Page 15 of Long Shot

Shit. How does she still have that kind of power over me?

As the week went on, Mac continued to progress through the qualifiers, and Taylor made sure to pay attention to the schedules. She couldn’t afford another surprise run in – or at least, that’s what she told herself. But that didn’t stop her from checking in on the scores between what felt like endless press and training sessions.

By the time Mac’s final match rolled around, she couldn’t help herself from tuning in on her phone. As Taylor rode the elevator of Hotel George V. back to her suite, Mac used her backhand to place a shot directly down the line, an impossible hit for her opponent. “Nice…”

The elevator doors swung open to Taylor’s private penthouse. Hardly looking away from her phone, she swiped the keycard and pushed the door open. She pulled off her heels with one hand and tossed them by the door. Dodging the scattered clothes on the floor, Taylor made her way to the living room and plopped down on the white leather couch.

Mac scored again, leaving the third set hanging in the balance. Her opponent, another American, was putting up a good fight, but Mac seemed like she could predict every single stroke.

Grabbing the remote, Taylor put the match on the TV. She had convinced herself that it was research – that if Mackenzie really stood a chance of making it to Roland Garros, she needed to learn this new opponent. After all, if Mac won this round, there was a chance the pair would face off.

The thought brought a lump to Taylor’s throat. She watched Mac’s body closely. Undeniably, Mac was a force of nature – somehow even more impressive than she had been when theywere young. Unlike most players, age had made Mackenzie more nimble.

The livestream zoomed in on her face as she bounced the ball before a serve. Taylor’s breath caught watching Mac’s jaw tense the same way it had in the locker room. There was something so familiar about Mac’s intensity.

Pulling out, the camera cut to a wider shot of Mac’s serve. Her body stretched elegantly to meet the ball. Taylor eyed her grip on the blue racket, slowly letting her gaze fall down Mac’s forearms to her bulging biceps. Taylor knew how difficult it was to get that kind of definition. She seethed with jealousy, having worked for muscle like that her entire career.

She tried to ignore the jolt of excitement pulsing through her center.

Leaning back into the couch cushions, Taylor bit her lip. Giving in to Mackenzie again wasn’t in the cards for Taylor. Not under Kim’s iron rule.

But no one would ever know if…Scanning the room, Taylor smirked to herself as she unbuttoned the navy pants she had worn all day and let her hand drift between the trousers and her lace panties.

As her fingers rubbed the space between her thighs, her clit began throbbing with excitement. At first, Taylor tried to keep her eyes off the TV. But with each volley, Mackenzie’s familiar moan filled her suite. Eventually, she gave in, arching her back as she gazed up at the screen. They were replaying a slow motion shot of Mac sliding to reach a far corner ball.

Taylor groaned as she watched Mac’s legs spreading as she dropped to the ground – memories of Mac’s center pressed against her own filled her mind. She closed her eyes, focusing on the image. Taylor felt as if Mac was in front of her now – riding her silicone strap as it pressed into Taylor’s clit.

Peeking once more, Taylor watched Mac’s muscular arms straining with all of their remaining power to score a point. As the crowd cheered, Taylor whimpered. “Yes.”

Her fingers slid the lace to one side. With each stroke of her clit, Taylor’s fingers grew more wet. Just the feeling of her own slick pleasure made Taylor shudder. She found herself wondering once more:how does she still have that kind of power over me?

When she looked back at the TV, a close shot of Mac’s face filled her screen: panting, sweating, eyes filled with hunger. It was the final serve of her last qualifying match. If she took this point, Taylor would be stuck with her for the next two weeks.

She wanted to hate the thought, to hate that they’d run into each other at press events, in the locker rooms or hotel hallways. But even their brief encounter the other day made Taylor’s body lose control. Mac was bold – unwilling to roll over like she had in the past. And it made every part of Taylor tingle.

Mac’s eyes flicked to the camera.

Can she see me?Taylor whimpered as she met Mac’s deep, brown eyes. The orange clay reflected in them, lightening them just a hue. Her hair was in a tight top bun, exposing a fresh undercut.

Before Taylor knew it, she was serving the last point. A loud cry escaped Mac’s lips as she cracked the ball across the court. Taylor cried out in response, her fingers pressing harder and harder into her clit.

Taylor’s body tensed as she neared her peak, every hair on her body rising with excitement. Forcing her eyes open, Taylor watched Mac grunt as she launched another shot. It landed just in the lines on the far corner. The crowd roared as Taylor released a scream of pleasure.

“Fuck!” Taylor shuddered under her own hands. When her body calmed and her eyes opened, Mac had collapsed to theground. It wasn’t long before she pulled herself up and stumbled to the net.

Taylor cleared her throat and sat up on her couch as she watched Mackenzie shake her opponent’s hand. Running a hand over the back of her head, Taylor smoothed her silky, blonde hair before standing and buttoning her pants.

She tried to settle her breathing as she turned off the TV. Just then, a text came to her phone.

Mom: No excuses. You’ll pummel her.

Rolling her eyes, Taylor tossed her phone into the couch.Fucking buzzkill.

7

Mac

Qualifying week had been a whirlwind.Every day, more and more people stopped Mac to congratulate her on her progress. But now, the real competition began.

---