Page 53 of Wood

I don’t answer right away. Geoff, further down the table, goes still in the specific way he does when he’s listening without wanting to look like he’s listening.

“Yeah,” I finally say. “More than I’ve ever been anywhere. By a lot.” I look at Geoff’s battered face and swallow. “He means the world to me.”

That quiets the table for a second, in a good way, the kind of quiet where nobody’s reaching for the next joke.

“Well,” Douglas says eventually, raising his glass like he’s decided this is the moment for it, “here’s to nobody having to find that out again this week.”

We all drink to it. Duncan finally looks up from the bread to add, dryly, “And to Fiona’s professional opinion on eyebrows.”

“It is professional,” Fiona says and the table breaks apart laughing and for a minute it’s just five people and a bottle of wine and nobody outside the door knowing or caring who any of us are.

Sunday. We start the round in the afternoon. I’m currently tied for fifth. I just need to hold steady to finish it out today.

Geoff has erected that force field again. My focus is sharper than it’s ever been. The second day of planning, walking slowly with my battered man, refined our strategy. Today, we can take the bold moves that have been working for me for the past three days, to his irritation.

He’s moving easier, and the bruising is moving to green. He’s used the makeup to cover the worst of it. We’ve declined to answer any questions about his injuries. “No comment.” “Geoff is fine.” “We aren’t taking those questions. Next?” Let people guess and don’t give the thugs any satisfaction of acknowledgment.

As I walk off the eighteenth hole at a full twelve under par, I know I’m in the top five again. After I confirm my scorecard, we wait for the last two groups to finish to see the final placement.

Scott Whitaker and Sean Galloway come off the green next, and my name does not move. Tied for fifth. The last two golfers walk down the fairway. Chris Maclroy and Matt Scheffler nail their putts, and it’s final. Tied for fifth. Top Five, again. A quick, gentle hug from Geoff, nothing more than a caddie and a golfer, handshakes from a few surrounding fans.

“Way to show the fuckin’ bastards!” Fiona screeches from the gallery, and I blow her a kiss.

I head to the final gauntlet of required things, and Geoff walks with me. I am not letting him walk alone anymore. I don’t want him out of my sight.

Tonight we are ordering dinner in and I want to relax with the man I love. I think he’s healed enough. I need him.

34

BEN

His body is warm and strong under mine. I nibble on his pecs, sucking a nipple in to feel him squirm under me. I bite ever so gently, and he jumps.

“Shit,” he gasps, “that goes straight to my cock.”

Said cock is hot and hard against my stomach, slicking us with his pre-cum. I wrap a hand around his shaft and he groans.

“Fuck, Ben, don’t make me cum yet.”

I snicker against his skin, sucking the other nipple into my mouth, flicking with my tongue before sliding down his body, kissing down the green bruises until I can wrap my lips around his cock. He gives a strangled groan as his hips punch up.

“Agh,” he moans. “So good, fuck.”

I release him with a pop, then lick his shaft like an ice cream, slurping at the pre-cum bubbling from the tip.

“I want you to fuck me, Geoff,” I rumble as I lick, holding his long cock to point straight up. “I want this cock inside me.”

He looks down at me in surprise, then replies, “Ok? Uh, fingers first?”

“Yeah,” I say, rolling off him and grabbing the lube, slicking up his fingers. “I’ll need three before I can take you. I haven’t bottomed in years.” I roll onto my back and lift my legs, tucking a pillow under my ass.

He hesitates, then gets on his knees between my thighs, wrapping a hand around my cock. I grunt.

“Touch me,” I groan, then inhale sharply as his finger trails over my hole. “Mmmm, yeah, like that,” I moan as my hole shivers under his finger. A couple of circling touches and I relax.

“Go in,” I tell him, and ahhhhh, yeah, his finger breaches my entry. I bear down and grunt, “more, deeper.” He slides his big finger inside me. “Fuuuuck, that’s good. Yeah, stroke up, find my prostate.” He turns his hand and curls.

“God, Ben, you’re so hot inside,” he moans.