Page 48 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

I ached to touch him, my hips pushing back as he travelled, desperate for every contact of him I could gain. In that moment, all I wanted in the world was him. Maybe in every moment.

‘Please,’ I was painfully gone for him, needy and desperate. ‘Oliver, you need to touch me.’

‘You want my fingers?’ he murmured as he pushed up onto his knees, his leg pushing in between mine.

I shook my head against the mattress. ‘I want you to fuck me. I need you to make me come.’

He groaned, satisfied, his palm finding the globe of my ass, his fingers gripping into the flesh. ‘Remember what I said.’ And then, with the palm of his hand, he slapped his hand against my ass. It stung enough to force a hiss from between my lips. ‘Not until I say so.’

I twisted my neck, desperate to look at him, even for a moment, and caught him rolling on a condom.

He was grinning, a wild look in his eyes as he looked at me with such delight, it almost made me blush.

Oliver’s gaze caught mine, his smile only widening as he saw me.

He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on my ass as if to say ‘sorry’.

‘Are you going to fuck me already?’

His gaze turned heated with my words. ‘Still being such a brat,’ he said, placing a softer, playful slap on my ass. I only wiggled it, trying to tease him.

‘Haven’t you learned to only expect that from me by now?

’ I said, my need for him reaching excessive heights.

I tried anything to alleviate the feeling.

I tried to push my thighs together, but his leg in between mine blocked the motion.

Instead, I moved, my hand going between my legs, pushing inside of me.

I moaned, knowing more than anything that I was giving him a show, letting him see how truly hungry I was for his touch.

Oliver leaned forward, his hand finding mine, pulling it out from between my thighs. I cried out at the absence. I wouldn’t beg. Not again.

With his hand still restraining mine, he dragged his cock along my wet centre, teasing me with the tip.

‘I’m going to fuck the brat out of you, love,’ he growled, his words alone nearly causing me to come. My legs trembled, my body reacting to every single slide of his cock against me.

But I swallowed it all down, issuing my simple challenge. ‘Try your best, babe.’

He didn’t waste another moment, sliding his entire length inside of me. I screamed, my eyes rolling back in my skull as he pulled out, moving and repeating the motion over and over again. I was in heaven and hell at the same fucking time.

I couldn’t help but moan, his own groans filling the space as we fucked hard.

His hand released mine, instead finding my hair, pulling my head back.

I remembered that first night we had spent together, both of us spending the time instructing each other how we liked it, both enjoying a mix of soft and rough.

He didn’t need any more instruction now.

‘Fuck, Oliver.’ Every movement of his cock inside me left me a babbling mess.

‘Is it good for you, love?’

‘Yes.’ I moaned, ‘but I’m still a brat.’

At my words, he slammed harder inside, his grip on my hair moving to the back of my neck, pressing my face into the mattress. I grinned as I moved my hips back, matching his rhythm. My fingers found my clit, feeling like if I didn’t come soon I was going to fucking explode.

‘You feel so good,’ he said, hammering his hips forward, ‘I can’t keep going.’

I grinned, loving that he was as desperate for me as I was for him. He could fuck me as hard as we both liked, I’d still drive him wild. I moved faster against him, focusing on racing him to the finish line.

‘How are you …’ He trailed off, his head pushing back as he groaned. ‘Fuck, Dylan.’

My name on his lips was the last goddamn straw as I exploded around him, my pussy clamping down on him as I came.

Oliver wasn’t far behind, my own orgasm encouraging him.

He leaned forward, his front leaning on my back as he came hard inside of me.

He bucked his hips, as if he couldn’t bear to stop moving, as if my cunt was an addiction he could not quit.

He pulled out and my body almost went limp, nerve endings still tingling, thighs burning. We both slid from the bed, grinning at each other dazedly. He placed a small kiss on my lips, before heading out to the guest bathroom. I managed to relocate to my ensuite to clean up.

I caught my reflection in the mirror, bruises and hickies trailing across my chest. He’d marked me, just like I’d wanted.

Proof this was real, that he’d touched me.

Like I needed the physical reminder anyway, the pain in my chest was enough of a memento.

We hadn’t discussed what this was. If it was another ‘one night’, just a little ‘slip up’.

I didn’t want that, my mind clear enough to acknowledge it.

I wanted him again, not just tonight but every night.

And I was tired of pretending. He wanted me, I had felt it.

New Year’s, there was something there. Tonight, every night, there was always something between us and I was tired of ignoring it.

I was ready to be brave. To risk it all.

When I returned, Oliver was lying on his side, his head propped up on his arm, his shorts back on. His eyes raked over my body as I crawled up the mattress towards him, my aching still naked body close to his, pressing a single kiss on his lips.

‘I don’t think I can pretend anymore,’ he said, his voice rough. He looked raw and exposed, his eyes holding a pain I could not bear to look at. ‘It’s too difficult and this thing between us, it’s so real. When I’m with you, Dylan, I don’t want anyone else. And it’s okay if you don’t feel th—’

‘I don’t want to either,’ I cut him off. ‘Pretend, I mean.’

The relief across his face was momentary, his throat bobbing. ‘But …’ he trailed off.

I indicated a finger between us, able to read his mind. ‘What is this?’

Reluctantly he nodded. A million possible answers ran through my brain. Friends with benefits? A fling? None of them fitted. But neither did it feel like we fitted into something bigger and permanent. Not with everything on the horizon.

Brooke’s warning flew into my mind. ‘ This is what it takes ,’ she had said. ‘ Because I don’t want to lose again. And I know sure as hell, you don’t want to either. ’ I’d spent months pretending my time with her hadn’t happened, erasing the bruises she’d left on my ego.

‘Can we be different things?’ I suggested. ‘Coach and player out there, Oliver and Dylan in here.’

‘If that’s what you want.’ Oliver’s hand rose to my hip, his fingers absentmindedly caressing my skin.

‘If this got out …’ I trailed off, trying to get my next words to sound correct. ‘It could be a distraction. You’ve seen what it’s like to be a woman in this sport.’

Oliver nodded. ‘I have.’

While my own media presence was smaller, it was easy to see how something like this, a player sleeping with their coach, would look. And how the press would feast for weeks, maybe months on that news story.

It could follow me throughout my entire career.

It was easy to remember the headlines they’d written about other players. Calling women derogatory names, speculating on their lives behind closed doors. The list of what they’d do once they’d sunk their teeth into you was endless. It could risk sponsorships, my relationships with other players.

‘I want this win to be mine.’ I allowed myself momentarily to follow a thread where I won.

‘And I don’t want it to get lost in the conversation of how long she was fucking her coach for.

I don’t want to be discussing my private life in press conferences when I should be discussing my performance on court, or all the work we’ve done to get me there. ’

I expected a look of apprehension, or for my wording to be confusing or misunderstood; perhaps he’d get offended at the idea that I wanted to keep us, whatever that was, a secret.

Instead, Oliver nodded, his hand finding mine, squeezing tightly. ‘I understand completely. This is your career, it’s important.’

There was a bitter taste in my mouth, like I wasn’t quite convinced it was what he wanted.

‘Would that make you happy?’ I asked.

His forehead tilted forward, meeting mine. ‘You make me happy.’

‘But is it enough?’

His eyes gazed into mine, his hand moving to caress the line of my jaw as his lips found mine again, kissing deeply.

‘Dylan,’ he said between kisses, ‘just as long as you’re mine.

No matter the label, there’s no need for one until you’re ready.

But just mine. No one else’s. Because I know I’m already yours. ’

‘I am,’ I said, my heart squeezing tightly in my chest as my own fingers found his arms, gripping at the muscles as if I was holding onto him for dear life. ‘I’m yours, and you’re mine.’

‘Then I’m the happiest man in the world.’