by Tara Sivec
I realize Adam is still blathering on about the stupid pins with the stupid winners’ names on them that were left out on the 8th hole and quickly turn away from the teacher porn being filmed out on the deck, preferring to keep my threesomes out on the golf course, to walk back to Adam and right on by him.
“I’ll go out and get the pins.”
“Birdie, it’s pouring!” he shouts after me as I zigzag between tables, trying to get out of here as fast as I can before I start crying in front of all these people.
“It’s fine!” I shout back, finally making it to the French doors on the other side of the restaurant that lead out to the course, muttering to myself as I shove one open, “I need to cool off anyway.”
“What in the fuck are you doing out here?”
I don’t even bother turning around as I pull another marker out of the grass, blinking the rain out of my eyes as it continues to come down harder and the sky gets darker around us. I should have known Palmer would come out here and get me when he heard I went out in the rain. This idiot has been following me home for fifteen years, thinking I didn’t know he was lurking behind me in the cottage lawns, tripping over shrubbery and cursing loudly every time he forgot about Mrs. Mitchell’s ankle-biting Chihuahua who would attack him every time he walked through her yard. He still thinks I’m a child and can’t take care of myself.
“I’m doing my job. What does it look like?” I shout back over the wind and rain, taking a second to swipe my matted hair off my face so I can see what I’m doing, as I finally yank the last marker out of the ground that has the finalist’s name on it who wins the two grand.
Definitely should have left my hair up in a ponytail instead of yanking the holder out and throwing it God knows where on the way out here.
“Have you failed to notice a tropical storm blowing through here? What is wrong with you? Those stupid pin markers are not worth your life!” Palmer yells, making my blood boil as I whirl around to face him, clutching the plastic stakes in my hand.
And momentarily forget what the hell I’m doing when I see him standing six feet away from me, next to his obnoxious blue-flame golf cart, sopping wet from his head to his feet, rain dripping down his angry face and into his eyes, his gray T-shirt molded to his muscular chest and torso. He’s so beautiful it takes my breath away. And of course we’re out here on our hole, the one we always snuck out to for long talks on quiet nights, racing into the maintenance shed a hundred yards away to hide whenever a course employee drove out here so we wouldn’t get in trouble. It makes it even harder for me to breathe that we’re out here again after all this time, and everything is so confusing… for about two seconds until I remember he was just dry as could be back up at the restaurant, getting all snuggly with Lizzy Bradford.
“You’re what’s wrong with me, you stupid nuzzler!”
Taking my eyes off him, I zero in on my own golf cart parked not too far from his and march off in that direction, stomping through the wet grass with the pin markers hugged to my wet chest. I ignore how my own clothing is now soaked and stuck to me like a second skin and the decision to wear a white tank top today was probably not the brightest. The white lace bra underneath is doing absolutely nothing for coverage either, but it’s too late to worry about that now.
“I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean or why you’re suddenly pissed off at me, but being out here in the middle of a thunderstorm is not the brightest decision you’ve ever made, Roberta!”
That does it. His use of my full name like I’m a little girl who needs to be scolded and not a thirty-year-old grown-ass woman has me tossing the markers into my cart, not even caring where they land. I whirl around to face him, since of course he had to follow me, keeping my eyes on his instead of his wet body, now that he looks like he just stepped out of the shower after cleaning off fully clothed. But his eyes leave mine and go right down to the girls who look like they just won first place in a wet T-shirt contest in the frigid waters of Alaska. I swear I hear him mutter something like, “Sweet mother of God, help me,” but the wind kicks up even louder, the rain comes down harder, and I don’t give a shit what he’s muttering under his breath.
“Fuck you!” I scream, over the wind and rain, water dripping down my bare arms and falling off my clenched fists at my sides as we stare each other down from a few feet away. “It’s just a little rain!”
Since mother nature’s got jokes, a flash of lightning bolts down from the sky out over the water, a crack of thunder pierces the air right at that moment, and a crumpled up piece of trash blows by.
“Christ! There’s no way we’ll make it back to the clubhouse without getting electrocuted.”
All of a sudden, Palmer’s wet hand is grabbing mine and he’s tugging me toward the small wooden shed right off the green where the grounds crew store the extra set of lawn tools and equipment. Another loud crack of thunder overhead wakes me up, and I dig my feet into the wet grass and yank my hand out of his hold.
“Stop trying to drag me around! I’m perfectly capable of taking cover without your help. Go back up to the clubhouse and give Lizzy another neck nuzzle.”
I’m turned and halfway back to my golf cart when my feet suddenly leave the ground, my body is flopped around like I’m a damn sack of potatoes, and I’m thrown over Palmer’s shoulder and staring down at his full, round, hot, wet ass with his athletic shorts plastered to it and his muscular thighs as he starts carrying me back to the shed, muttering something about putting me where he wants me like Bodhi told him to.
But not before he has the nerve to swat my ass over my skirt before clutching tightly to the backs of my bare thighs so I don’t fall. I immediately start flailing my legs, squirming my body, and beating the shit out of his back upside down with my fists until Palmer has no choice but to stop and let me down before he drops me.
I’m still swinging when I’m back on my feet until Palmer finally gets ahold of both my hands and holds them tightly between us, jerking me closer to him, the rain coming down on us in buckets as he breathes heavily and a muscle tics in his jaw. He adjusts and holds my hands still with one of his as he takes the other one and swipes his wet hair back off his forehead and then wipes some of the dripping water off his face. Since I’m fighting the urge to push up on my tiptoes and lick all that water off his face for him, I decide to shout at him in the middle of the pouring rain instead, jerking my arms out of his hold and taking a few stumbling steps back in the wet grass.
“Listen here, buddy! You can’t just drag me around, and toss me over your shoulder, and smack my ass when you were just up in that clubhouse getting nice and cozy with Lizzy! Did she smell good? Wanna take her on a date, do ya? She sure got the shivers when you whispered sweet nothings in her ear, and you just thought she was so funny, ha ha, look at how funny Lizzy is!”
My voice is screechy, and it hurts my ears, but it doesn’t matter. I’m so fucking tired. I’m tired of being afraid, and I’m tired of analyzing everything, and I’m tired of just not being honest. With myself and with the man a few feet in front of me, standing out on a golf course in the middle of a storm. Keeping everything bottled up never made me any happier anyway.
I should have dated more. Then maybe I’d understand signs and clues and know what the hell I’m doing.
A laugh suddenly barks out of Palmer, and when I blink the rain out of my eyes and stare at him with murder in them, he holds his wet palms up in the air.
“I’m sorry! I don’t mean to laugh, I swear. It’s just… Elizabeth Bradford? She’s kind of… school-marmy, bookish, and shy. Which is great—don’t get me wrong—but not my type.”
Okay, so maybe Lizzy Bradford isn’t a hot porno teacher, and she always wears ankle-length jean skirts even when it’s eight-hundred degrees out. And while she does have big boobs, you really can’t tell, since she always wears oversized shirts, and her thick, frizzy red hair is always in a French braid down the center of her head and hangs down to her ass. And no
w that I think about it, she might actually be a sister wife. Son of a bitch, what is wrong with me?
“Her fiancé was late for dinner, and she felt weird going in and sitting at the table without him, so I was keeping her company. It was loud as hell, even out on the deck, so I had to keep leaning in so she could hear me and so I could hear her, since everything she says is in a whisper. It’s really weird. I honestly don’t think she has a voice box. I left to find you as soon as Bill got here.”
Riiight. Bill Ambers, 9th grade biology teacher. Their engagement party was here at SIG, and I organized it and was invited to it. Well, isn’t this fun?
“Are you… jealous?” He can barely get the word out. There’s a mixture of humor and shock on his face as the rain drips down it, and beads of water are clinging to his dark lashes as he blinks at me in complete confusion. Another boom of thunder echoes all around us, but we ignore it.
Palmer wipes a hand down his face again, looking at me like maybe if he wipes the water off his face enough times, it will wipe away his confusion and make sense of the fact that I was jealous, lost my shit, and came out here in the middle of a storm over a woman who Palmer was just being sweet and considerate to and looks like Anne of Green Gables, though a very lovely young woman. But I’m thinking it wouldn’t matter who it was. The fact that I’m jealous at all speaks volumes; although, it looks like Palmer currently has earplugs in, and I’m clearly not shouting loud enough.
Palmer laughs in confusion again, and although the sound is small over the noise of the storm coming down all around us, it starts something brewing that suddenly feels like someone is shaking the bottle inside me of truths and feelings I’ve kept a lid on around him for all these years, swirling it up and building the pressure.
“Seriously, I’m sorry I keep laughing.” He chuckles again.
Shake, shake…
“I just…. What the fuck, Birdie?”
Shake, shake…
“I didn’t think you…. I backed off, because I thought I freaked you out and I was coming on too strong.”
Shake, shake…
“Oh, believe me, no one’s been coming at all,” I reply sarcastically, licking the rain dripping off my lips as I blink faster so I can see.
And what I see is Palmer’s green eyes get darker, narrower. His hands clench down by his sides, water dripping down his thick, corded arms as he takes a stalking step toward me and then jerks to a stop.
Shake, shake…
“Goddammit, Birdie,” Palmer growls, not even bothering to wipe the rain off his face as he stares me down, that muscle ticking in his jaw again. “Say everything I can see you holding back right now before I jump to all the conclusions that are flying through my fucking head and I—”
Shake, shake…
His words cut off with another loud crack of thunder, and my heart is racing so fast I’m having a hard time taking my next breath and it feels like I’m gasping for air.
“You what?” I manage to get out, my body vibrating I’m clenching it so tightly, trying to hold myself together.
Shake, shake…
“Fucking talk to me!” he roars over the storm. “We used to be best friends, and you used to be able tell me everything!”
Pop!
“You want to know why I dated Bradley for two years?” I scream, thankful for the storm, because I can’t suck it up any longer, and at least the rain hides the tears now pouring down my face. “Because you weren’t here! And I just wanted you, and I was too afraid to tell you, and then you walked away from me so fucking easily, and I couldn’t breathe, and he made me forget for just one second that you didn’t want me!”
“Jesus Christ,” Palmer pants, staring at me in complete shock as I keep going now that I’m on a roll, and I’m already sick of crying and back to being pissed off again.
“And then you did the neck nuzzling and the getting close and the growling in my ear about goddamn sweet things you never delivered on and that I specifically just said no to alcohol for since then, and it’s been nothing but buddy-buddy and ‘hey, sweet cheeks’ ever since, like what in the actual fuck is—”
My tirade is cut off when Palmer’s arm jerks out, his hand wraps around the back of my neck, and he yanks my body forward, dipping his head and crashing his mouth to mine.
CHAPTER 18
Birdie
“The extra length is really helping me get it in the hole.”
My back is slammed against the wall inside the maintenance shed, and I don’t even feel it. I don’t feel anything but Palmer’s lips on mine, Palmers tongue darting through my mouth, Palmer’s strong, wet, hard body anchoring me in place against the wall. My legs are wrapped around his waist with my wet skirt pushed up to my hips, and his hands….
God, his hands are everywhere.
I lost all sense of everything around me as soon as his mouth was against mine as the storm raged down on top of us. Before I could even process the explosion of sensations that shot through every nerve ending in my body at the first feel of his tongue plunging into my mouth and swirling around mine, he was grabbing the backs of my thighs and lifting me up so I could wrap my legs around his waist as he walked us across the grass through the rain, our mouths never separating.
Palmer’s hips jerk between my spread thighs, pushing me up higher against the wall, his hard cock beneath the wet fabric of his shorts sliding right against my throbbing clit, reminding me this isn’t a dream or a fantasy. This is really happening. Palmer is kissing me, his hands are touching me everywhere, he wants me, and I can feel how much, because it’s pressed right up against my center. My lace thong is sopping wet from him and not from the rain, as I shamelessly rub myself against him, needing more, needing him inside me before I explode.
It’s hot and muggy in this small room as we touch and kiss and claw at each other with frantic need, hands moving quickly over wet skin and clothes. Palmer’s mouth leaves mine long enough to hurriedly kiss his way across my wet cheek, his tongue licking and sucking away the rain on the side of my neck, my head thumping back against the wall as I pant and moan with need when he sinks his teeth into my shoulder and pumps his hips once more between my thighs.
The smell of old grass clippings, grease, oil, and gas from the lawn equipment makes everything we’re doing in this room feel dirtier, hotter. We’re in a place where we could be caught at any minute, and God, that makes me clench with need as Palmer brings his mouth back to mine and his tongue plunges deeper into my mouth. He jerks his hips rougher between my thighs and quickly skims the palm of his hand across my collarbone and down the wet tank top material over my breast before continuing down to clutch my thigh, digging his fingers into the fleshy skin like he’s doing everything he can to hold himself back.
It’s dirty and hot, and it’s exactly what I need right now after fifteen years of wanting this man. I don’t want a bed, or flower petals, or sweet, whispered words. After years of pining and needing, I want him to fuck me like he can’t take one more second of not being inside me. After so many years of being confused when it comes to Palmer, the need I have for him is all-consuming, and slow and sweet is not an option anymore. Maybe fifteen years ago it was, but not now. Not with the history between us and years of foreplay. I want to go faster. I need to go faster to fill this ache inside me he’s been building since the day I met him.
Lightning flashes outside and lights up the dim room from the one small window a few feet away from where Palmer has my body pinned to the wall, thunder crashing immediately after, and he moves his hand from my thigh to desperately grip one of my ass cheeks in his big palm, jerking the lower half of my body harder against him. I moan into Palmer’s mouth and around his tongue, clawing frantically at his shoulders and the wet T-shirt molded to his back, my thighs tightening around his waist, needing him closer, harder, rougher. I’ve waited too long and fantasized too much about this moment for him to take his time. Going by how quickly he got us into this building and how goddamn hard he
is rubbing himself between my legs, I know we’re finally on the same page.
Palmer has one hand pressed to the front of my throat, feeling the frantic beat of my pulse under his thumb, his other hand still squeezing into my ass, digging his fingers into the skin to pull my hips roughly against him. He rubs my aching pussy against him harder, his tongue plunging deeper, swirling faster, his kiss bruising my lips and setting me on fire as the storm rages outside and the rain beats against the window.
Not one word has been spoken between us since he cut off my tirade out in the rain. We’re just a frantic mess of desperate kisses, slamming into walls, knocking over shovels and rakes that were propped up next to us, hands clawing at skin, tugging closer, feeling, touching, grabbing roughly as Palmer keeps me pinned against the wall… memorizing the feel of every part of each other we’ve never dared touch before. I hold his face in my hands. I run my fingers through his wet hair, my palms over his wet T-shirt covering his chest and down the thick, tensed muscles of his arms, everywhere I can reach as Palmer drives me closer and closer to an orgasm with our clothes still on.
With his hips anchoring me against the wall and his mouth never leaving mine, Palmer’s big, rough hand squeezes and kneads my ass then quickly skims up the side of my body to graze over my collarbone again before moving both hands down to my chest. Over my wet tank top, he cups and squeezes my breasts, flicking his thumb over my nipples as he moves, his hands never staying in one place long enough, like he can’t touch every inch of me fast enough while we kiss and dry-hump against the shed wall. I feel shattered and put back together again with each swipe of his tongue through my mouth and each skim of his hands across my body.
The rain continues to beat against the roof of the small building, flashes of lightning brightening up the room every so often as every fantasy I’ve ever had about this man comes to life right before my eyes and right between my legs.
I’m dying. I’m alive. I don’t know where he begins and I end, and combined with the stuffy humidity in this small shack and Palmer’s mouth fused to mine as his cock rubs against the lace of my wet thong faster and harder, creating a friction that is hurtling me quickly to an orgasm, I feel like I can’t take enough air into my lungs. I suck in a gasping breath when he tears his mouth from mine.