Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
The high from the Gold Cup begins to ebb in the lead-up to the charity grooms’ match, which takes its toll on the yard’s confidence.
Maycourt lose three consecutive matches in two weeks.
After winning the Gold Cup, an online polo magazine dubbed us, ‘The Mighty Maycourt’, but a fortnight later and the headline reads, ‘Maycourt Malfunctioning?’
I think the losses are easy to explain away.
The boys were so driven to win the Gold Cup, especially after the near-win in Paris, they put their all into their focus and training prior to Cowdray, but once they lifted the trophy, the pressure eased and they relaxed.
The UK polo season is coming to an end. It has been such an intense time, it’s natural for their minds and bodies to want a break.
‘Something has to change before Soto,’ Mateo grumbles, driving back to his house after the third loss, his sunglasses doing little to hide his furious expression. ‘I don’t know what happened out there today, but we weren’t at our best.’
‘You played well,’ I say vaguely, knowing he can play better, whilst tying my hair.
I’ve made the mistake a couple of times now of forgetting a hairband when driving with Mateo in his convertible, emerging from the car with my hair even more wild than usual. Mateo claims he likes it that way, untamed and dishevelled, but I can’t agree.
‘I couldn’t focus.’ He exhales through his nose, irritated. ‘When we get home, I need to run through the match. I’ll ask Malcolm over to work on our tactics. Three losses in a row is not good.’
‘Fitz was hungover for two of them and Eric is broken-hearted,’ I remind him.
The girl who ghosted Eric had picked up where they left off after his win at the Gold Cup, only to drop him again for one of the DQ players whose father recently hit headlines for overseeing a major financial merger.
‘Go easy on yourself and the others,’ I add gently. ‘You’ll be ready for Sotogrande.’
Glancing at Mateo as he stares silently at the road ahead, I frown. I hate seeing him like this, taking the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, disappointed in himself when, even if he hasn’t played his best, he’s still the most exquisite polo player I’ve ever seen.
We pull into his drive and he shuts off the engine, slumping back in his seat. I undo my seatbelt and lift my hips so I can pull my denim shorts down my legs, leaving them in the footwell. He glances over at me and then does a double take, his eyebrows lifting above his sunglasses.
‘What are you doing?’ he asks, intrigued.
I move to straddle him before hoisting my top up over my head and chucking it down on my empty seat. His lips part with a groan, his hands flying to the curve of my waist, greedily moving up to slide under my bra and over my breasts.
‘I have an idea of how I can ease your frustration,’ I say, taking off his sunglasses and dropping them on the passenger seat I’ve vacated, driven wild by his hardened length pressing between my legs.
I grind against him, my breath growing shallow as my thong grows damp, and he grabs the back of my head, dragging my hairband down until my hair falls free of it.
Gripping my hair in his fingers, he hauls my mouth to his, moaning against my lips, lowering his other hand to push aside the flimsy fabric of my underwear.
I gasp as he slides his fingers into me.
‘Fuck, you’re so wet already,’ he growls, thrusting his tongue into my mouth as his fingers work back and forth.
The sensation causes me to whimper helplessly and I remind myself that this was meant to be about him, not about me.
Batting his hand out of the way, I undo his trousers and slip my hand beneath his boxers to grasp his full cock, my body aching for him to be inside me.
He grits out my name in a low, strained voice that almost fries my senses and I clumsily free him from his underwear before lifting myself up and then sinking on top of him.
‘Oh fuck, fuck,’ he grunts, his head tipping back at the sensation as I begin to ride him harder, his hand sliding to the back of my bra and unclasping it in one quick, easy motion.
My eyes fluttering shut, I let the straps of the bra fall down my arms before I toss it out the car, leaving it lying on his driveway.
His mouth finds my left nipple, sucking and licking as I grind against him, before he tips his head back to watch me, his hands gripping at my hips and he begins to guide me up and down harder, his full length filling me deliciously.
His hand moves between my legs, his thumb finding my spot instantly and the pressure almost makes me come straight away.
‘Mateo,’ I gasp, my nails digging into the back of his neck as his fingers relentlessly increase the pace. ‘I’m close.’
‘Fuck, me too. You look so fucking good,’ he grunts. ‘Fuck, Ash, I can’t hold out.’
As he thrusts up one more time, driving himself fully into me, I let my head fall back and moan in ecstasy, bucking and clenching around him as he cries out with me.
We unravel together, the pleasure shattering and pulsing through my body.
Breathing heavily, his gaze softens as I smile at him, biting my lip.
He reaches up to push my hair away from my face before gently guiding my mouth to his, kissing me softly.
‘Feel better about polo?’ I murmur.
‘What the fuck is polo?’ he replies in a daze, catching my laugh with his lips.
*
My fingers are trembling as I do up the zip of my boots.
The grooms’ match has come around a lot faster than I thought and suddenly, the day is here.
Under a grey, cloudy sky threatening to drizzle, Maycourt is bustling with people, hosting a much bigger turnout of spectators than we’d expected.
All the locals have come out to support us and DQ’s fans have responded in kind, a line of Range Rovers and convertibles parked up along the pitch with family members and friends lounging against bonnets in animated conversation.
My mum has made the journey and Jasper is here with her, while Sam asked to take the day off from Studio only to be sent here on assignment.
‘My editor Toni thinks it will be a great piece for the blog, so I’m getting a day at the polo whilst being paid. What a win!’ she cried down the phone.
I did have to manage her expectations, reminding her that this was a local weekday charity match with the teams made up of stablehands.
‘It’s not going to be a big spectacle like Cowdray. It’s all very casual. There’s no stalls or shops or anything like that. It’s just a polo match without any frills. It’s a low-goal match, so there will only be four chukkas. I don’t want you coming all this way to be disappointed.’
‘Will there be hot men riding horses?’ she asked bluntly.
‘Yes,’ I said, acknowledging the wildly handsome looks of the largely Argentine Maycourt grooms and having no doubt that DQ followed suit.
‘Sounds like a hell of fun to me then,’ she stated.
Supporters of Ambrose and Lady M have also come along, two of whom arrived in their helicopters at roughly the same time, leaving one hovering in the air, waiting its turn to land. My heart pounded in rhythm with the beating rotators that echoed across the estate.
‘Ready?’ Eduardo asks me, holding out his hand to help me up from the bench.
‘I guess so.’
He pats me on my shoulder. ‘We will win.’
I wish I had his confidence. We haven’t had the chance to practise much as a team, although the few sessions we have managed to squeeze in in the evenings have been fairly positive.
As expected, Eduardo is brilliant and the natural leader.
When we’ve played together, I’ve focused on doing everything I can to support him and I’m counting on him today to guide me on what I should be doing and when.
I follow Eduardo out of the stables, my heart beating so loud, it’s roaring in my ears and drowning out my surroundings into a haze of white noise.
My breathing is coming fast and shallow as I see the amount of people lining the field and the other grooms leading the ponies for the first chukka towards us.
It takes me two goes to mount Pip, a wobbly start that doesn’t go unnoticed.
‘She can’t even get on the damn horse,’ a DQ player jeers, his arms folded as his entourage sniggers. ‘Don’t worry, lads,’ he calls out to his team, ‘I think we might have this in the bag.’
Steering Pip away, I jog to the opposite side of the field where I see Mateo and the Maycourt team deep in conversation, eyeing up the DQ grooms and their ponies before muttering remarks to one another.
Clara and the High Fives are here, sharing out a bottle of champagne between them, while just along the way from them, I spot Jasper introducing Mum and Sam to Noor and Rhys who are here with their families.
If I wasn’t so scared, I’d be moved by the amount of support from the local community.
People around here really care about this yard and this sport, and it brings them together.
Instead, I wish they weren’t here.
I wish the field were empty and I was practising stick and ball on Pip on my own.
Why did I put myself in this situation? I didn’t want the glare of the spotlight.
There are a couple of photographers here and I already know how it works.
They’ll be looking for a photograph that sells.
If I humiliate myself, all the better for them.
I can see the headline now if I take a tumble or get knocked off my pony in a ride-off: ‘Chris Courtney’s Ex-Lover Falls From Grace… Again!’
The neutral umpires, agreed upon by both Lady M and Ambrose, prepare for the match to start and I adjust my glasses, my exhale shaky. I glance at the DQ supporters huddled together, leaning on their car bonnets, arms folded, sharing thoughts and laughing. I bet they’re talking about me.