GrandSlam Page 18
“God, Marie. That was incredible. I love you.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I froze. I didn’t know what I wanted more, to grab them and stuff them back in or to let them stay free and see what her response was. I really hoped she wouldn’t dive into the sea and swim back to shore. Not only was it such a long way by now that even the strongest swimmer would struggle, but I found myself desperately awaiting her reaction, wanting to know one way or the other how she felt.
If my hands hadn’t still been so tightly grasped around her shapely hips, I’d have crossed my fingers.
Several seconds of silence passed between us as her widened eyes continued to stare into mine. Then, “Travis, do you mean that?”
That had absolutely not been the response I’d been expecting. “Yes, of course I mean it. At least I think it’s love I’m feeling—I’ve never been in love before. What I mean is, I’ve never, ever felt about anyone the way I feel about you, so it must be love. I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that though. I’ve only just figured it out myself, so I was planning to wait before I scared the shit out of you. But I guess it’s too late now.”
Finally our eye contact was broken as I grasped the base of my shaft, holding the condom in place as I pulled out of her. I snapped it off and tossed it into the bin, then rearranged my clothes and moved over to the door.
“Hey,” Marie said, shuffling back from the sink and yanking up her bikini bottoms, “where the hell are you going?”
“I-I thought you wanted me to leave.”
“And why did you think that?”
“Because you haven’t responded to what I said so I figure you don’t feel the same.”
“God, Travis! You’ve just dropped a total bombshell on me here. My brain is still catching up. Sit down.” She pointed to the edge of the bath and I did as she asked.
Kneeling between my legs, she took my hands in hers and looked earnestly up at me. “You, Travis Connolly, are a crazy bastard. You’re arrogant, possessive, argumentative, bossy… The list goes on. But you’re also gorgeous, fun to be with, kind, patient and really, really good in bed.” She grinned at that last. “If I’m honest, I think we have a lot of things to work out between us, and it’s not going to be easy. But having said that, I think you, us, are worth it. Because I love you too.”
I ran my fingers through my hair and let out a sigh of relief. I broke into a smile. “Why the hell didn’t you just say so when I did then, you evil woman?”
“Because I was shocked. Because I didn’t know if you really meant it or if it was just your hormones talking. And because I was scared.”
I cupped my hands around her face and gave her a kiss so heartfelt that it made my cock stir in my shorts and my heart pound so hard I thought it would explode from my chest. “You, my darling, have nothing to be scared of. I will never, ever, intentionally hurt you, except in the bedroom, of course.” I winked at that so she couldn’t mistake my intent. “And as I’ve already said, I will make you happy or die trying. I fucking love you, Marie Sherratt. Will you just give me a chance? If it doesn’t work out and we end up wanting to throttle each other, at least we’ll have tried. And we’ll never know otherwise, will we?”
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.
Chapter Nineteen
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 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.