Page 61 of Match Point

Tristan took the remote from me and tossed it aside. “I had another idea.”

Before I could ask what he meant, he was rising off the couch and lifting me into the air with easy strength. “What are you doing!”

“Taking you into the bedroom, in case your agent gets home.”

“There’s no television in there.”

“That is wholly unrelated to what I plan on doing for the next twenty minutes.”

I squirmed in his arms, but it was like fighting a giant. Astronggiant. “The point of me giving you a blowjob was to avoid wearing you out!”

“I appreciate the thought,” he replied, “but I consider myself a gentleman. And I won’t be able to sleep tonight until you’ve had seven or eight orgasms.”

“Seven or eight! Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

He deposited me onto the bed and smiled down at me. “Then let’s start with one.”

I sighed as Tristan bent down to kiss my neck, his lips moving along my collarbone and down to my chest. I sat up so he could peel my shirt over my head, and his fingers slipped around to my back and deftly unclasped my bra. The air was cool on my bare breasts, but only until Tristan nuzzled his face into them, kissing and licking his way around my nipple. I gasped as lightning bolts of pleasure shot from his tongue, spreading through my torso as he sucked and swirled around my right nipple, then across to my left. He sank between my legs, grinding up and down against my crotch in a way that promisedmore.

His kisses ventured lower. Fingers moved along my waist and unbuttoned my jeans, and then they were sliding down over my legs along with my panties. Bare and vulnerable, I spread my legs for my tall Australian tennis pro.

Tristan took a moment to gaze at my sex, taking in the sight of it. I hadn’t expected to have sex since the tournament began; it had been close to two weeks since I had shaved. Was he surprised? Was he expecting something else? A million questions ran through my head in that vulnerable moment, the way they always did with a lover…

Tristan dove his face into my pussy, kissing my lips tenderly. “You taste amazing,” he moaned into me, his voice vibrating through my pelvis and into my clit. I groaned, and all self-doubt disappeared as he went down on me. He ate me out with focused attention, beginning with my outer lips and then moving inward. One finger slid into my drenched slit, then two, and he twisted them back and forth while his tongue circled my clit expertly.

Soon I was coming against his face like there was no tomorrow. My cries of pleasure filled the little Wimbledon cottage as I arched my back and held his head against my sopping entrance, my fingers digging into his scalp. As he finished, I could feel his lips curl into a smile against my sex.

“Those are the sounds I like to hear,” he purred. “You make even more noise than you do on the court.”

I panted. “I don’t make noise while playing tennis!”

“You grunt alittle,” he replied, kissing my bare belly.

I sat up in bed. “I’m not Maria Sharapova. I don’t scream like a banshee.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“I did not.”

“I’ve always tried to sound graceful on the court,” I insisted.

Tristan leaned on one elbow and smiled up at me. “You’re graceful. Quite ladylike, I might say.”

“Next time lead with that,” I said, pulling him up into a kiss.

“I’m an expert at tennis, not romance,” he whispered, his face so close to mine that our noses brushed together.

I bit my lip. “I can think of a few more things you’re an expert in. Even if I didn’t come as quickly as you did.”

He let out an offended gasp. “I’m pleased with how quickly I got you off!”

“You should be!” I smiled sweetly. “Even if it wasn’t as fast as I gotyouoff.”

“You know I like a challenge, right?” he said, planting his fists on either side of me and covering me with his body. His scent overwhelmed me, masculine and sweet.

“If I were you, I would conserve my energy for tomorrow’s doubles match,” I said between kisses. “If you lose, I don’t want to be the reason. Or the excuse.”

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