Page 34 of Drop Shot (On the Court #2)

WHIMSY

It’s days after the club incident and it’s still awkward between Elias and me. I keep praying it goes back to normal because I’m not sure how much of this I can handle.

It’s especially awkward lying in the same bed together listening to Ebba and Keaton go at it like a couple of porn stars. It’s happened the past three nights since he actually managed to arrive.

I’m not even sure I can give Ebba credit for the performance, because really, it’s just a bunch of grunts on Keaton’s part and a lot of, “Suck my dick,” and ass slapping, oh and the incessant squeaking of the mattress.

“Make it stop,” Elias groans, covering his ears.

“First round is in two days. I need rest.” Letting his hands drop, he turns his traumatized gaze my way.

“Besides, it’s my sister. My twin sister.

I don’t want to hear this shit.” He gags a little.

“Does his bitch ass not understand he’s here because of my generosity and trying to make my sister happy?

I’m an athlete—I need rest and I need my fucking sleep!

” He yells the last part and there’s a pause in the mattress squeaking, but then it starts up again about ten seconds later somehow louder and more frequent than before.

“I hope his goddamn dick falls off,” he mutters to me.

His genuine annoyance pulls a laugh out of me—not because I’m laughing over him being disturbed but hearing him so distraught and whiny over it is amusing.

He rolls over to face me, propping his elbow on the bed and his head in his hand. “Are you laughing at me?”

“I’m laughing at the situation,” I rebuke, trying not to stare at his bicep. Another giggle slips out of me at a particularly loud squeak. “Does he think we can’t hear?” I gesture to the door. “The walls are thin.”

Elias shakes his head. “I don’t know, but I do know I can’t stand that guy.”

My nose scrunches with annoyance at just the thought of Ebba’s boyfriend.

He’s good looking in a commercial sort of way—too shiny and plastic-y for my taste.

But every time he opens his mouth what comes out gives me a massive eye roll.

He’s pretentious—a completely self-entitled asshole. What Ebba sees in him is beyond me.

“I can’t either. He’s a bit of a…”

“Prick?” Elias finishes for me. “He’s not even British so tell me why last night he said to me, you don’t mind if shower first, do yeh, mate? Like who fakes a British accent when they’re so obviously from Jersey.”

“Someone who doesn’t want to be from Jersey,” I point out.

The sound of the bed frame hitting the wall joins the squeaking.

Elias groans. “Keaton can pay for his own damn hotel. I’m not putting up with this shit for the rest of the trip.” I give him a look that says I don’t believe him and he sighs. “You’re right, I couldn’t do that to Ebba.”

Things finally silence in the other room and I expect Elias to quickly roll over to go to sleep, but instead he grins at me with a dimpled smile. “Want to give them a run for their money?”

“Huh?” I blurt out stupidly.

“Come on, Whim. We can do better than them.”

“I … what … d-do you mean?”

“We’ll fake it, obviously.” He sits up fully. “It’ll be funny. It’s their turn to be kept up.”

My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “What do you want me to do?”

“Whatever feels right—moan, scream, sing my praises. We’ll rock the bed too. Really play into it.”

“I … are you sure?”

“Fuck, yes,” he answers. “I bet that dude passes out right after so it’s time for payback.”

He doesn’t wait for me to say anything else, just uses the weight of his body as he shifts back and forth to get the mattress squeaking.

“Moan,” he mouths to me.

“I can’t,” I protest quietly. “I’m not an actress.”

“Sit on my lap.”

“What? Why?”

He sighs. “Just trust me.”

Nerves have my entire body trembling as I climb onto his lap and straddle him. I’m thankful for the thick blanket between us, separating the intimate parts of our body.

Elias’s hands land on my hips, holding me steady as he rocks the bed. The motion is so similar to actual sex that I bite down on my lip to stifle a moan.

A moan.

Oh.

Now I see why he told me to get on his lap. He knew it would get to me.

“Let it out, baby,” he croons, one hand sliding along the side of my neck. He angles my head back and I gasp when I feel his lips on my throat. My skin there is extra sensitive, and I shiver in his hold.

“Let them hear what I do to you when I’m not even trying,” he goes on. “Imagine how you’d sound if I was touching you right now? What sounds you’d make when my tongue circles your nipples? Would you cry out when I finally got my mouth on your pussy? I bet you taste divine.”

I’m a shaking mess in his arms.

I’m terrified to admit that I think I could come from this alone—him holding me and the dirty talk. Has it been so long that it only takes this little to get me there or is just Elias?

“Hmm,” he hums, thumb pressing against my bottom lip. “Do you like it when I talk to you like this?”

“Yes,” I gasp out. I probably shouldn’t have answered, but the word slipped out before I could stop it.

He grins. “I like that—how much your body responds to mine.” The finger that was pressed to my lips glides down my throat to skim over my collarbone.

“God, Whimsy, I bet you’d taste so sweet.

You’d be the best thing I’ve ever tasted, I just know it.

Is that what you want? Huh? To ruin me for anyone else?

You’re all I think about right now. I think about you more than tennis. ”

My hips jerk against his. “More than tennis?”

“Yeah.” His answer is a tad breathless. “It’s annoying how much you’re on my mind—the way I walk down the street and see something and instantly think of you.

How when I’m on the court I want you there watching.

I keep finding myself looking for you even when I’m at practice.

For someone who’s prioritized tennis above all else it’s a tad annoying. ”

I settle my hands on top of his shoulders. “I … I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

I don’t know who moves first, I guess it doesn’t matter—this whole bedroom charade is already breaking apart the boundary we erected at the club—but suddenly we’re kissing and I’m lost in him.

He still tastes minty from his toothpaste from when he brushed his teeth before bed.

His hands skim down my sides, landing on my hips where he guides me into a roll against him. I can’t tell with all the blankets between us, but I wonder if he’s hard. I hope he is, because it would make me feel better about being soaking wet.

This is so dangerous what we’re doing—losing ourselves to feelings that could very well get us in trouble down the line.

“Please,” he whispers against my lips.

It takes me a moment to find my breath and my words. “Please, what?”

“Please, let me have a taste of you. I need to know. I have to know.” His fingers curl against my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear.

“Where?”

His brown eyes are like melted chocolate as he stares at me. His voice is even deeper than usual when he replies, “You know where.”

I nod—probably too enthusiastically, but he doesn’t seem to care.

One moment I’m on his lap and the next I’m laid down on the mattress with him hovering above me. He makes quick work of sliding my sleep shorts past my hips and down my legs, leaving me in only the pair of panties I put on after my shower.

He grins. “I should’ve known you’d wear cute pink panties with little bows on them.” He uses one finger to tug at the elastic just slightly before letting it snap back into place.

He works my underwear off next. I desperately want to press my legs together, but I resist the temptation. Instead, I let them fall fully open—exposing my bare pussy to him.

I’m aware we’ve completely lost the plot of our intentions, but I can’t bring myself to care.

“Look at you,” he croons. “So pretty and pink just like I knew you’d be.” I whimper at his praise. “God, Whimsy. Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He strokes himself over the top of the boxer-briefs he sleeps in.

I shake my head, my hair fanning around me.

He presses his hands against the inside of my thighs, making sure I stay spread open for him.

“Are you sure about this, Whim? I don’t want to do anything that you’re going to regret.”

“I won’t regret it.” My voice is breathless, barely a whisper.

“Good. I won’t either.” He lays down, settling his shoulders between my thighs. His mouth is so close to where I want him, but he looks up at me instead. “And Whim?”

“Y-Yeah,” I stutter, fingers flexing at my sides.

“Remember to hold on and scream my name.”

My heart is racing a mile a minute before his tongue even makes contact with my pussy, but the second it does it gets impossibly faster, and I worry I might pass out. How embarrassing would that be?

It’s not like it’s my first time having a guy go down on me, but I’ve never had a man eat me out with such voracious need. He hums against me, every now and then crooning, “That’s a good girl,” and “fuck, you taste like heaven.”

My fingers find their way into his hair and hold on to his curls as he licks and sucks at me. My thighs are going to be red from his stubble rasping against them but I don’t mind one bit. In fact, I like the idea of there being a reminder left behind of what happens tonight.

“Elias!” His name is a cross between a gasp and a scream as his fingers join his mouth, curling into me in just the right way. My body arches up on the bed and without stopping, he reaches with his free hand and presses it into my stomach to lower me back down.

My breaths are loud, and I know I’m dangerously close to coming already—but I don’t want to. I’m not ready for this to end.

I bite down hard on my lip in the hopes of keeping the orgasm at bay a little longer.

Not yet , I beg my body. I know normally I’m begging you to get there, but this time I’m asking you to wait a little longer .

My heart jolts when the hand he pressed to my stomach finds my hand and he laces our fingers together. It’s such a sweet, intimate gesture. It doesn’t match the womanizer player I’ve known him to be in the past.

He sucks on my clit, fingers curling into me at the same time, and it doesn’t matter how badly I wanted to hold off—the orgasm shatters through me as I cry out.

“Elias! Oh my god .”

He sucks gently at my skin until the spasms subside.

He pulls his fingers slowly from my pussy.

I instantly miss the full feeling. He presses a soft kiss to the inside of each of my thighs before he moves up my body and kisses me.

His tongue finds mine, making sure I taste myself there.

I cup his cheeks, kissing him back and trying not to wiggle against him.

It’s then that I realize his boxer-briefs are damp.

I pull back from his mouth and gasp out, “Did you come in your underwear?”

“Yes.” He rubs his nose along the column neck. “Like a teenage boy and I don’t even care.”

“From going down on me?” I ask in shock.

“What can I say? Your little noises do something to me.” He kisses a path across my collarbone.

“I know what we said,” he murmurs against my skin.

“And I know we have months left in this tour, but fuck. Trying to resist you is something I don’t think I’m capable of.

I don’t know what’s happening to me.” He raises up slightly so he can look down at me.

“But I’m not mad about it and I don’t want to pretend that I’m not developing real feelings for you. ”

“Real?” I blurt out.

“Yeah, pretty girl.” He caresses my cheek. “Real.”

“I’m scared,” I admit. Of him breaking my heart. He has no idea how long I’ve harbored a crush on him. I don’t want to finally have him just to lose him.

“Of Jackson?” he asks, and I don’t confirm or deny. “He doesn’t need to know things have changed. We usually have to fake it in front of him anyway, so what difference does it make?”

“Why me?”

This man could have anyone—socialite, model, actress—you name it. I’m just normal Whimsy from a normal family with a normal life. I’m not anything exciting or special.

“Why not you?” he volleys back. His mouth finds my ear and he whispers, “Do you want me to get on my knees and beg you for a chance? A real chance? Because, fuck, I think I just might.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. Am I dreaming? Have I stepped into an alternate universe? I blink my eyes rapidly, but the scene around me doesn’t disappear like a mirage.

“Are you saying you want to try to date me? Like for real?”

He chuckles, amusement glimmering in his eyes. “Like for real,” he mimics. “Give me a chance, Whim? Please?”

I resist my desire to pinch myself. What do you mean the guy I’ve had a crush on is begging me to give him a chance?

It should be easy to say yes, but instead the word that comes out is, “No.”

“No?” he repeats, stunned. He pulls his hand from my face. “Right.” His head drops. “This is a job. That’s all.”

“No.” I shake my head rapidly. “No, it’s just…” How can I tell him about the crush? That if he broke my heart, it would be devastating? I’m just trying to protect myself. “I like you. You know I do, but like we said at the club, we can’t do this. I thought you understood that?”

I feel like crying having to let him down like this, but I know it’s what I have to do.

Elias scoots away from me and those few inches feel like a mile. “Right. Yeah.” He looks down. “Forget I said anything?” I detect a quiver of embarrassment in his voice. “I’m tired is all.”

“Tired,” I repeat. “Totally. Makes sense.”

We’re both so full of shit.

“I’ll … uh … sleep on the couch.”

“And have your sister and her asinine boyfriend think we fucked each other’s brains out and then what? Had a fight?”

He sighs. “Good point.”

We roll over to opposite sides of the small bed. I clutch my dinosaur to my chest and squish my eyes shut, willing sleep to come.