07
Isabella wasn’t on court two—and she was nowhere near court one or three, either.
For a second, Brandon worried she was just messing with him. Just stringing along a staffer for kicks, another spoiled whim from a wealthy club member at the expense of someone like him.
Except it couldn't be that. Not with the way she’d teased him, breathing those dirty whispers against his ear. Could she really fake all that? That’d just be cruel.
He followed the flagstone path winding around the perimeter of the courts. The landscaped gardens cast long shadows across the grounds, taking the edge off the sweltering heat. Only a pair of older gentlemen occupied court three, engaged in a lazy, unhurried rally.
“Psst!”
Brandon glanced around, spotting the door to one of the equipment sheds standing slightly ajar. That was where they locked up the court gear—and where Isabella was calling him from.
A fresh surge of excitement spiked through him.
Keeping his pace casually measured, he circled around to the small shed.
“Took you long enough!” Isabella teased, pulling the door open just wide enough for him to slip inside.
Brandon didn't answer. Instead, his breath caught as he drank in her body. She was completely naked, her tennis skirt and top pooled on the floor. She wore nothing except her socks, tennis shoes, and the sun visor tilted on her head.
Brandon had never cared for tennis—it had never held the appeal of other sports. But taking in Isabella right now, he figured he could definitely give the game another shot, so long as he got to watch her play.
“Come here... you have no idea how much I’ve been craving this. Especially after everything Amanda told me...”
He almost blurted out what the blonde had said about him. Had she really enjoyed it that much? Couldn't be; Brandon was just an ordinary guy, a little scrawnier than he ought to be...
He brushed the doubts aside along with the urge to ask.
Brandon barely had time to get his bearings before Isabella shoved him back against the wall.
His head brushed a mesh bag stuffed with tennis balls, and he braced himself so he wouldn't stumble. She surged against him, crashing her mouth onto his. Her warm lips tasted of cherry lip gloss, setting Brandon’s blood on fire faster than he could track.
He let his tongue tangle with hers, sliding his hands down to grip her waist. His fingers traced bare skin, taking in the heat of her body and the soft swell of every curve. He pulled her flush against him, rewarded by a breathy moan when their hips collided.
Brandon’s confidence surged back. He knew what to do once the kissing started.
Her hand joined the fray, reaching down between them to find his hard length through his pants. She let out another sharp gasp when she felt how rigid he was.
“Oh... Amanda definitely wasn't exaggerating.”
With practiced dexterity, Isabella unbuttoned Brandon’s trousers and freed him.
In response, the club worker hoisted her closer, hooking a hand under one of her thighs and hiking her leg up. Isabella’s breath came in ragged gasps between kisses. Her panting only hitched higher when Brandon slipped his fingers down, finding her slick and aching for him.
She broke his trance with a playful smack to his hand, pushing him back.
“Only when I say so, bad boy.”
That threw Brandon off balance for a second.
It must have shown on his face, because Isabella flashed a wicked grin, caught his hand, and licked his slick fingers clean.
Her tongue curled between his index and middle fingers.
Just when he thought his cock couldn't possibly get any harder, it seemed he was dead wrong.
Isabella guided his hand up to her breast, making him work her hard nipple with his glistening fingers. That dragged a broken moan out of her, snapping Brandon back on track: working her to an orgasm.
She pressed even closer into Brandon’s hold, hiking her leg higher to clear a path for him to grind against her.
He obeyed, dragging the tip of his cock against her wet folds inch by inch.
She was boiling hot and inviting. He ached to drive inside her all at once.
Every time his shaft rubbed against her drenched lips, Isabella’s soft whimper intensified in his ear.
When he reached the threshold, right at her soaking entrance, he held still for a heartbeat—a silent plea to take her.
Isabella froze, her lust-hazed eyes daring him to move.
Yet Brandon didn't. He stayed right there, waiting, taking only what she offered him.
In that moment, it was obvious who was in control.
He had surrendered so completely that, somehow, the submission only amplified his hunger.
“Come on... please...”
“Beg harder. Come on.” There wasn't a trace left of Isabella’s usual sweet innocence.
She nudged him back, guiding his hand once more from her breast down between her thighs. She wasn't going to let his cock inside, but his obedience had earned back the fingers he'd tried to use earlier.
The sheer frustration of being that close—feeling her scorching heat practically enveloping his shaft, only to be pulled away—was pure fuel for his arousal.
On instinct, his hand began to move, trying to start sliding his fingers in and out. But Isabella kept control, gripping his wrist tight. It was clear she wasn't done tormenting him yet.
“Come on... wasn’t this what you wanted a second ago? You’re going to have to do better than that if you want me to let you.”
Brandon throbbed painfully, his body aching with sheer need. The inner conflict was plain on his face. He would have to submit even further to the girl's demands.
“I...”
“Yes?”
“I...”
Isabella loosened her grip, letting Brandon’s fingers slip just shallowly inside, working halfway in and out. She let out a soft moan, shivering with raw pleasure.
“I didn't hear you ask,” she said with a wicked smirk. She was clearly loving every second of calling the shots.
“Please... I want it so bad...”
Brandon stroked in and out a few more times under Isabella’s guidance. He could feel her muscles clenching tight, contracting and gripping his fingers once, twice, three times.
Then she pulled his hand almost all the way out and froze again.
“I didn’t catch what you want, sweetheart.”
“Cruel... I want... I want you to...”
“Hurry up, before I change my mind.”
“Let me inside. I’m begging you.”
That was what Isabella wanted to hear: him verbalizing his desperate urge to have her. The heat flared hotter between them. Isabella released him, and Brandon began working his fingers again, building into an escalating rhythm.
Isabella clung to him, pressing hard against his body, her mouth buried in his neck to muffle her moans as she felt her body practically pull Brandon deep inside. He hooked his other hand around the brunette’s ass, fingers digging firmly into her soft, sweat-damp flesh.
Moments later, Isabella’s thighs trembled in violent spasms as her orgasm tore through her. Her hands raked up Brandon’s back, into the nape of his neck and through his hair, clutching him tight while she shook and came.
Brandon didn't stop.
“Did I do good for you?” he whispered in her ear, answered only by her breathy whimpers.
Kicking up the tempo, Brandon hauled Isabella by the hips and pinned his cock against her inner thigh. Grinding his shaft against her burning skin while his fingers worked deep inside only prolonged her climax.
Isabella clung to Brandon, pulling his face against her chest, smothering him in sweat, lust, and heat.
Brandon was right on the verge of exploding, too.
With one final effort, he drove his fingers faster, working her over until she was drenched, scorching, and voracious around his hand. She whimpered “please” over and over, begging Brandon to keep her riding the high for as long as possible. And he did.
Isabella grabbed the mesh ball bag hanging from the wall for balance. Their frantic thrashing knocked the sack loose, sending a rain of neon-green tennis balls bouncing across the floor and spilling out through the cracked door. Neither of them cared.
Still holding Isabella with her legs locked around his hips, Brandon felt her pulsing around his hand while his cock bucked between her thighs, never having actually penetrated her.
His hot release dripped down her legs as she slumped against him, chest heaving, her eyes glazed over and unfocused with sheer pleasure.
When she finally unhooked her legs and let him step back, Isabella could barely stay on her feet. Even so, she murmured something under her breath.
“What’s that?” Brandon asked.
“A... a...”
“Hm?” He pulled her closer, steadying her by the arms while aftershocks of her orgasm still rippled through her.
“Again,” she finally said.
Brandon smiled.
“Again, now!” she added, remembering how she’d just made him beg.
No one could refuse a direct order like that, right? Brandon turned her around, bracing her against one of the metal equipment racks. Tugging her hips back, he hitched her ass up. His palms slid against the sweat on her skin, soaking in the furnace heat she radiated.
He was going to eat her out so hard she’d—
Brandon was just about to taste her with his tongue when he heard footsteps approaching outside.
“Anyone in there?” It was one of the two old men playing tennis.
Shit, Brandon thought. Is this how it’s going to be every damn time? The night Amanda had used him for pleasure, they’d been cut short, too.
Isabella’s eyes, heavy with lust a second ago, flew wide open. Every trace of satisfied bliss vanished, replaced by sheer panic and dread.
Brandon scrambled to his feet, his cock brushing between Isabella’s thighs one last time and making her choke back a gasp, before he hauled his uniform pants up as fast as he could.
“Sir? I'm in here!” Brandon called out, loud and quick.
“What’s all this racket?”
“Just...” He yanked his uniform shirt on. Isabella held both hands over her mouth. “Just getting things organized here, sir.”
“I wouldn't call that organizing.”
The old man was about to shove the door open, but Brandon lunged forward and filled the doorway, using his body and the door to keep Isabella hidden.
“Sorry about that, sir. Bag slipped right out of my hands. I’m cleaning it up right now.” Brandon held Isabella’s tennis racket in front of his groin, trying to hide the obvious bulge tenting his trousers.
The older gentleman didn't look pleased. His white mustache twitched with suspicion, but he didn't say anything more. He tried to peer past into the shed, but gave up when Brandon shifted to block his view. Finally, the old man relented.
“See that you do,” he grunted, turning to head back to the court. His tennis partner was calling out to him, telling him to drop it. From a distance, Brandon couldn't be certain, but he could swear the man on the court was Amanda’s father.
Once the mustachioed man moved away, Brandon began scooping up the scattered tennis balls.
He muttered a string of curses under his breath at the old buzzard for ruining his momentum with Isabella.
The girl had to be scared half to death of getting caught.
He picked up half a dozen more neon balls, deliberately lingering in front of the door frame to obscure the view inside.
Once the old man was well clear, Brandon slipped back into the shed.
Isabella was already dressed—skirt, top, and visor back in place. She’d managed to clean herself up somehow. Snatching her racket from Brandon’s hands, she grabbed him by the cheeks and planted a hard, searing kiss on his lips. That definitely took the edge off his frustration.
“That was... even better than Amanda made it sound.” Isabella kissed him again, lingering to caress his cheek to make sure he knew how thoroughly pleased she was. Then she peeked out of the shed, checking both directions to ensure the coast was clear.
Brandon followed her out, clutching the half-empty sack of tennis balls. By the time he looked down the flagstone path, her petite figure was already darting through the garden away from the courts. The two older gentlemen playing tennis apparently hadn't noticed a thing.
Brandon exhaled a long breath. In the end, he had to get back to work: pick up the tennis balls, clock back in, obey the members, and cater to their every little whim.
For a moment, he replayed what they’d just done in the shed, savoring the way she’d made him beg. Then he let out another sigh. He didn't feel like begging to follow any of the orders he’d be taking for the rest of the day.