Our next kiss became a shared groan at that thought, before he nodded. “All right, that’ll have to do. Go for it.”
“Yes, sir,” I murmured, and go for it we did. I thrust hard and kissed harder, and gripping his hair, forced up his chin to lightly suck the sensitive skin beneath. I wanted everything and gave him it all, and with a loud, wild cry, he called out my name as he came, his release shuddering all the way through him.
Even biting the inside of my cheek couldn’t have stopped me longer and I crushed my lips to his to keep from moaning hisname in return, lest the possessive desire that filled me pour out in its wake –I want you, I want you, you’re mine. I kissed him through it, and through the lingering quivers of our bodies, the aftermath feeling raw and momentous in a way it shouldn’t have.
Desperate to escape the feeling and lighten the moment, I said, “And to think you worked so hard to clean yourself up in that terrible shower, only for me to make a mess of you again.”
I pulled out, and Miles let out a final little moan steeped in regret as we parted. “You say that like I mind,” he said, touching two fingers to where cum was now leaking out of him, the sight always desperately hot especially because it was mine. “Besides, I like showers, even if this one sucks.”
“You can use ours if you like.”
He shook his head, a little bemused. “I’m good. You need your own shower. Got to look good for those cameras tomorrow.”
“God, don’t remind me,” I said, glad to talk about something as safe as tennis, even if it was about my upcoming match. “Centre court! Too bad it’s not a late match, I could have borrowed your slutty eveningwear.”
“Idiot.” He grinned and pushed my shoulder with his foot. “Go on. You should go.”
“Oh, had enough of me already?”
I’d spoken lightly, but Miles gripped my arm before I could rise. “Hey, no. Never,” he said. “But it’s getting late, and unlike me, you have a match tomorrow and need to get your head in the game. Something tells me that dealing with a drunk idiot is not usually part of your preparations.”
I wanted to say ‘but what if my tournament is over tomorrow?’ or ‘What if this is our last day?’ But what did it matter if it was? The end had been implicit since the beginning and he was right. Ineeded to prepare, needed to call Danny and get a good sleep, not spend the evening making out while a replay of Bicchieri’s most recent match went ignored on the TV.
A sensible man escaped while he could and, occasionally, I could be sensible. I glanced around for my clothes.
“Hey.”
I looked back, the sight of him lounging on the bed—sleepy and sated and beautiful—one I wished I could burn forever into the back of my eyelids. “Yeah?”
He propped himself up on an elbow. “You know, I wouldn’t let you go so soon if I thought there was any chance of you losing tomorrow. You’ve got this. I’m sure of it.”
THE CROWD’S WELCOMING cheer when I stepped onto court was nothing to their thunder when I smashed the final winner – the sound deafening. With a roar, I dropped to my knees and let out what felt like a lifetime of pent-up relief and adrenaline, racquet falling from my hand. It had taken almost four hours but I’d done it in four sets, and as an underdog against the world number three, the crowd had been with me from the very first service break. Yet all I could think was that I hoped he’d been watching.
When the on-court interviewer asked how I felt after such a win, I know I laughed, but the rest was a blur and I could only hope that years of tennis speak had come to my rescue. In its aftermath, the whole match felt like that, a collection of tiny moments making a mosaic in time – the hush of the crowd before the first serve, the echo of the umpire’s voice, and Bicchieri’s incredulous look toward his team when I demolished his third service game.
Then I was signing balls and scribbling something on the camera and heading for the locker room in a daze. By the time I dug my phone from my bag, I had regained my head.
Miles C
fuck yes! i told you so! god it feels good to be right. congratufuckinglations!
Nico
Broooooooooooooooooooooo!!!
Mum
That was outstanding, Matty! We’re so proud of you. I know you’ve got a tonne of press and cool down to go through, so we’re heading to bed. Call us later! Love you!
Danny
Congrats, kid! Call me when you can.
As I climbed onto a bike to start my cool-down, I thumbed Danny’s number and set the phone to my ear.
“Mat!” Danny said, answering after only a single ring. “That was amazing. Haven’t seen you play like that for years. Bet that felt good.”
“So good. Wasn’t sure I could still do it, honestly. Did you see that backhand down the line in the second?”
