Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
It was all on her.
No matter how hard my sanity of rationale was trying to cast this aside as a blip in hers, I couldn’t shake off the undeniable. I was excited. Bristling with the spike of adrenaline. Nothing the fuck whatsoever to do with tennis and everything to do with Anna Blackwell.
I pulled up in the sports club parking area, checking again on her message to make sure that this was the right venue. It was a way out of town, right on the outskirts and no location I recognised from days gone by, but yeah, it was the right one.
I was still sitting in the truck, ready to jump out when a taxi drew up in a space in front of me. I watched her legs appear before she did, her sweet little backside poking up high as she leaned back in to pay the driver.
She looked absolutely fucking divine. Hair scooped up messily, in the style I loved so much on her. Cheeks flushed with the taste of life as she stared on up at the building, seemingly as unsure of it as I was. Her top was tight and stretched just right over her perky little tits. Perky little tits I’d pushed hard in the way that drove her crazy, and drove me insane to match.
I knew they’d be tender as sin under the fabric, begging for a flick of my tongue on her nipples. Bruised just right to set her churning, grabbing hold and squealing for more if I dared to squeeze just so.
Her shorts were high enough to show off the legs she’d wrapped so tight around my back the night before. Socks cute and white in sweet little tennis shoes.
I dropped out of the truck and was up close behind her before she registered my presence.
She sure fucking registered it when she did, though. Her eyes were wide when she spun to face me, mouth open in the perfect invite to slam my tongue in deep and claim her for another battle of skin on skin. But then she saw her racket in my hand. Those wide eyes lit up as she snatched it from me, spinning it in her grip like a long lost friend.
“Wow, you really kept it.”
It seems she had considerably more affection for the strung plastic sports weapon than she had for me. Yet again, I couldn’t blame her.
“Let’s see if you really kept up with how to use it,” I said and saw the flash in her eyes I knew so well. Competition. Spirit. Drive to push herself to the limit.
It turned me into a prick every bit as desperate to claim victory as she was to win the fight.
“I’ll remember how to use it,” she said, and spun it in her hand again as we reached the entrance. “Let’s just see if you remember how to kick my ass as hard as you used to.”
“I’ll kick your tight little ass so hard you’ll scream like a bitch all night long,” I hissed at her ear as she grinned at the reception attendant on the main desk.
“Blackwell,” she told them, but her voice was goofed up and unsteady. “Three p.m., for tennis.”
“Court four,” they replied, barely shooting us a glance.
Anna didn’t speak a word until we got outside. She took up her side of the court and did some stretches, and my dick was a total loser, straining hard in my shorts as she bent and scooped and danced around the place. She flaunted her ass, and knew it, flashing me a dirty glance over her shoulder and smirking like a minx as she saw my stare.
Yep. If that was her game, she’d stand a chance of winning. Slamming the bastard tennis ball over the net was right down on my list of priorities. Slamming my tongue in her asshole was a whole fucking world more captivating.
She bounced the ball on the tarmac. I braced myself for the serve.
It was a disaster when it came. She judged the racket swing wrong, barely scooting the ball over the net where it bounced in a pitiful little stutter.
She cursed. I laughed. She cursed louder and shot me the middle finger, and I shrugged. Then she was laughing too.
“False start,” she shouted, and I shrugged again.
“Start as many times as you want, I’ll always be the one to finish.”
“We’ll see about that,” she said.
Next time she caught it good. There was spirit in her slam, the racket connecting with the ball and striking hard. She delivered. I delivered right back. She leapt and dashed and swung like it was her life purpose to win the match, but I didn’t let her. There was no way I was letting her take the crown. She was mine to be taken, both on the court and off it, she just didn’t know it yet.