The sky is the bluest it's been in months, and I hear birds singing from the trees surrounding the private course. My clubs have been unused for far too long, and I cannot wait to feel the grass beneath my feet. Spying my grandparents talking to a young man who I assume is the club's pro, I make my way in their direction, eager to get onto the green. The giddy skip in my step is undeniably partly due to the excitement of playing the game again, but mostly because I've not seen my jetsetter grandparents since Christmas.
"Grammy! Gramps!" I call, my hand waving as they turn towards me. Wrapping my grandmother in a hug, I put out my hand for a high five with my grandfather. Gleefully, he obliges.
"So glad you could join us!" Grammy whoops. "Let me look at you." Taking my hands, she steps back to survey me in that way that must be a full chapter in the Grandparent Training Manual. "Looking sexy as hell," she laughs, her greeting likely not in that same manual. "Twirl for us." She makes that motion with her finger, and I oblige.
As I spin around, my skort not moving in any way that would make a twirl necessary, my grandfather applauds as if I were a five year old at her first ballet recital.
"Two of the biggest dorks I know," I giggle. "I'm so happy to see you!" Excitedly, I pull them in for a group hug, wondering why the golf pro hasn't excused himself yet. So when I step back, I pointedly look in his direction.
And promptly freeze.
Fuck. Nope. Not the golf pro. Nor the course manager. Not anyone who works at the place.
"Hi. I'm Harry." He leans forward to shake my hand, his left leg raising behind him as a counterbalance to his inclining body. "You must be Birdy."
Horrified, I grasp his warm hand, my eyes roaming over his face with that stupid hair clip firmly holding back his bangs and his green eyes examining me, a smile on his face as his dimple deepens. Flustered, I don't give him my birth name. "A nickname, of course," I remark inanely.
"I'm just hoping it doesn't bode ill for my game today." His gray pants are matched with a dark blue pullover sweater, a white turtleneck underneath.
How my mouth continues to work is beyond me, but I throw my head back and laugh loudly. Probably too loudly as I'm feeling a mixture of terror and arousal, and the laughter is decidedly nervous. "I've never been a threat to anyone on the golf course," I comment.
"With grandparents as young as yours, I expected someone younger." Harry thinks he's being coy, but my grandmother responds honestly.
"We're ancient, Harry, and our Birdie is 31 now. And not getting any younger." Pointedly, she looks at me as though I had offended her in some way.
"We're up," Gramps points, and we haul our clubs to the first tee.
"What's your handicap?" Harry asks as Gramps swings a few times for practice.
"23," I announce proudly, on the low end of average. "You?"
"14," he brags, adding a wink for good measure, an indication that he is aware of his boast. Not that I can complain since I've also gloated about my below-average number. He's too handsome and charming for my comfort, and I engage my attention on my clubs, polishing my driver before withdrawing it from my bag.
Amiable enough, Harry diverts his focus onto my grandmother, and I'm grateful for the respite to catch my breath.
"You must go first, Vivienne."
I want to interrupt and tell him we always go with the oldest first, which is my gramps, but my grandmother has already fallen for Harry's charm, and she giggles like a schoolgirl as she makes her way to the tee.
After my grandfather and I have each teed off, Harry prepares for his turn. In those tight golf trousers, his arse is as well defined as the ostentatious naked statue in the fountain at the entrance to the golf club. I find myself unable to stop staring as he bends down to place his tee, and his form when he swings is a thing of beauty. No wonder he has a low handicap. Why couldn't he be a failure at just one thing in his life? And why couldn't it be golf?
Noting where his ball lands, Harry removes his sunnies from the vee of his sweater and slides them over his eyes, shielding his expression. With a nod at the three of us, he twists his body, ready to move on.
"Shall we?" Gramps gestures, and I hoist my clubs onto my shoulder again, setting off behind the elderly couple who head for a single golf cart. "Sorry, Birdy." He casually throws over his shoulder as we approach the small vehicle. "We got the last cart. You and Harry will have to walk. But don't worry. Your grandmother and I will do our best not to burn rubber."
If I didn't know better, I'd wonder if my grandparents were trying to play matchmakers. But they wouldn't have any idea who Harry is. Although maybe it doesn't matter to them. Perhaps my grandparents just want to pair me up with any Tom, Dick, or ....Harry.
"Mhm. See that you don't get a speeding ticket, Gramps!" I yell as they take off, leaving Harry and I trailing behind.
"You seem like a chip off the old block," Harry jokes as we hike towards the hole. "Get it? Cause a chip is a golf shot."
"Oh, I understood the joke, but it was bad," I groan. "No ifs, ands, or putts about it."
His eyes widen. "I see. It's like that, is it?"
We both giggle, and when he shoves my shoulder at my next golf pun, I wonder if he's flirting with me. As if Harry Styles needed to flirt with anyone.
It's on the fourth fairway that my Gramps gets involved with a joke of his own. "Hey, Harry?"
"Yes, sir?" The polite reply comes as I'm replacing my divot.
"Why do the golf pros tell you to keep your head down during golf lessons?"
"I don't know, Rufus." Harry withdraws his 3-wood and addresses the ball, shaking his hips in such a way that if my grandparents weren't around, I'd probably faint. "Why?"
"So you can't see them laughing." Gramps guffaws, and Harry shakes his head, the corners of his mouth tilted up as he takes a deep breath and launches his ball closer to the green.
My grandparents always make me laugh, but today they seem in finer form than usual, as they joke with Harry, my grandmother clearly vamping. Before today, I've never wondered if my grandfather was anything other than straight, but the way he touches Harry at every opportunity makes the wheels in my head churn.
On the 8th hole, Grammy takes a mulligan after her ball sails into the water hazard, just short of making it across. She sighs, pulling another ball from her bag and muttering goodnaturedly to Harry. "Golf balls are just like eggs. They're white, round, and you need another dozen every week."
Harry slaps his knee as he giggles at her pathetic joke. I can almost convince myself that he's having the time of his life playing golf with these 78-year-olds. He gives every appearance of enjoying the late afternoon game. No wonder no one has anything unkind to say about him. Well, no one he's met anyway.
As we walk to the 9th hole, I decide to dive in and bravely ask the question that's been on my mind for the last two and a half hours. "Why did you join us today?"
Startled, he twists his head to look at me. "You had three. I was a late single player. The pro added me to your party. Simple."
"Okay." I draw the word out, wondering if I should ask the follow-up question, and when he continues glancing at me curiously, I go for it. "But why do you have a free day today? And why didn't you bring someone with you?"
He turns his head away from me, but I still see that left dimple deepen as he shrugs. "I decided on a whim that I wanted to golf in this perfect weather, and my manager was busy preparing for tomorrow night's show." Turning around, he walks backwards so he can face me. "But I never thought I'd meet such a fun –" his eyes never leave mine, "and sexy companion."
I can feel the red creeping up from my toes through my body to flush my face. How does he do it? Flirting so openly without being gross? If anyone else had delivered that line, I would have gagged. Instead, I pretend that his comment has had no effect on me – like I'm not going to need dry panties before dinner with my grandparents.
"Harry!" My grandfather yells from where he and my grammy have stopped at my ball. "You better watch where you're going! Sometimes people don't replace their divots."
The musician nods to me courteously as though he hadn't just made my heart flutter. Turning to face forward, he continues on the pathway where we finish the 9th hole.
"Birdie," Grammy stoutly announces to me as she climbs back into the cart. "Your grandfather and I are tired. We're going to head to the clubhouse and have a drink, but you and Harry should play the back nine." With that, my grandparents wave to us as their cart drives off towards the start.
Oh.
Well.
That was unexpected.
This is unexpected.
Harry has put his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. "Well?" He watches me carefully, and I know the decision to continue is mine.
"I doubt I'll get to play with someone like you again, so we might as well continue."
"Someone like me? A celebrity?" Seeming genuinely confused, he removes his sunnies and scratches his head near that damn hair clip.
"A duffer," I tease.
"If that's the case, it's because your beauty has distracted me from my game today." His eyes twinkle when he makes the comment, and that's the moment I know the flirting is on in earnest.
When we reach the 12th green, I can't stand being so close to him without letting him know I am up for more. As he squares up for his putt, but before he pulls the club back to take the shot, I whisper loud enough for his ears only, "If you miss this putt, I'll let you kiss me." He doesn't hesitate, taking the shot that rolls right at my feet where I'm holding the flag. And yet somehow the ball doesn't go in.
"Does that deal count if I accidentally missed?"
Biting my lip, I tilt my head and observe him. "Hmmm...I'm not sure. It's kind of offensive that you wouldn't want to miss it on purpose. I mean, here I am, perfectly kissable. I'm going to say no. It doesn't count."
Stalking towards me, he picks up his golf ball and tosses it to the edge of the green. "How about now?" His voice is a growl, and he's standing close enough for me to feel the heat emanating from his body.
Fuck. He's so hot. Beyond sexy.
I glance around the course quickly to see if anyone is nearby. Spotting no one, I tilt my head up to him. Harry grabs my chin with two fingers, staring into my eyes before he brushes his lips over mine. The moan that emits from my throat is heartfelt and demands more from him, but he steps back, his hand dropping to his side.
Hooded eyes rake over me, and he smirks. "You've never met a golfer with a more delicate stroke than me."
"Promises, promises," I tut, holding out the flag for him to take so I can putt.
A few holes later, and all pretense has dropped as Harry rests his hands on my hips while I'm lining up my shot. "Are you sure you know how to hold a shaft correctly?" His voice in my ear is so gravelly that I want to drop onto my knees right there on the fairway and show him exactly how skilled I am at handling a shaft.
"Be careful there, Harry," I murmur, "You're like a water hazard. You've got me soaking wet."
"Fuck." Stepping back from me, he shakes his head. "How many holes?"
"Three," I comment, and my eyes bat of their own accord, I swear!
"Jesus!" He runs his hand over his face. "You're like a fairway: short, well-groomed, and a pleasure to hit on."
"Are you saying you'd like to improve our stroke game together?"
"I'm saying that I'm not going to make it back to the clubhouse at this rate."
"Well..." I approach him, again searching the nearby greens for golfers, "...my golf coach says I have a firm grip. Do you want to see if it's true?"
"Birdy..." His voice is strangled as I ease my hand over the front of his trousers, feeling his length where it's tucked safely high and to the left. The air exits his lungs at a faster velocity than a golf swing. "Get your clubs," he commands, roughly replacing the putter he'd withdrawn and grabbing my hand.
Yanking me behind him, Harry leads the way towards the parking lot where he uses an electronic key to open the vehicle and throw in his clubs before grabbing my golf bag and more gently placing it on top of his so that the two golf bags look to be spooning.
"Get in," he insists, and I don't hesitate to scurry to the passenger side.
"Where are we going?" I ask, my hands in my lap after I've buckled the seatbelt. The quivering in the lower part of my body will only be appeased in one way.
"Shit. I've no idea," he sighs, not putting the car in drive. "My hotel is too far."
"Switch places with me," I suggest, knowing exactly where we can go.
With a single nod, the two of us climb from the vehicle and pass each other silently and aggressively on our way to opposite sides. Buckled in, I back the car from the lot and drive the two miles to my grandparents' house.
"I cannot believe I'm doing this," I state. "Open the garage before the neighbors spot us." I share the code, and Harry follows my directions. Without drawing too much attention, we've sequestered ourselves in the garage, with Harry waiting impatiently for me to get out of the car.
The moment I step from the driver's side onto the pavement of my grandparents' garage, Harry approaches me, his hands cupping my face as he devours my lips. I do not hesitate, opening to him as my fingers fumble for the bottom of that fucking blue sweater I've been jealous of all afternoon because it gets to hug his curves. As I draw the sweater up, he releases my face to raise his arms over his head, and I don't hesitate, repeating the gesture with his white turtleneck.
As soon as his skin is free from the clothing, his mouth crashes back onto mine as his long lush fingers make short work of my white polo. He's backed me almost to the stairs that lead to the house, and he wraps an arm around my nearly naked back just as I'm about to topple over onto them.
"Where?" His breath is scented with the mint from his gum, and I feel the waft of it across my cheek.
My brain scrambles. My grandparents' house. Quickly I discard the master bedroom and the sofa in the living room. Grasping his hand, I haul us both to the only room that makes sense. Stopping to frantically kiss this amazing man, I reach behind me to unhook my bra, his fingers brushing over my boobs as soon as they are bare.
When I open the door to our destination, Harry pauses, his eyes widening as he takes in the golf trophies, photos of my grandparents with famous golfers on the paneled walls, and the putting green. Shaking his head, he laughs, and the crinkles at his eyes make my panties even wetter.
"I like my men like a sand trap: dirty, challenging, and unpredictable." Although I've attempted to make the joke with a straight face, I fail miserably as I dissolve into giggles.
With a face palm, Harry laughs too, glancing at the putting green. "No way am I fucking on that fake turf. One of us would end up with scraped knees, and I don't know if I would prefer it be you or me."
"No question there," I purr as I drop to my knees in front of him and reach for the button and zipper on his trousers. "I've been drooling for this shaft all afternoon."
"Well, I am known for my lengthy club." The smirk on his face drops away as I free his cock and give it a few strokes before sliding my lips over the end and applying light pressure. Pushing his pants and underpants down his thighs, I reach for his balls. "Oh, fuck," he sucks in air. "I had planned to wash my balls after the game today, but you're welcome to....ahhhhhh." The way the sound escapes his mouth when I do as he suggests and lave his balls with my tongue has me hotter than a July game at a Miami course.
Returning to his cock, I slide his length as far as my throat will allow, practically unhinging my jaw as I take him in. Closing my lips, I use suction until he grabs my head, pulling my hair to remove me from my current activity.
When I look up at him, I can see the scar under his chin as he's staring at the ceiling. He takes a deep breath, and I cannot resist scraping my teeth lightly to see his reaction. It's instant, as his jaw drops and his eyes connect with mine. Just as I get to the end of his cock again, I make a humming sound, knowing he can feel the vibration on this sensitive body part.
"Birdy..." he gasps. "I need..."
Releasing him with a popping sound, I sit back on my knees and grin, rather proud of my ability to reduce this cheeky flirt to two-word sentences.
"What?" I demand.
"I need to feel your fringe. Taste it even."
Closing my eyes, I shake my head as though I'm disappointed with his golf pun, but it honestly gives a zing to my private parts.
"Fair enough," I comment, using my current location to remove his shoes and the rest of his clothing so that he stands before me, naked but for his socks.
"Shouldn't that be 'fairway' enough?" He giggles, his shaft pointing straight at me.
I groan. "Oh, man. If I weren't so hot for you, your bad jokes might just turn me off."
"Good," he smiles, and the dimple deepens until I'm confident I could fit a thousand golf balls, each with their own 381 dimples, inside it. That many dimples all in the same space would be overwhelming. "Now let's put my wood in your golf bag, shall we?" He holds his hand down to me, and I grasp it so that he can pull me upwards, our tongues tangling like a dust devil.
Fingers fumbling with the buttons on my skort, Harry moves his lips to my neck. "Why 'Birdy'?"
"Seriously?" I scoff. "You want to talk about my nickname now?"
His luxurious fingers shove my panties and my skort down to my ankles, ignoring my shoes completely as he encourages me to kick off the offending clothing. "Yes please."
Nude, I plant my hands on my hips, glaring at him from where he's squatting on the floor after removing my outfit. "My grandfather scored a birdie every time he took me out with him on the golf course when I was a baby."
"Oh," he pouts.
"Not as sexy as you thought it might be?"
"As a story, you really should work on it."
"I promise I'll spice up the story with the next single that joins our foursome," I simper. A look crosses his face that could be construed as jealousy if one were so inclined. Which I'm not. Because he's just an afternoon fuck.
As I start to step past him to the leather sofa, he grabs my thighs and buries his face in my crotch, sniffing deeply. Flabbergasted, I pause, my balance off.
"Widen your stance," Harry demands, and when I follow his direction, he uses both hands to part the petals at my entrance. Just before his tongue dives in, he blows a puff of air, and I shiver at the sexiness of the move.
"Fuck, Harry," I grab for his shoulder so I don't sink to the floor. Between his tongue and his teeth, I nearly tip over the abyss, but when he uses both hands, inserting one finger in each of my body's lower entrances, I come, screaming his name as I yank his hair, accidentally dislodging that damn hair clip which skitters across the wood floor. My orgasm continues as Harry rises, one finger still teasing my clit.
"You were right," he whispers to me as I gaze at his glistening face, "three holes left. Now taken care of." Capturing my lips, he delves inside my mouth, his tongue and finger below taking turns, setting a rhythm that would do well in one of his songs.
Fuck. I'm weak.
When my body stops shivering, I use both hands to shove him onto the sofa where he lands with both feet out and his driver in the air.
"Birth control?" he asks.
"Taken care of," I grin. "IUD. But if you want double protection or you don't trust me..." I gesture towards the rest of the house, trying to figure out where a condom might be hidden in my grandparents' house.
"I trust you. No one with that nickname and those grandparents could lie about something like that."
With a grin, I concede his point. Besides, my grandparents would flip their lids if I got pregnant without a commitment.
Slowly, as if I'm lining up a putt, I slide onto him.
"Mmmmm...that's a hole to be respected," Harry murmurs as I descend, and I would laugh if not for the fact that I'm gearing up for my second orgasm.
"Are you up for some stroke play?" I query as I settle completely on him, my insides stretched but happy.
"Stroke that stroke, babe."
With the steady beat of that Billie Squier oldie in my head, I follow his instructions, lifting myself off his shaft before plunging back down as hard as I can. Just when I'm getting closer, panting as I look to the skies, Harry taps my butt cheek. "Turn around here, love."
Settling on the sofa with my rear in the air, I am startled when Harry's finger circles my asshole, and I wonder if I'm in for a different experience than I had originally expected. He's too big for my back door without a lot of preparation, and it's clear he knows it as he settles on wedging a finger there while his cock invades my vagina. Between his cock and his inserted finger, I'm so close to exploding that I slam my body backwards into his until he finally removes the finger, grabs my hips, and pounds into me.
"Drive into me, Harry!" I scream, recognizing the golf pun after it's already left my mouth. Biting my lip, I reach in front and play with my clit just as Harry shoots his load into me, and I writhe with my second orgasm, his name on my lips as he falls onto my back.
Seconds, minutes, decades later, Harry disengages from me.
"That was pleasant," he smiles, and I wonder if this is it. He'll leave me here, his cum dripping from me onto the furniture in my granddad's golf room. "We should probably get dressed and get back to the course. Otherwise, they'll send out a search party. If we get back quickly, they'll think we just took our time on the 18th."
Agreeably, I laugh. "I can see it now." Imitating my grandma, "'But our baby girl is out there with a handsome stranger! They must be exhausted after 18 holes!'"
Together, we dissolve into giggles at the innuendo as we sort through the discarded clothing and dress ourselves, making our way back to the garage as we locate our shirts.
"You better drive us back. I'm likely to get lost in your tall bush."
"Oh, please," I roll my eyes. "My grass is perfectly trimmed for the game."
"Mhm," he smirks, "Who's your caddy?"
We pull into the parking lot, laughing at our ridiculous puns. Removing our golf bags from the trunk, we make our way into the clubhouse where we quickly locate and join my grandparents.
"How were the last few holes?" Gramps asks.
"Pretty good," Harry grins, glancing over at me. "I got both a Birdy and a hole in one."
I want to laugh at his comment, but any suggestion that we did anything other than play golf would get me in trouble, so I simply smile, nod, and announce, "It was quite the round. The best I've had in a long time, by par."
When everyone at the table howls with mirth, I feel Harry's hand on my knee as my grandfather speaks up with, "Harry? I think you might be missing a number on your scorecard." When he winks and gestures towards me, I groan, but my latest lover takes advantage of the moment, holding out his scorecard to me.
"If you wouldn't mind...I might need another hole in one the next time I come to town."