. She glances down and sucks in a little breath. “Oh, wow,” she whispers and a part of me has to admit that I like the look on her face right now. It’s half surprise and half lust. I like the way her eyes get all heavy-lidded and she chews on her cheek. “Easy there, big boy. Emphasis on big. I was just kidding about the panties. It’s a freaking charity event, you perv.”
“You’re the one who put the image in my head.” I turn back to my ball and take a couple more practice swings until my dick softens up enough to take my stroke. And there I go again, thinking about stroking into Elena. Fuck, how the hell did she just manage to make golf, the least sexy of all sports, somehow extremely lewd?
I take my shot and it’s a solid straight chip onto the green. When it comes to a halt close to the flag, I lean toward her with a vicious smirk. “I think I’m going to make you take those panties off for real when I win.”
She laughs. “That’s not a favor. That’s just cruel.”
“The favor is letting me keep your underwear. We’ll call it a trophy of my victory.”
Her cheeks turn pink and I let her go take her own shot, which is good, but not good enough.
The round goes pretty much like that all day. We alternate between hating each other, flirting mercilessly, and hitting golf balls. I’m the better player, probably because I hit the country club twice a week for work—there are perks to being a high-end lawyer—but I don’t mention that. She’s pretty good though and manages to win a couple holes, and I have to grudgingly admit that she’s probably the better putter of the two of us.
But too bad for her, because I manage to kick her ass and win by a few strokes.
When we reach the club house, I grab her by the waist and hold her against my side, trying not to gloat, and failing miserably.
“Two favors,” she moans, shaking her head like it’s the end of the world. “This is the worst day ever.”
“Cheer up. Maybe I’ll be nice to you.”
“The only time you smile is when you’re trying to torture me.” She pulls herself away and crosses her arms. “I think you cheated.”
“Cheated? How dare you. This is beneath you, Elena Bianco.”
“Whatever, you’re a cheater, and cheaters don’t get favors.”
I lean in closer and lower my voice so nobody nearby can hear. “Do cheaters get panties?”
“Absolutely not.” She raises her chin. “Panties are for legitimate winners.”
I laugh, unable to help myself, and we blend into the party. I don’t remember the last time I had this much fun playing golf. Normally, it’s a fucking slog, except the few times when my brothers come along. Declan’s pretty good, and Nolan can hold his own, but mostly I bring clients out here for some schmoozing and that sort of crap. I hate that aspect of the job, but it’s part of the game and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep on winning.
But golf with Elena wasn’t painful. If anything, it was too much fun, and I have to remind myself why I’m here.
Like always, this is about business.
The clubhouse is packed with political players wearing golf shirts and bragging about their ground game, and normally, this sort of thing is on par with a root canal. I can smile and make nice, but I’m a fucking litigator. I prefer to make arguments in front of a jury, not small talk. I’d probably be on my fourth drink by now and ready to put a bullet in my head if it weren’t for Elena.