GrandSlam (19 page)

She grabbed my head and pulled me back down for another
kiss. Her tongue swept into my mouth with such ardor that blood filled my cock
at an alarming speed. If she didn’t stop soon, our conversation would be over
because I’d throw her on the floor, grab another condom from the drawer and
fuck her until she screamed.

Pulling away with a contended sigh, she pressed her forehead
against mine and looked deep into my eyes. So deep I felt as though she were looking
into my soul. I had to fight against a flinch—I didn’t want her finding out how
dark it was in there. But I supposed if she decided to give me a chance then
she’d find out eventually anyway.

“You’re right, Travis. If we never try, we’ll never know. We
could both end up battered and broken—figuratively of course—but it’s a risk
I’m willing to take. If we stick to our honesty pact though, I think we’ll do
all right. All I know for sure is that I feel like I’m walking on air when I’m
with you, you make me feel so alive. And that’s before you even count the sex.”
Now it was her turn to wink. “And if that’s what you do to me before you’re
even
trying
to make me happy, then I can hardly wait to see what happens
when you are. I love you, Travis Connolly, and I’d love to see how things go
between us in a real relationship.”

“We could take things slowly.”

Marie shook her head. “I don’t think we can, Travis. We
could try, but I honestly don’t think it would work. The chemistry between us
is too powerful. As a result, we could crash and burn within a month. But hey,
look on the bright side, if it doesn’t work out, in a couple of months we’ll be
getting over it.”

I let out a growl, reached down and pulled her onto my lap.
“Don’t you say things like that. Talking about us being over before we’ve even
started. You’ve earned yourself a severe spanking already!”

She giggled and shifted on my lap, causing my erection to
ache with need for her. “Ooh, I’m looking forward to it.” Her expression grew
grave. “Seriously though, Travis, I’m right about the taking it slow thing. I
really don’t think it’ll happen.”

I shrugged. “Well, we’ll just get on with things however we
want to and see how it goes, all right? But just to clarify,” I said, putting a
finger beneath her chin and pulling her head up so I could look into her eyes,
“as we’re trying out our relationship, we’re exclusive, yes? We’re only
dating—or whatever you want to call it—each other, and nobody else.
Understood?”

She wriggled again.

“What?” I said.

“Did I ever tell you how horny it makes me when you get all
bossy?”

“No, you didn’t. And you probably shouldn’t have, because
now I’m going to take advantage of it every opportunity I get.”

“Feel free. I can take everything you want to give.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that, Marie, but we’ll put that
to the test another time. Right now I just have to be inside you again.”

With that, I tipped her onto the floor, grabbed another
condom and prepared to fuck the woman I loved.

Things had been a whirlwind since that day on the boat, a
crazy, lust-infused tornado of sex and love, companionship and a warm, no, make
that hot-as-hell feeling that traveled with me wherever I went and was solely
down to one person.

Travis Connolly.

And now here we were, the end of summer was sneaking up on
us and we’d traveled to New York for the big event—the US Open.

“Hey,” Travis said, looking up as I walked into his private
changing room. “How are you?”

I nodded at Peter, Austin and Samuel, the head equipment
manager. “Good, thanks, more to the point, how are you feeling?”

“He’s in top form,” Peter said, clasping Travis’ shoulder.
“It’s been a breeze to get to this semifinal, I can’t imagine Reynolds will be
an issue.”

Travis raised his eyebrows. “Don’t underestimate a number
eighteen seed.”

“Don’t underestimate him but remember that’s still seventeen
rankings down,” Austin said with a serious frown. “Come on, guys, is everyone
done here? Marie has a job to do.”

Travis glanced down at himself, touched the handle of his
racquet that was bagged at his side and nodded. “Yep, I’m cool.”

“Great.” Austin reached out, shook Travis’ hand. “Good luck,
we’ll be rooting for you.”

Peter and Samuel murmured similar sentiments then headed out
to take their usual corner seats facing center court.

I sat on the slatted bench opposite Travis, crossed my legs
and set my hands to the sides, careful to generate a relaxed pose. These next
five minutes were crucial for Travis. He needed to get his mental state finely
honed, because once he left the changing room, he wouldn’t be allowed to speak
to anyone until the end of the game. Out there he had only his own inner
strength to rely on, it was the glue holding him together. Not that he was
lacking any confidence; he wouldn’t be where he was now if that was the case.
But he was up against a similar personality, who was just as hungry for a win,
had trained just as hard, if not harder, in preparation to face
the
Travis Connolly.

“Okay,” I said, “now take deep breaths and let everything
slip away. Fade into the horizon. We’re going to release that beautiful,
precious energy from the wooden case and let it fill your soul.”

He knew the routine, we’d practiced several times in my
office and before each of the rounds to get to this stage of the Open. He rested
back, shut his eyes and let his limbs rest heavy, knees slightly apart, hands
placed on his thighs.

“You’re walking down the garden path at Horton Road,” I
said, “toward the meadow behind the house. The fruit trees are in blossom, pink
blossom that smells of sugar and you’ve just had some of your mother’s
delicious lemonade.” I paused to allow his memory to drift back to his safe
place. “Under the very last tree is your wooden box, just where you left it.
It’s always there waiting for you, no one will ever move it. All of its
contents belong to you and only you.

“You kneel down beside it. The bolt runs smoothly as you
open it, it’s been oiled so that you can get to the contents whenever you need
them easily. They are always there, ready to serve you, they’ll never let you
down.”

I stopped talking, watched him pull in a deep breath and
then slowly blow it out. His cheeks hollowed, his chest pressed against the
black, sleeveless top he wore, then he licked his lips, coating them in a
kissable sheen.

“Now you’re opening the case,” I said, “and as you do a
wonderful light bursts free. It’s positively charged, sparkling with energy. It
swirls around you, you breathe it in, let it cloak your skin, drape over your
shoulders. And now you can feel its warmth, its strength. It’s seeping into
you. And that’s so good because that light represents all of your best
memories. All the good emotions in your life are there, waiting for you to
harness them and give you strength and self-belief. Now think about how you
feel when you hit the perfect serve and how you make that happen, always,
within two shots. You never miss.”

As he’d asked me to when designing his preperformance
routine for thought replacement, I stopped talking for a full minute. He liked
to go through every aspect of his super-fast serve in slow motion. Break it
down in minute detail and remind himself of exactly how he hit a tennis ball so
hard he’d broken world records.

After glancing at my watch I went on. “That light is you
winning Wimbledon, Travis. Grand Slam titles then
the
Grand Slam two
years ago. All the ingredients to go out there and do it again, succeed, crush
your opponent are there, Travis, in that light which lives and grows within
you. Nothing can hold you back now.”

Again I paused, watched him flex and release his fingers.

“Now I want you to think about your torso, the core strength
within you. You’re at optimum fitness, the best of the best. Feel that
strength, let it build in your abdomen, surge into your chest and then race
down your arms and legs. Hold that power right there. It’s yours, all yours.
You’ve worked hard for it, no one can take it away, no one is a match for it.
You’re unbeatable.”

He rocked his feet on the floor, as we’d previously
discussed, feeling that intense physicality and unrivaled ability pour into his
veins, reaching his fingers and his toes. Invading every cell, nerve and fiber
of his body.

“And now you are calm,” I said, “and the power to win is
yours. Nothing can get in your way, nothing can distract you. The crowd isn’t
there, cameras don’t exist, peripheral movements are of no interest to you. All
that you’re concentrating on are the white lines, those beautiful, perfectly
straight lines and big, welcoming boxes waiting for your ball to strike.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes still shut.

I went on, “You have more than enough of everything it takes
to win. You’re feeling confident, sure of yourself, and so am I. I believe in
you. I believe you will win because you believe it. You know it. By the end of
the day you’ll have the final within reach, that is the only thing that can
happen, and you’ll make it happen, right here, right now.”

I was quiet, waiting as he took ten more breaths. Allowing
my words to sink in, align with his emotions and be there as an impenetrable
screen against self-doubt.

He opened his eyes and touched the black headband he wore
that kept his hair away from his face.

“You’re ready,” I said with a soft smile.

He didn’t smile back but I hadn’t expected him to. He was in
the zone, ready to take on the world. All that was in his mind was tennis, the
dimensions of the court and claiming his points. He would be victorious today.
Poor Reynolds didn’t stand a chance.

I glanced at my watch. “Time to go.”

He nodded, checked the laces on his Nikes one last time then
stood, sweeping up his bag as he went.

I opened the changing room door for him and he started to
step through. Halfway through, he paused and stepped close, his chest pressing
me against the jamb and his breaths coming long and deep, washing across my
cheek.

He stared down at me, his hot, male scent filtering up my
nose as he filled my vision. I swallowed tightly, not wanting to break the
spell we’d cast. He was deep into it, I could tell. The depths of his eyes were
on fire, feral and molten. I’d seen that look before in him a few times, on
court and in the bedroom. It was untamed, unstoppable and held a darkness I
wasn’t sure I would ever truly understand. A darkness that I’d come to suspect
was as crucial to his game as the light I’d taught him to weave around himself.

Pressing my lips together, I resisted the urge to reach for
him, stroke his face, kiss his mouth. That wasn’t part of the ritual. Nothing
could be changed.

He tilted his chin, a muscle flexed in his cheek, then he
nodded, once, turned and strode along the corridor, his wide shoulders stiff,
his strides like those of a man going to war.

Reynolds was waiting at the entrance to the center court.
Travis ignored him, walked through at the nod from an official and I was left
listening to the roar of the crowd.

* * * * *

I took a seat next to Peter, Austin next to him, and slipped
on my shades. This wasn’t my first time at the stadium but still its sheer size
never failed to amaze me. I doubted the spectators on the top level could even
see the ball.

The court was uncovered, the hard surface immaculate and
almost holding its breath, ready for action. The net looked ironed straight,
and young, cap-wearing ball boys squatted around the edge.

Travis and Reynolds were still seated on either side of the
umpire who reigned over them on his lofty chair. Travis had his face buried in
his towel, something he liked to do to keep him in the zone. He didn’t want any
visual distractions. It looked as though I’d missed their warm-up session.

“You happy with him?” Peter asked with a frown.

“Yes, absolutely.” I nodded and smiled. Luckily Peter, being
the easygoing bloke that he was, plus for the sake of his job I suspected, had
shrugged off mine and Travis’ relationship pretty quickly after the day on the
boat, and had thrown his energies into Travis’ brutal training program with
seemingly no hard feelings.

“Good.” He wrung his hands together as though drying them
vigorously. Not for the first time I thought Peter could do with learning some
relaxation techniques to call on when Travis was playing.

I sighed and watched the clock on the huge screen flick to
4:00 p.m. Time for battle to commence.

A high-pitched echoing hum of conversation rattled around
the stadium. It was like no other noise I’d ever heard, this sound before an
important match. It was as if the whispers, the words had extra energy. Perhaps
it was just the unique shape of the place. But as Travis and Reynolds stood,
shook the umpire’s hand and then each other’s, the crowd noise faded until just
a few heckles rang through the air.

“Go on, Connolly.”

“You can do it, Reynolds.”

“I love you, Travis.” A particularly high-pitched, girly
yell.

I silently thought the exact same thing.

Travis didn’t acknowledge the sentiment in any way as he
took his place, leaned forward and swung his racquet from side to side, in
tandem with the momentum of his body.

“Quiet please,” the umpire said through his microphone.

The stadium hushed to silence.

Reynolds threw the ball in the air, slammed it into the net,
which burst outward. A let was called.

Travis had flinched in readiness for the ball, but only one
step to the right. His facial expression didn’t change as he reset his
position.

“First service,” the umpire called.

Reynolds hit again, this time skimming neatly over the net
and landing in the box. Travis returned with a hard backhand, making Reynolds
stretch for the shot. He made it, flicking it over the net. Travis was there
ready, he made the most of Reynolds’ close position and slammed it to the far
corner of his court, making it impossible for his opponent to reach.

“Love, fifteen,” the umpire said, and the scoreboard flicked
to show the points in Connolly’s favor.

“Good start,” Austin said, glancing at Peter and me.

We both nodded.

Reynolds served again, another net ball.

Travis touched his sweatband as he waited for Reynolds to
power another serve his way. Once again he reached it, fired it back across the
net. Reynolds returned with a devastating volley that Travis had to lunge for.
But Reynolds hadn’t expected the ball to be coming back his way and was too far
into his box when Travis tapped it over the net.

“Love, thirty,” the umpire said as the scoreboard reflected
the result.

Travis twirled his racquet in his hand, he was looking at
his feet, taking a couple of slow paces as Reynolds got ready for the next
service. I knew he’d be going over his mantras, the tag lines of self-belief
and competence that we’d worked on rigorously, honing his concentration and
focus.

Another serve, another net ball. The crowd seemed to rise as
one as Reynolds hit and then sagged when the net flicked and a let was called.
He fluffed his second service and Travis was automatically given the point.

“Love, forty.”

A well of excitement began to grow in me. Travis was romping
ahead and he hadn’t even broken a sweat yet.

Reynolds served again, a full-throttle power shot that
Travis missed.

“Fifteen, forty.”

Travis’ face remained set, as if finely chiseled out of
granite. He wouldn’t look at me, not throughout the whole match. That was one
of our rules. He caught no one’s eye, he was self-oriented, relied on only his
abilities. It might sound brutal but it was how it had to be.

Still I could look at him as much as I wanted to and what a
delicious sight he was too. I squirmed in my chair, my bum cheeks a little
tender. Yesterday evening we’d had fun, lots of fun in our hotel bedroom.
Travis had certainly not been concerned about saving energy as he’d spanked me
until I was so turned-on I was begging him to fuck me.

And fuck me he had.

I swallowed and hoped my tight nipples weren’t visible
through my t-shirt. Let my gaze roam his long legs, coated in dark hair, his
fine, thick thighs and the way his shorts lay against his groin, not giving
anything away, but still giving the impression that there was plenty there.

Nibbling my bottom lip, I watched another serve that
produced a strong return by Travis. Reynolds went for it but missed, giving
Travis the advantage.

He nodded down at the ground, tapped his racquet against his
thigh and I knew just what was going through his mind. He was unbeatable. He
could do this. He would do this.

“Connolly, do it for your country,” someone in the crowd
yelled.

He ignored them.