Page 27 of The Sweet Spot

He’s going to kiss me again, and as I look down at his smooth, red lips, I know I'm not going to stop him.

I want him. I need him to make me care about something more than winning for once in my life.

When our lips connect, my hand finds his shirt without thinking, and my fingers curl into the fabric as he leans in. His tongue immediately dips into my mouth as his hand holds me in place, and he takes everything I have to offer.

My back arches against his hard chest as his hand trails along my side, following the curve of my body before wrapping around my waist and settling over my chest. His hand is so large it practically covers me completely, and a rush of frustration hits me. I hate the layers of fabric between us. I want to feel the weight and warmth of his palm against my bare skin.

Smother me. Take all the noise away. Make me feel something.

He’s crawling over me now, making the golf cart shake, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I don't either.

I pull his shirt from his pants and dip my fingers under. He takes in a sharp breath before catching my wrist and pinning it against his chest.

“No,” he says firmly. “This is one thing you aren't going to control,” he murmurs against my lips.

That’s when he falls back into his side of the cart, yanking me along with him until I’m straddling his lap.

JB still doesn't care that the golf cart nearly topples. His mouth never leaves my body. He guides me back down to his lips using the hand on the back of my neck.

I close my eyes and don't say no.

I’m fully committed to JB’s control. Whatever he wants, I want to give.

When his mouth finds mine again, he slides a hand under my polo and wastes no time shoving my bra down. Rough callouses scrape over my nipple as he palms my breast. His tongue dips into my mouth as I gasp against the scratchy feeling.

Just like that. It's all gone. Every worry and every thought leaves my mind, because the only thing I want is to feel him touch every part of me.

His fingers pinch and roll my nipple, giving me too much and not enough at the same time.

"JB," I mutter as I pull away from his lips and clutch his shoulders because the sensation is too much.

He ignores my plea and pinches harder, watching my face as he does as though he’s testing what breaks me fastest.

My eyes roll, my head tilts backs.

So good. It feels so fucking good.

He unwraps my hands him and places them on either side of the dashboard behind me. “Hands on the cart,” he orders, his eyes heavy on mine to confirm that I’ll listen

I nod, making him grin.

JB leans back against the seat and greedily takes in my permanently arched position. My visor is off, my ponytail is a mess, and my shirt is up over my chest, but I don’t care. I’m not in control right now. JB is.

His hand traces all the way up my thigh, until it slips under the hem of my skirt until he reaches the edge of my panties. My core clenches with anticipation, wanting to feel him. His fingers skate across the fabric, and I find myself rocking toward them, craving any relief he’ll give me.

“Fuck, Whit. You’re soaked. Do you like it when someone else takes control?”

“JB...” His name slips out of my mouth, but I don’t have the balls to ask for what I want.

He doesn’t seem to care. He shunts my panties to the side and pushes one thick finger inside me, then a second, stretching me open in one smooth thrust.

I moan, my hips jerking as he uses his other hand to pin my thigh open and pump his fingers quickly.

“Eyes on me,” he snaps, his gaze lingering on my every reaction before he leans down and sucks hard on my nipple. He’s rushed, almost impatient after hours of my critiques as his tongue and fingers work relentlessly, only slowing when he finds the spot that makes me shake hardest.

“JB—fuck—”

He thrusts his fingers faster, and when he curls them I start to see stars. “You going to come on the hands you’ve been bitching about all day?”