I woke up sticky. My underwear clung to me, the fabric damp and crusted in places; a clear reminder of everything Calvin had done to me last night. Everything he’d made me do. I hadn’t even gotten up to clean. Just collapsed after he turned away, aching and half-hard and buzzing with whatever the hell that had been.

A message from Calvin lit up the screen, timestamped half an hour ago.

Mase-boy...you slept in late, stop dreaming about me, meet me at the country club.

I blinked at it, wiped my face, and groaned.

Of course he was fine. Of course he was chipper and smug and calling me that dumb fucking nickname like he hadn’t spent last night with one massive hand wrapped around my cock and then feeding me my own cum like he owned me.

Those few seconds I’d sucked on his fingers, I couldn’t stop thinking about how it’d feel to suck him instead. How heavy he’d be on my tongue. How deep he’d make me take it.

And then he just rolled over. Told me to sleep. Like I was a problem he could bench until morning.

I pulled myself out of bed and got dressed. Went with the olive henley; it fit snug across my chest and hid the fact that I still hadn’t fully recovered from whatever the hell last night was. I slipped on some jeans, ran a hand through my hair, and headed out.

The country club was exactly what you’d expect... trimmed hedges, old money, early morning sun catching on the dew like some over-designed postcard.

I hopped into a golf cart and drove across the wide green lawn, towards the faint noise of laughter and straight boy competitiveness. The groomsmen were already out there, scattered in loose pairs, smacking golf balls and making jokes too loud for this kind of setting.

And then I saw him. From a distance, Calvin looked like every rich man I used to resent; that tight navy polo clinging to his chest, tucked just enough to hint at the cut of his waist. His forearms flexed as he swung the club lazily, like he didn’t even have to try. Like he’d been born into this. One foot forward. A practiced turn. Smile like a smirk.

I should’ve hated him. But all I could think about was his voice last night, low at my ear.

"You’re so wet"

I gripped the steering wheel tighter and drove toward them. I parked the golf cart beside a huge tree and stepped out, trying to act normal as I walked towards the boys.

“Monroe’s finally here,” Ralph called out, mid-swing, missing the ball entirely.

Jake laughed like he’d been waiting for that moment. “Told you he’d show up hungover.”

Miguel grinned at me from where he was lining up his shot. “Hungover or just trying to avoid cause you suck at playing golf?”

“Neither,” I muttered, grabbing a club like I knew what I was doing.

It didn’t really matter. None of us were here to golf seriously; it was just a groom’s-day-out formality. Guys half-heartedly swinging, sipping spiked Arnold Palmers out of Yeti cups, making dumb bets about who’d land closest to the pin. It was Calvin’s idea. Of course it was.

He didn’t say much at first. Just a nod when I got close, a smirk tugging at his lip. We played through two holes... enough time for him to show off, for Ralph to somehow lose a ball into a bush, and for Jake to give up entirely and stretch out on the grass like a drunk model.

Calvin pulled out his phone, faked a frown, then looked up like he’d just remembered something urgent. “Shit..wedding planner just texted. Some issue with the seating chart. We’ve gotta call her.”

He glanced at me. “Need your help, Masey-boy.”

Before I could say anything, he added, loud enough for the others to hear,
“We’re gonna find a quiet spot. No reception out here.”

None of the guys cared. Jake was still sprawled on the grass like he was sunbathing. Ralph and Miguel were mid-swing, laughing about something that didn’t require my input. They barely looked up.

So I followed him. Down the slope, past the edge of the green, toward the golfcart I’d parked earlier under a huge tree. It was shaded, out of sight, a little pocket of silence in the middle of all this groomed perfection. I stopped by the tree and leaned back against it, arms crossing in front of me. The bark pressed into my shoulder blades. Calvin stood in front of me, close enough that I could see the sharp contrast between his navy polo and his tan skin, the light catching on the curve of his jaw.

I shifted my weight, eyes narrowing. “Alright. What’s she saying? The wedding planner?”

He pulled his phone out like he was checking something, then immediately locked it again without looking. “She’s not saying anything,” he said casually. “Made it up.”

My head tilted. “Seriously?”

He shrugged, smiling a little. “Wanted to get you alone" Calvin stepped in closer. His right hand lifted and planted on the tree beside my head, the thick tattooed forearm bracketing me in. I could smell him; sun, sweat, whatever expensive cologne he used so sparingly it just blended into him.

“Last night,” he said, voice low now, meant just for me, “you liked suck-ing on my fingers, didn’t you, boy?”

My breath caught.

His left hand came up slow, deliberate, and the pad of his thumb pressed gently against my mouth. My lips parted automatically. No thought involved. Just heat.

“There you go,” he murmured, watching my mouth. “Suck it.”

I did. Let my tongue swirl around the pad of his thumb, let my lips seal around it like it was something else entirely. My eyes stayed locked on his, and in my head, it wasn’t his thumb anymore. It was his cock. Thick. Heavy. Slipping past my lips as I moaned and sucked like I had something to prove.

Calvin tilted his head slightly, his smirk sharpening.

“You wish that was my dick, didn’t you?” he said, voice low and filthy. “You want it in your mouth so bad, you're making do with my thumb.”

I stared up at him, lips wet, jaw open, breathing hard. Didn’t say a word. That’s when he grabbed my face; one hand rough on my jaw, thumb still wet and shoved his mouth onto mine. He kissed like he owned me. Tongue deep from the start, lips crashing into mine, teeth dragging. My head hit bark. I moaned. He didn’t slow down.

He pressed in harder, his body grinding against mine, thigh between my legs, thick and solid. I clutched at his shirt, dizzy from how fast it happened. How fucking filthy it was.

He pulled back just a little, lips wet, breathing hard.

I leaned in without thinking, chasing the kiss, desperate for more. My hips shifted against him, needy. His fingers slid across my bottom lip, slow and taunting. “Look at you, boy,” he murmured. “So fucking desperate to taste me.”

I sucked in a breath, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb pressed back into my mouth. I took it greedily, lips closing around it, tongue swirling like it was the only thing I needed.

He smirked, watching me. “Didn’t get enough last night, huh?”

I moaned around his thumb.

“Yeah,” he said, pushing it deeper. “That’s what I thought.”

Calvin's phone buzzed. He ignored it at first; kept watching me suck his thumb, breath shallow then finally pulled it out, thumbed the screen. “Jake,” he muttered.

He showed me the text.

where the fuck are you guys? we took the second golfcart. heading back to the estate.

We both looked up. The cart was already halfway down the hill, the guys hooting, tossing cans in the back, totally unaware.

Calvin slipped the phone into his pocket and turned back to me, slow and deliberate.

His eyes dragged over my mouth. “Now that we’re alone,” he said, voice rough, “you gonna show me what that pretty mouth does?”

Now that we were alone, no groomsmen nearby, no teasing voices echoing across the green; I could finally hear how hard I was breathing. The tree gave us shade, the slope of the hill gave us privacy.

The cart sat idling in the shade beside the tree, and Calvin had this look on his face again.

That look like he was about to ruin me.

He walked backward, casual as ever, and dropped into the driver’s seat. Legs spread wide, tattoos stretched across his forearms, the navy blue polo clinging to his chest in a way that made me stupidly addicted to him. He looked at me like he was already winning something.

I stayed standing for a second, trying to act like my knees weren’t weak.

Then I climbed in next to him, glancing left and right instinctively before settling beside him.

Calvin didn’t even try to hide his grin. “Masey-boy,” he said, slow and taunting, “stop looking around and suck my cock.”

I blinked. “Uh—Calvin—”

“Don’t give me that.” His arm stretched behind me on the seat, eyes narrowing like he had me pinned already. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been looking at me like you wanna rip my fucking clothes off and swallow my cock whole.”

I scoffed. “Sure. That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about during a wholesome golf morning with the boys.”

He smirked, jaw flexing. “If you wanna pretend, Monroe, I can drive this cart right back and we can keep pretending none of this happened.”

My throat tightened.

“But I can already tell what’s real. You haven’t looked at my face since I said cock.” He leaned closer. “Your eyes are locked on my crotch.”

I wasn’t even thinking about it. He was right; I hadn’t once looked up. My gaze was stuck on the way those tight white pants hugged his thighs, the faint imprint of him heavy and thick beneath the zipper.

I swallowed.

My hand grazed the top of his thigh, fingers brushing the firm muscle underneath.

“There you go, Monroe,” he muttered, breath already hitching. “Go ahead.” He spread his legs a little wider. Then reached down, and unzipped his pants.

I shifted awkwardly, trying to get down onto the floor of the cart; if you could even call it a floor. There was barely any space between the pedals and the seat. My knees bumped into metal and my shoulder hit the steering wheel.

But oh well.
I didn’t fucking care about comfort. I was about to see Calvin Hale’s cock. After years of imagining it; jerking off to mental snapshots of him coming out of the shower, bulging through his towel, changing in front of me like I was invisible; I was finally here.

And I hesitated.

“Nathan cannot know about this,” I muttered, eyes flicking up to meet his for just a second.

Calvin barked a laugh. “Masey. I ain’t fuckin’ telling Nathan that his little brother has his mouth full of my cock.”

He shoved his pants and black boxer-briefs down in one smooth motion.

Fuck.

His cock sprang out, thick and hard and fucking perfect. Eight inches easy, long and flushed and heavy, a trimmed dark bush at the base that made the cock stand out even more. Veins tracked down the sides like he’d just come out of a workout. His tip was thick and cut, slightly curved up, already glistening at the crown. And he knew exactly what he was doing.

He leaned back against the cart seat, arms stretched along the back, legs spread even wider; bare muscular thighs tense and tan. His cock sat up proudly between his legs, twitching slightly, pointing right at me.

His eyes flicked down to mine. “Come on then boy,” he murmured. “Show me how bad you’ve been wanting it.”

I leaned in, licking my lips, heart hammering as I looked up at him.

Then I stuck my tongue out.

Smack.

He slapped his cock against it. Once. Twice.

“Fuck, boy,” Calvin growled, watching the strings of saliva stretch between his shaft and my mouth. “That mouth looks hungry.”

I didn’t wait.

I wrapped my lips around the tip, felt the weight of him press against my tongue. I swirled it once, twice, teasing the underside before pushing deeper. My left hand gripped his thigh, feeling the tension there. My right hand clung to the edge of the golf cart for balance as I took more of him in.

“Masey-boy,” he groaned, hips twitching forward, “I knew you were a fucking cock-sucker. No warm-up? Straight in?”

His voice was dark with pride. With ownership.

His hand moved. Raked through my hair. Then gripped it.

Tight.

He tilted my head up to look at him; his eyes locked onto mine, cock still pressing at my lips. “You’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you, boy?”

Before I could even nod, he shoved my face back down on his cock.

Gawk—gawk—gawk.

I moaned around him, the sound vibrating through his cock, and hummed a soft, breathless yes.

He groaned. “That’s it. Take it. Show the best man what your pretty mouth’s for.”

His grip in my hair tightened as he angled my face just right; then shoved his hips forward.

Gawk.

Gawk.

Gawk.

I choked, throat tight, spit spilling from the corners of my mouth. I was still on my knees; half-squatted, really, crammed awkwardly into the narrow space between his legs on the golf cart but I didn’t care. Not when Calvin Hale’s cock was down my throat.

“There you fucking go,” he growled, voice ragged, watching every messy inch disappear between my lips.

My tongue licked at the base when I could, tasting sweat and skin and the faint tang of cologne. My hands were useless now both gripping his thighs for balance as he rocked into my mouth again, again, again.

Wet sounds filled the air. Gawk. Gawk. Gawk. Spit dripped down my chin. Strings of it hung from my lips to his cock as he pulled back, only to stuff himself back down my throat seconds later.

He hissed, “That’s it, Masey-boy. Make a fucking mess.

I moaned around him.

He throbbed against my tongue.

“Shit,” he groaned, head tilting back, jaw clenched. “You always wanted it rough, huh? Could’ve just asked me, boy. Would’ve facefucked you stupid years ago.”

He yanked my hair again, forcing my face flush to his base, burying every inch. I gagged around him, throat stretching, but I held it...held him and looked up, eyes wide, spit smeared across my chin. His cock flexed hard in my throat.

“Fuck...keep lookin’ at me like that with those pretty eyes, and I’m gonna bust,” he growled, hips twitching, voice breaking. “Shit—shit, Masey—”

He slammed in once more and groaned deep, loud, guttural.

He came with his cock still deep in my mouth. Hot pulses of it flooded my throat; thick, bitter, endless like a stream of river. My eyes squeezed shut as I swallowed instinctively, gripping his thighs tight, letting him stay buried until the last twitch. My nose was pressed to the soft hair at the base, and still he held me there, groaning through his teeth as he emptied every drop of his cum inside my throat.

Finally, he loosened his grip, and I pulled back with a messy gasp, strands of spit and cum still clinging to my lips.

Calvin looked down at me, sweat-damp and smug, his cock still twitching as it slipped free from my lips. “There you go, boy,” he panted, chest rising. “You can wash that down with some wine at lunch."

I was still kneeling, spit and cum dripping from my chin, trying to catch my breath when he shifted his hips. His softening cock hung heavy as he reached down and ran two fingers through the wet mess at the base; wet with spit and thick with the last of his cum, glistening in the sunlight on the mat of dark pubes.

He brought his fingers to my mouth, coating them slow. “You know what to do.”

I didn’t hesitate. I opened up and sucked them in deep, tongue swirling, eyes locked on his. His jaw flexed. “That’s my fuckin’ good boy,” he muttered. “Told you last night; next time you suck on these fingers, it’d be my load..”

He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, tucked himself back into those tight black trunks and his white pants, and buttoned up like he didn’t just fuck my throat on a golf cart parked under a tree.

I sat there for a second, catching my breath, spit on my chin, throat sore in the best way. Then I wiped my mouth and let out a dry laugh. “Holy fuck,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “My hair’s a fucking mess.”

Calvin reached out, casually smoothing it down with the same fingers I’d just sucked clean. “Yeah,” he said, smirking. “Wonder why.”

“C’mon, Masey,” he said, stepping down from the cart, voice low and amused. “Time to clean up and pretend we’re civil.”