Page 38 of Wood

“Yes, please,” he grins. Then shifts.

“Not tonight,” I chuckle and manage to not laugh loudly at his look of relief.

“I didn’t quite understand how thick you are,” he admits.

“Too thick?” I ask, suddenly concerned that I had hurt him too much. It was always going to sting a bit. The first time always does, but I tried to move slowly. “Did I tear you?”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t feel… damaged. Just… well, stretched to the limit.”

I do have to laugh at that. “I have known guys who stretched so much they could take a fist, so don’t assume there is a limit.”

He blanches. “I… don’t think I want to try that,” he stammers. “Your cock is enough. More than enough.” He hesitates, then adds, “Perfect.”

I just can’t help myself and press a hard kiss to his mouth. My heart twists, and I need to lighten this up before I admit too much too soon.

I roll over and hold out a hand. “Come on, let’s soak in a tub. My back can use it and your… ass will appreciate it.”

God, I love that grin.

Our second practice day is thankfully drier, but the wind remains in effect and is forecast to remain a factor for the rest of the week, perhaps to ease off for the weekend. Which makes practicing each hole with several clubs even more important. It’s difficult to determine exactly what a still day will need, but Geoff and I analyze each hole, each slope, each green. We have a plan.

We will go out again tomorrow, but we’ll have guests along: the local village mayor and two of my sponsors. I lucked out by not getting some entitled celebrity, so it should be a lighter, social round. The vendors are also around, but again, I made my club adjustments before we left.

This afternoon, my time is spent in the press tent giving several interviews and a prep meeting with my agent, giving me details of each of my companions for tomorrow and if I should avoid any areas of small talk. It seems like it will be a fairly cheerful bunch, however.

Tonight, we order in dinner from a local chain. When we are stuffed, I drag Geoff back into bed and press him back into a 69 until we have both emptied our reserves and fall into a comfortable sleep, me wrapped around him as big spoon, my Neanderthal brain growling “Mine” as I drift to sleep.

The tournament days blur, a mix of out on the course, making the shots, tight smiles when plans work, notes in the yardage book when we need corrections. We mostly order our meals in, avoiding having to pretend in a pub, letting us touch freely, kiss. Evenings are spent wrapped around each other, minds and bodies entwining. In the morning, back to the stoic act, like we are only teammates, barely friends.

Saturday, we are done by five and head back to our suite together. Our phones are on the dining room table. We don’t take them with us out on the course. His is lit up with messages, and as he sets the yardage book down for us to review, the phone chimes again, this time with a photo.

A woman, nude, on her back on a bed, a man between her thighs, cock poised at her entrance with the tip just starting to enter, taken from somewhere above her head. ‘Thinking of you,’ the message reads. I feel the blood drain from my face as the elements in the photo register.

That is Geoff’s cock.

“Do you want to order…” Geoff stops as he registers my probably pale face. “Ben? You ok?” He steps to my side and looks down, following my gaze.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps. “She didn’t.”

“You…” The words won’t come out.

He picks up his phone, swiping it open angrily and taps a few times, and the photo disappears. He slams the phone onto the table.

“Damn her,” he growls. “Ben, it’s not what you think.”

“Your cock,” I choke out. Then I turn to him, trying my damndest not to let tears well up. “It was you. That’s…” I swallow as my throat closes, choking my words. I walk around the table, away from him, and yank a chair out and try to breathe. I bang my fists on the table as tears defy my will and run down my face. I dash them away. Damn them. Bending forward, trying to breathe, I rest my head on my fists. Finally, I manage to force out the words. “That’s your cock.” I look up at him. “That’s you.”

He doesn’t lie to me. “Yes, it is me.” He runs a hand through his hair, over the shaved sides. “But that happened before… before we…”

“Before we what?” I snarl. “Started fucking?”

He groans, a hand over his face. “I hope we are more than just fucking. But yes, before we got together like” he waves a hand between us “like this.”

“Is that…” Inhale, Ben. “…something you still want?” I look at him, my chest so tight that breathing seems impossible. Does he still want to fuck women? I can’t give him a pussy to fuck. I am not soft like… that.

“No!” he exclaims. “I just blocked her. It was a onetime thing.” He groans in annoyance. “I deleted them a month ago, thought that was the last of it. Fuck, I didn’t think I’d have to block them.”

“Them?” My fucking lungs still aren’t working right. Are there more people he is seeing? Was seeing? Is seeing?