Page 30 of Tee the Season
Then her mouth closes over me. Hot. Wet. Perfect pressure. Her tongue does something that makes my hips jerk, and I have to grip the armrests to keep from thrusting.
“Christ—”
She hums around me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine, and takes me deeper. Her eyes flick up to meet mine, andthe sight of her lips wrapped around my cock, dark eyes full of heat, nearly undoes me.
I should look away. Should close my eyes and think about golf course yardages or tournament schedules or anything except this gorgeous woman on her knees.
But I can’t. I’m mesmerized. The sight of her. The feel of her mouth working me. The little sounds she makes, as if she’s enjoying this as much as I am. She’s not just going through the motions. She’s into this. Into me. The realization makes everything more intense.
“So good,” I manage, one hand sliding into her hair. Not pushing, just touching, grounding myself. “Your mouth—god—”
She takes me deeper in response, relaxing her throat, and I see stars.
I try to think about something boring. Distance calculations. Lie angles. Wind affects altitude.
None of it works. Not with her tongue doing that thing. Not with her hand working what won’t fit. Not with her eyes watching me fall apart.
“Tabitha—” Warning and plea mixed together. “I’m close. So close.”
She doesn’t pull back. Instead, she doubles down, taking me deeper, moving faster, one hand cupping my balls.
“Fuck—I’m gonna—” I try to pull her back, but she won’t let me, hands gripping my thighs to hold herself in place.
The orgasm rips through me, my whole body going rigid as I come hard, her name torn from my throat. She takes everything, swallowing, not stopping until I’m boneless and shaking.
When she finally pulls back, the satisfied smirk on her face makes me want to kiss her senseless.
She sits back on her heels, wiping the corner of her mouth. “I thought caddies had endurance.”
I’m still trying to remember how to breathe. “I usually do.”
“Usually?”
“With you?” I reach down, pulling her up onto my lap. “Things are different.”
Something flickers across her face. Surprise, maybe, but before I can identify it, she’s kissing me. I can taste myself on her tongue, and it’s hot as hell. When we break apart, I cup her face, thumb brushing her swollen lip.
She’s leaving me breathless in ways that have nothing to do with sex. Making me want things I’ve spent years avoiding. Making me think about staying in one place, building something real, choosing her over everything else.
“My turn.” The words come out dark, promising.
Her pupils dilate. “Your turn?”
“You think you can make Santa come that fast and not face consequences?” I stand, setting her on her feet, gratified when her legs seem unsteady. “Now, strip off those jeans and sit down like a good girl.”
Chapter fourteen
Tabitha
Rory, as Santa, has adopted a voice with a commanding edge that makes my stomach flip. He’s into this as much as I am. I consider pushing back, playing hard to get, but I want this. Want him. Want to let go for once, instead of always being the one in control.
So I strip off my jeans with shaking hands, hyperaware of him watching. The Santa coat is pooled on the floor near the tower of wrapped presents, red velvet stark against the rainbow rug. The ridiculous beard is somewhere near the bookshelf. Evidence of how we got here scattered across my carefully curated children’s section.
He guides me backward, and I sink into the reading chair, trying not to think about how often I’ve curled up in it when the bookstore is quiet and I need a minute.
Because after today, I’ll never look at this chair the same way. Whenever I sit here for Storytime, I’ll remember this. Him. The way he’s looking at me right now, as if I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
But before I can spiral about how he’s leaving tomorrow and how the deal I agreed to has gone sideways, his hands are on my ankles. His fingers slide up my calves, and logical thinking becomes impossible.
