Page 64 of Match Point

‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, slowly emerging from my haze.

‘How are you feeling?’ he mutters, his lips grazing against my skin.

I exhale, my heart fluttering. ‘I want more.’

Running my fingers down his chest, I reach beneath the waistband of his boxers, and hear his breath catch as my hand wraps around his cock.

Wow. I can’t stop my eyes widening at how big he is, taking a beat to imagine what he’ll feel like inside me, before I start to softly stroke him up and down, thrills rushing through me as his breathing grows heavier. His groans are causing an intensity to build between my legs again and I grip him firmer, moving my hand faster until he gasps, reaching down to grab my wrist and make me stop.

‘If you keep going like that, I won’t last much longer,’ he says through gritted teeth.

I smile up at him, biting my lip and rolling across to my bedside table, propping myself up to open the drawer and find the box I’m looking for. Lying back, I hold out the foil package and he takes it, tearing the condom open with his teeth and rolling it on. When he moves to settle between my legs, leaning over me, his eyes are blazing with heat and it makes my pulse quicken that I can have this effect on him, this unbelievably hot, sculpted guy who I’d never believed would look twice at me. But if I want proof he’s as turned on as I am, I only have to glance down. His chest is heaving, but he hesitates.

‘Are you sure?’ he checks.

Removing any lingering doubt, I cradle his face in my hands and bring his lips to mine.

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I whisper into his mouth and he kisses me.

My breath hitches as he enters, slow and a little cautious at first as my body opens to take him in. He feels so incredible, I know straight away that I’ll be able to come again. He pulls back achingly slowly and then slides back in, rolling his hips, thrusting harder and deeper, and filling my body with fluttering waves of ecstasy each time. As he groans into my ear, I grab the nape of his neck with one hand while the other grabs a fistful of the duvet, moaning loudly as he rocks into me faster.

‘You feel so fucking good, baby,’ he breathes, pressing his lips hard against mine.

I don’t know if it was him calling me that in his low, raspy voice – as though, even if it’s just for this one blissful, surreal moment, I’m his and only his – but something combusts within me. Heat rockets through my body and every muscle tightens and quivers. He feels it and I watch him lose control, his eyes glazing as he moves his hand down to rub the spot between my legs, sending my body into overdrive as the pressure builds.

‘Fuck,’ he grunts, ‘I can feel you. Flossie, fuck, you’re making me c—’

He sinks into me with a loud groan, and as I feel him pulse and swell inside me, I lose myself again, consumed by the ecstasy rolling through my body, trembling beneath him.

*

‘How are you feeling about the next round?’ I ask softly, once he’s returned from the bathroom and has got back into bed. I’m nuzzled into the crook of his arm, my head resting against his bare chest, one hand lazily doodling patterns across his stomach.

He chuckles, tightening his arm around me. ‘You want to go again? Give me a minute and I’m game.’

‘I’m talking about Wimbledon.’ I roll my eyes, but break into a grin, flattered at his enthusiasm. ‘You remember winning your match today?’

‘Oh, that, yeah, rings a bell.’ He sighs, lifting his other hand to rest behind his head on the pillow. ‘I don’t know. A little nervous, I guess. It’s still early in the tournament, but one step closer and all that.’

‘What is it about Wimbledon? Why is that the one you all want to win?’

He takes a moment to work out his answer and in the quiet, I listen to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. I didn’t want to assume that I’d sleep in the bed next to him tonight after everything that’s just happened, but I was relieved when he asked me to stay. I’m not sure there’s anywhere I’d rather be than here lying beside him, sheets draped over us, my leg wrapped around his, his arm cradling me against him, his fingertips resting lightly on my hip.

‘There’s something about playing on the courts there,’ he answers eventually in a soft voice. ‘You can feel the history, everything and everyone who went before you. Wimbledon has a lot of heritage and all the rules encourage you to respect that heritage and tradition, you know? It’s the prestige of it. The biggest thing for me is the silence.’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘What do you mean?’

‘When you step up to serve at Wimbledon, it’s silent. Complete silence.’

‘That must be daunting.’

‘Mm.’

We fall into comfortable silence and I relax against him, closing my eyes. I’m starting to drift off when he speaks again.

‘Flossie?’

‘Yes?’

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