Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tegan
I am pathetic. This is pathetic.
Everyone in this building, in this complex, in this part of Florida, on this beach, is celebrating me right now. They're celebrating me because I'm one of the last two on the bracket.Tomorrow, it’s just me and Alexandria.
Everywhere I go, people are patting me on the back, stopping to tell me “great match.”
And for some godforsaken, completely unbeknownst to me, reason, I'm looking for Roman Jostad.Why am I looking for Roman?I'm looking for Roman because I have not stopped thinking about his dick all day.
And I do mean all day.I was out on the court, slamming another player into the ground, and like some kind of caricature of a male wet dream,all I could think about was Roman holding me against that wall, fucking me into oblivion.
And now I’m strung so tight that I know if I don't have him again, I will actually die.
A part of me is also kind of wondering if maybe I’ll lose tomorrow if I don’t have him again.Which is crazy. But he loosened me right up.
I know I'm good at tennis.I know that I have a long career ahead of me.But I also know that I get wound a little too tight during a match. Get too focused, get too precise.My hands start to sweat.It's my only real weakness.
But today, I was as smooth and pliant as if I had just come off the massage table.Which, you know, I had, but that's beside the point.My whole body was relaxed and ready and not strung tight at all.
Except between my legs, of course.
And if I want to win this tournament tomorrow, I'm pretty sure I need Roman to bruise my pelvis tonight.
Just one more time , I tell myselfas I wander back to the hotel. Just once more to get me through the rest of this tournament.
I mean, what does it matter that Roman is Satan's coach?No one would care, except maybe Alexandria.It's not against any rules. No one's asking any questions. We're all adults here.It doesn't matter.All that matters is that he knows how to fuck,and I desperately need to get fucked.
I could certainly go find some other guy to hook up with,but I am nothing if not efficient.And why would I waste my time looking for some other guywho might not be able to satisfy mewhen I know that Roman knows exactly how to touch me to make me scream?
This is just a thing that makes sense.That's all it is, common sense.
And that's how I find myself outside of Roman's hotel room,knocking, watching as he opens the doorin sweatpants and a gray t-shirt. He looks like he was already in bed.
“God, you really are ancient,” I say when he doesn’t greet me. “Did you manage to make your seven p.m. bedtime?Did you get your early bird special?”
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
I'm certainly not here for small talk. When I don't say anything,Roman steps aside and lets me into his room.
It’s strange to be back here. The last time I saw this room, I was half-naked, utterly mortified, and shamefully turned on.
Roman shuts the door and steps around me, blocking me from going any further into the room. He doesn’t say anything, and as I stand there and look at him, I know that I lied to myself.
I’m not just here because Roman is a good fuck.
I’m here because when we argued yesterday, and then when he held me against that wall, I felt something . I don’t think it would be fair to call it affection. But it was definitely something. Like when your feet have gone numb and then you get in a hot shower, and your skin burns.
It’s not good or bad. It’s just something.
“I know I shouldn’t be here,” I finally say, my voice sounding loud in the silent hotel room.
“No, you shouldn’t be,” he says. And then he takes a step toward me. “But I’m not going to ask you to leave.”
I push up on my tiptoes and kiss him.
Last night, everything was fast and hard and surprising. But as Roman pulls me backward into his room, we go slow, his tongue caressing mine, his hands slipping under my shirt.
He lowers me onto the bed and wastes no time pulling my athletic shorts down my legs. He shoves my shirt up and kisses the spot just below my belly button. His tongue leaves a line along the hem of my underwear and then dips into my navel.
I finally find my brain, the lust haze lifting long enough for me to shove him away. “No way,” I say, pushing up to sitting. “You got to call the shots last night. It’s my turn.”
He’s on his knees in front of me, his eyes wide. And then he smiles this sexy, devious little smile. “What are you going to do with me, Tegan?”
I give his shoulders a shove, and he falls back on the bed. It’s not a very big bed, but he’s a very big guy. I reach for his pants, and when he realizes what I’m doing, he laughs and relaxes, his head hanging over the end of the bed.
Some sharp emotion spears through me, and I slither up his body to kiss his Adam’s apple, give it a good suck, before going back to his pants. I easily free his cock and don’t hesitate before leaning over to wrap my mouth around it.
He moans, a loud, desperate sound, and hearing it makes me wet. Roman must have been holding back last night because we were out in public. Tonight, he moans and whimpers as I run my tongue up and down the length of him before sucking him down.
When I gag, he lets out a little shout, so I do it again and again, taking him down further than I would normally be bothered to. This isn’t some dude bro in a backward cap begging me for head.
This is Roman Jostad, a man who every single tennis player in the world knows. And for some reason, he wants me, and I want him. Especially all those noises.
“Oh, fuck,” he says, pressing his hips down into the bed and grabbing my face. He lifts his head to meet my gaze. “You have to stop.” He fumbles for the scrunched pocket of his sweats, pulling out a condom.
I grin, wiping my chin before I whip my shirt off over my head. Between my spit and the way I’m leaking between my legs, I slip down onto him with no effort at all.
We both gasp, and he reaches up to grip my hips as I start to ride him. I plant my hands on his broad, hairy chest, anchoring myself so I can ride him hard. This may have started gently, but I don’t want gentle anymore.
I lean forward, push my hips against his with every roll, setting a steady rhythm.
“Fuck, look at you,” he says, his hands sliding up to grab my breasts. “So beautiful.”
I bite my lip to hold in a sob.
So beautiful.
Even in the middle of sex, I don’t think anyone has ever called me beautiful before.
Intense. Tenacious. Driven. Determined. Ruthless.
But never beautiful.
I collapse onto him, wrapping my arms around him and slamming my mouth against his. Roman kisses me like he’s trying to swallow me whole, and I love it. Being wanted so badly, there’s nothing as sexy as that.
In this position, pressed against him so completely, it doesn’t take long for all the friction to push me to the edge. His chest rubbing against my nipples, his pelvis grinding against my clit, his hands clutching my ass.
“You gonna fill me up, Coach?” I break away from him to ask.
He doesn’t give a coherent answer, just moans long and hard, and that’s all it takes to shove me closer and closer, until I catapult over the edge.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he says against my ear, clutching me hard. And then he groans loud, his fingers digging into me so hard, I know he’ll leave bruises.
Perfect.