18. Jordan
Chapter Eighteen
Jordan
Something was off.
I knew it the second I tossed up the first serve, legs heavy, timing a fraction out. Every shot came either a beat too early or a heartbeat too late. The rhythm just wouldn’t land.
And Tyler Reed, bloody hell, he was sharp. Blistering forehands, relentless footwork, grinning like the cocky twenty-something he was. Every time he baited me into those wide, cross-court rallies, I bit. Like I hadn’t watched hours of him doing exactly that to other blokes all season.
He took the first set 6–3. I barely made him sweat for it.
When I slumped into my chair, I ripped off my hat and slung a towel over my head. I wanted to scream. I was in my head, drowning in it. Every missed return echoed louder than the one before. Every mistake dug deeper. Kate was right—there was no one harder on me than myself.
This wasn’t how today was meant to go. I was supposed to be ice-cold. In control. Instead, all I could feel was the weight pressing in from every side. My first Wimbledon semi-final. First shot at the big stage. And here I was, choking under pressure.
I inhaled sharply. Sunlight glinted as I looked up, and there she was, a picture of serenity on the outside.
God, she was beautiful. But I knew her by now.
I saw the strain in her posture, her arms held tight, elbows in.
As if any movement would shatter the moment.
Her lips were a thin line before she slowly lowered her sunglasses, meeting my gaze.
Then she mouthed something so clearly I didn’t need to second guess.
You’ve got this.
Something shifted in the atmosphere then. Like an anchor dropped straight through the fog.
She believed in me and didn’t care what the outcome would be today. Not the ranking, not the hype, just me. Jordan.
I dropped the towel, exhaled, and walked back out with fire in my chest instead of the interference in my head.
Reed still had that ridiculous forehand, still chased down balls no human had any business reaching, but I had her. And I had the little things she’d pointed out in training running on a loop.
The twitch in his left eye before a bluff drop shot? I caught it.
The hunch at the baseline before he drove it deep? Picked it clean.
I played earlier. Smarter. There was no theatrics, just pure, ruthless instinct. When I broke his serve to take the second set 7–5, I didn’t celebrate. I just turned to her box, giving the smallest nod. Just for her.
Reed, as Kate predicted, tried to change the tempo in the third, slapping his thigh, barking at his box in that thick, American accent, making a show of his irritation. I stayed still. “Don’t react, that’ll break him more.” I could hear her voice in my head.
At 5–4, we played the rally of the match. Twenty-six brutal shots. Backhand, forehand, slide, twist, sprint. My lungs burned, my legs threatening to give. And then the gap opened up.
I went full tilt. Slammed a forehand down the line so hard, the line judge flinched.
Ace. Match point.
The stadium went quiet, the kind of silent that roared.
I bounced the ball twice, looked up, and found her. Still there. Still watching me like I was the only thing that mattered.
I couldn’t stop the grin creeping across my face which Reed would inevitably think was a dig at him. Fucking let him.
I served. Unreturnable.
Game, set, match.
The crowd soared to its feet, but I didn’t drop to my knees or pump my fist at the box. I just shut my eyes for a second and tipped my head back. Then I turned, slowly, and looked straight at her.
I let the grin take over my face, full of everything I couldn’t say out loud.
Because it was her. All of it. The fight, the calm, the fire in my chest. She was the difference. Without a second thought, I ran over to her, racket in hand. Her face was a picture of panic and elation. I climbed into the players’ box, my heart still thundering in my ears, and kissed her.
I thought everyone in the stadium saw it. The cameras definitely caught it, but I didn’t care.
Let them know.
She’s the one.
Across the net, Reed was fuming. Racket clenched in one hand, the other raking through his sweat-soaked hair like he couldn’t believe the outcome.
His mouth twisted into that sneering smirk I’d seen on him all week, the one that said you didn’t beat me, I just had an off day.
He slapped my hand at the net harder than necessary, muttered something about, “Enjoy the luck while it lasts,” and stalked off with his shoulders still squared like he owned the place.
It didn’t matter; I’d already forgotten him. My eyes were on her.
The trophy presentation blurred. I could hear my name echoing around Centre Court, the crowd still buzzing. But the moment I turned toward the players’ box, she’d already slipped away.
But not before I caught a last glimpse; just her hair slipping behind someone’s shoulder, the edge of her dress, that flash of a smile. She was already on her way down, and my heart was hammering at the thought of seeing her.
Backstage, as I made my way through the tunnel, it happened. I practically ran to her, crashing my mouth against hers, all that adrenaline spilling out in one kiss. Every ounce of pressure, every second of the match, broke loose between us.
I’d never forget that look in her eyes—the pride, the way her hand curled around the back of my neck like I was hers and she didn’t care who saw.
“You were amazing,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
I caught her wrists, still breathless. “I can’t—fuck—I can’t believe I did it. I kept looking for you.” Her hands framed my face, her lips pressing soft against mine, steady where I wasn’t. I could feel what it meant to her, the weight of it.
“Go do your thing,” she murmured, close enough that only I could hear. “Soak in every second. I’ll meet you later at the flat, if you want?”
That was so like Kate. She was the most selfless, grounded person I knew. She understood what this moment meant, that I’d be pulled in a million directions now. She never tried to insert herself—she didn’t need the spotlight. She just existed, and that was enough.
But the undeniable truth was I wanted her there. God, I wanted to share this with her. Desperately. But she was right to hang back, and I was scared that if I leaned too hard, I’d crush her under everything that came with me.
Before I turned away, I kissed her hard, needing the taste of her to carry me through whatever circus waited beyond the tunnel. Then I forced myself to jog off, every step heavier for leaving her behind, fully aware that she was standing there, holding my entire heart.
The drive home was a complete blur. The roar of the crowd was still in my ears. My pulse hadn’t slowed for a moment, but it wasn’t from nerves anymore. The adrenaline was still there, coursing through my veins as if it had nowhere to go. But I knew exactly where I was about to put it.
I turned the key in the lock. The door clicked open, and there she was.
Sitting at the kitchen island, one leg crossed over the other, looking like she’d been waiting for me all night.
Her blonde hair cascaded loose over her shoulders, her peachy skin glowing, still in that little floral dress that was straining against her perfect, full tits.
My girl. The only thing better than the win.
My cock throbbed against my shorts instantly. Here she was, the woman who’d come into my life like a whirlwind this week, sitting in my kitchen and looking like the piece that had always been missing.
“Fuck me,” I muttered, my gaze raking over her. “Look at you…waiting for me like you knew I’d come home, needing this.”
Her eyes met mine, and then she was moving. She closed the distance in two steps, a fire blazing in her gaze. Her perfect, filthy mouth was already on mine, and her fingers were tangled in my hair, as if she couldn’t bear another moment without touching me.
“Jordan,” she said, “I need you to fuck me. Fuck me so hard I won’t even remember my own name.”
I groaned against her lips. “Yeah? You enjoyed seeing me today? You wanna fuck a winner?”
She grabbed my shirt with both fists, pulling me toward her like she needed more. We stumbled back, and I slammed her into the wall, her body hot and alive against mine. Fuck, that probably hurt. She gasped, but didn’t push me away.
My hands were under her dress before I could even register it, sliding up those thighs I’d dreamed about all day.
Needing her more than I needed air. “This little fucking dress is gonna be in pieces by the time I’m done with you,” I rasped, hooking a finger under the delicate strap and yanking until it tore clean off.
Her perky fucking tits spilled into my hands.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” I muttered into her neck. “All fucking day.”
She moaned, dragging my shirt up off my torso, pulling me closer, her lips finding mine again. “Then do something about it.”
“Fuck, Kate…condom?”
“No time,” she panted. “I’m on the pill.
Jordan, fuck…just do it.” Every nerve in my body fired at once.
I lifted her higher, my hard, aching cock pressing against her as if it already knew the way.
Her thighs locked around my waist, and her back hit the wall harder this time, picture frames rattling.
With one hand, I tugged her underwear aside.
I didn’t wait. I couldn’t possibly wait.
I pushed my shorts down just enough, fisted my throbbing cock at the base, and notched it in her entrance. I thrust inside her in one hard, brutal stroke.
She cried out, loud, and my knees almost gave out.
Jesus. Nothing prepared me for the feeling of being inside her bare, hot pussy that was so fucking wet for me, I thought I’d lose it in seconds.
I gritted my teeth and thrust again, harder this time.
I couldn’t stop myself. Her fingers scraped down my back, as if she were trying to hold on.
It hurt like fuck, but I liked the burn, her mark she left on me.
“Feel that?” I growled in her ear. “I’ll fill you so deep you won’t remember your own name…just mine.”
“Jordan…oh my God…”
I caught her wrist and pinned a hand above her head, the other one trailing firmly down her throat while she held on to me with her legs.
I wanted to see how far I could take her.
I fucked her like I was trying to fuck her through the wall.
We weren’t gentle. We weren’t careful. We were desperate.
My cock slammed into her tight little pussy as if we were made of fire.
With every thrust, her back thumped the wall harder. Her gasps turned into breathless laughter, like she was enjoying matching me thrust for thrust.
“You’re unreal,” I growled, my voice nothing but gravel. “So fucking wet for me. You wanted this, wanted my cock, didn’t you?”
She arched her back, head tilted, mouth open in a moan that undid me.
“I want all of it,” she gasped. “All of you.”
“Then scream for me. Scream my fucking name, Kate, so that everyone knows exactly who you’re fucking.”
I drove into her like she was the only thing that mattered.
“Ahh…fuck, Jordan…harder.” This woman was insane.
I couldn’t fuck her harder than I already was, and still she needed more.
I could feel her grip getting tighter; she was close.
Her hot, wet heat was tightening around my cock, practically strangling me.
And when she came screaming my name, I followed her over the edge, spilling everything I had inside her.
When it was over, we didn’t move. We were breathing heavy like we’d just been in a fight, not fucking.
I still had her wrist pinned to the wall, and when I finally eased out and released my grip, I had to walk away.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t look at her.
My pulse was hammering and fuck…for a second I wasn’t sure how far I’d taken it.
How far I’d crossed a line. I dragged a hand over my face and tried to take air in.
That’s when I heard her ragged, breathless laugh. I immediately turned. She was still against the wall, dress bunched, strap torn, hair a wild mess. Her tits were still heaving, my cum dripping down her bare thigh, and her mouth curved into the dirtiest little smirk I’d ever seen.
A stunned laugh escaped me. “What the fuck was that?”
Her grin curled slowly and wickedly. “That was a man who just made the Wimbledon final.”
“Fuck, woman. Look at you. Wrecked and dripping for me. That’s exactly how I want you.”
I picked her up again, carried her to the couch, and collapsed with her still wrapped around me like we hadn’t quite finished yet. For a long time, we couldn’t speak. Because in all honesty, there were no words that could explain how I felt for this woman.