ginger ale (sugar daddy h)

extra: golf

Mia doesn't care about golf.

Not once in her life has she ever thought it was a fascinating sport. There are some sports, like hockey or baseball, that, at the very least, seem hot, if not a little attractive, but golf isn't one of those.

And of course, Harry loves to golf.

It's nothing against him, really. If she's being honest, in her eyes, golf is a rich man's sport. Since they started seeing each other months ago, Harry has always made it a point to go golfing at least once a week. He has a membership to a country club nearby and either goes by himself, with his friends, or takes business partners there, where they spend the day drinking and hitting balls and whatever else wealthy people do at country clubs.

Mia wouldn't know because she's never gone and, quite frankly, she never wants to go.

She adores Harry. She really, truly does, but being a frequent attender of the country club to play such a silly, boring sport just serves as another class barrier between them. Harry grew up going to golf camp, for crying out loud! Mia spent her summers working at the local ice cream shop, where she got paid $7 an hour to get yelled at by angry parents because she was only allowed to let their kids taste three flavors before they had to buy something.

So when Harry asks if she wants to spend her Saturday golfing with him at the club, she tries to come up with a million excuses as to why she can't. But because he's him, and he has a pretty face and a soothing voice and he threw in the prospect of spoiling her with a massage at the spa after they finished their game, she can't find it in her to say no.

Harry has a business dinner the night before so Mia sleeps at her own place, which she's kind of surprised with, to be honest. (She anticipated him asking her to stay over so she didn't have a chance to get out of it.) Even despite the text he sent her at 11:40 pm to let her know that he got home safely (that's basically 2 am in Harry time), he shows up to her house in his golf clothes at 9 am on the dot, breakfast and coffee in hand.

Mia has to physically drag herself out of bed to let him in, a scowl on her face, even though he went out of his way to go to her favorite bagel shop.

"Morning, grumpy," he greets cheekily, smushing a kiss to her cheek. He doesn't even bother toeing his shoes off like he normally does, instead giving her bum a soft pat when she turns back around, "We have reservations at the club for 10, so you should go get dressed. You can eat in the car."

"Are you sure you want me to go?" Mia asks, and Harry has to ignore the slight hopefulness to her tone, "I've never even played golf before, I don't think I'll be very good—"

"It's not about being good, honey, I just want to spend the day with you. Show you off, y'know?" he leans forward to press a kiss to her temple before ducking down to catch her ear. "Now be good and go get dressed."

He doesn't catch the narrowing of her eyes as she reluctantly heads back to her bedroom, where she grabs the stupid golf outfit he insisted on buying her for this very occasion. She told him she was fine with wearing leggings and a tee-shirt, but he explained to her that there was a certain etiquette that came with golf, which included clothing. (Like Mia said, it's a rich man's sport.) So he bought her a short little skirt and a workout top and, if she's being frank, she's not sure if it's not more for him than it is for the game itself.

She tried it on a few days ago when he brought it over and she batted at his chest when she saw the length of the skirt on her — unlike those trendy workout skorts that had spandex shorts underneath, the pleats of the one Harry purchased barely went down to the tops of her thighs. With a grumble, she said she'd just wear boyshorts to make sure no one "saw the goods."

But now that she's getting dressed for their golf day, she thinks she has a better idea.

...

Mia sucks at golf.

Harry keeps trying to encourage her and help her, but they're on hole 8 of 18, and she's exhausted. It's warm, she's sweaty, and Harry's beating her ass in the game. (What else would you expect from someone who spent their summer vacations playing every day?)

"You got this, baby," he says, giving her waist a small squeeze as they approach hole nine. She rolls her eyes from behind her sunglasses, rolling out her wrist in an effort to get rid of the cramps. "Do you still need me to help you?"

Just as she's about to say yes, she remembers the impulsive decision she made this morning. And she realizes she knows exactly how to get this game to end.

"Actually, I think I can do it," she replies with a smile, jumping out from the golf cart. "Will you just stand behind me and make sure I'm doing it right?"

Harry's pleasantly surprised but nods his head, a zip of enthusiasm firing through his chest. He follows her out and stands with his hands on his hips as she sets herself up, trying to find her stance.

Per Harry's instructions, she leans over just slightly, a small bend in her knees. And that's when he sees it.

She's not wearing anything underneath her skirt.

"Mia," he growls, ambling towards her to cover her from behind, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Um, I think it's called teeing off? That's what you said, anyway—"

"Not that," he mutters, a protective hand squeezing her hip. He glances around them to make sure no one's watching them as his fingers dance down to the hem of her skirt, gently pulling it down. "Why aren't you wearing any underwear, Mia?"

"Ohhhh, that?" she asks, turning in his grasp. "I must've forgotten them. I'm sorry."

She has a look of false innocence on her face, her eyes rounded slightly and her lips pouted as if she was truly making a genuine apology. He's seething — he wants nothing more than to bend her over his knee and issue loud, harsh smacks to her ass, but he thinks she would like that too much.

"You're such a fucking slut." he mumbles angrily, his jaw clenching. He grabs the golf club from her hand and uses his other to yank her back in the direction of the golf cart, a surprised yelp sounding from her mouth. "Are you that much of a brat that you've been walking around with your pussy out all day?"

She shrugs nonchalantly as she climbs into the golf cart. Harry rolls his eyes and shifts the key into the ignition, starting the machine back up.

"Guess you'll just have to take me home, then," Mia replies with a sigh. Harry snorts and shakes his head.

"You fucking wish," he says. She blinks at him. "No, baby. I'm gonna take you into one of those private bathrooms, edge you until you're crying, and then we're gonna finish this game."

Mia's eyes widen, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as he drives over a bump in the road.

"Good thing I brought that nifty little remote control vibrator with me," he continues with a smirk. "Had a feeling you'd be a fuckin' brat today."

Mia doesn't know if she's ever regretted something so much before.