Page 74 of Match Point

‘Oh my God, you look amazing.’ His voice is rushed and heavy, and I see him watching me with his lips parted, his eyes burning with need. ‘You’re making me close.’

His hand slides down between my legs as his breathing gets heavier, and a flare of unruly heat is sparked in the spot where his thumb begins to work. I roll my hips harder and faster, encouraged by his touch and his words, and I wish I could tell him that I’ve never had sex like this before, the kind where I’m not worrying about what I look like or trying to disguise those fears with darkness or duvets. The way he looks at me and touches me – it’s not just what he says, it’s the way he shows me – he makes me feel so hot.

‘Flossie,’ he rasps, ‘oh fuck.’

His eyes flash helplessly at me, and knowing he’s so close makes me lose all control. As I tip over the edge, I can feel him come too, in rapid jerks of his hips as he pumps deep inside me. Groaning loudly together, the ripples of pleasure flooding my body are so consuming that I would lose my balance if he wasn’t holding me in place, my limbs trembling, head spinning, heart hammering.

As we catch our breath, I collapse against him and eventually his mouth searches for mine, kissing me and breaking into a smile.

‘What?’ I ask, drawing back to look at him properly.

‘I was just thinking… it sounds stupid.’

‘Tell me,’ I beg softly.

He sighs. ‘I was just thinking, how lucky it was that I picked this flat, and how lucky I am that you decided to stay.’

20

When Kieran first tries to get out of the bed the following morning, I drag him back under the sheets, but he groans and tells me off for making it harder to leave, reminding me that he really can’t be late on account of, you know, needing to practise before that fairly important career-defining game he’s playing tomorrow.

‘We should have woken up earlier,’ he growls into my neck, my arms wrapped around his, my fingers threading through his hair and tugging it suggestively.

I sigh, reluctantly letting him go and snuggling back into the pillows. ‘Wimbledon is so annoying. It keeps getting in the way of our fun.’

‘Yes,’ he agrees, leaning over me and propping himself up on his elbows either side of my head, ‘but it’s also because of Wimbledon that we met.’

‘That’s true. It’s really a love-hate relationship I have with this tournament.’

He grins, kisses the tip of my nose then my mouth, moving his lips down to my collarbone and in between my breasts, before a small sound of frustration climbs up his throat and he forces himself up away from me, rolling out of bed.

I lie for a few minutes in blissful cosiness while I listen to the sound of the shower, letting my mind wander, imagining if this is what it would be like on weekend mornings if we were really together. I picture us lying together in bed lazily, holding hands as we go out for brunch in the Village, me complaining that he has to leave for training, bickering over his hours on the tennis court and the mind-blowing make-up sex we’d have after…

Uh-oh. I’m even daydreaming about arguing with this guy.

And this could be over in a week. The idea makes me shudder, so I swing my legs out of bed and go into the kitchen to put on the coffee, hoping that keeping busy will distract me from all the thoughts racing through my mind, good and bad.

Checking my phone while I stir the spoon around my mug, I gasp at a WhatsApp from Iris that reads:

He kissed you in the rain. IN. THE. RAIN. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! You are living a FANTASY. That picture is the best thing I’ve ever seen, like a snapshot from a movie. Call me and tell me EVERYTHING!!

It doesn’t take me long to find the picture she’s talking about. Someone must have been lurking nearby outside the pub and noticed us. I would be upset at the invasion of privacy and the pervy actions of a stranger thinking it’s appropriate to take secret photographs of us kissing, but… it’s a damn good photo. Iris is right, it looks like it could be a still from a movie, me tipped back in his strong arms, our eyes blissfully closed, our lips locked, his chiselled jaw glistening with moisture, my hair dripping wet…

I smile to myself. My very own Audrey-Hepburn-in-Breakfast-at-Tiffany’s moment.

The photo has gone viral on social media and I see from clips posted that it’s even made it onto morning shows as an ‘uplifting’ segment, presenters swooning over it. I bite my lip as I scroll through the trending tag #WimbledonRomance.

‘You’ve seen it then,’ Kieran grimaces, coming into the kitchen showered and dressed. He pads over to me with a concerned expression. ‘I’m sorry.’

Putting my phone down on the counter, I stand up on my tiptoes to kiss him. ‘I’m not. We look pretty good.’

He sighs, his hands resting on my hips. ‘You do. But still. You must be upset.’

‘Forget it,’ I press, giving him a relaxed smile. ‘I’m not going to let it ruin how amazing last night was. Are you?’

He shakes his head.

‘Good. It’s not important. I’ll be back in a minute.’

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