“I fly out early the day after tomorrow,” she explained.
My shoulders sagged at the thought of her leaving. There were still so many matches to go in the French Open—I selfishly wanted her to be there at each and every one of them. I didn’t want to play any of them without her. But I was being an idiot. She had to go, and I had to stay. This, I had to know, was only ever temporary. A sweet fling in Paris. Nothing more, right?
“What about you?” she asked as we arrived at the top of her street. “What does the great Damon Holden have to do tomorrow? Let me guess; first some training in the morning, followed by a few press interviews, and then just a wee little match.”
I chuckled, tucking a strand of her behind her ear with my fingers. Her breath caught, and I leaned down, taking the opportunity to kiss her lips. “You got it in one. I will be busy pretty much all day.”
I saw the disappointment in her eyes and felt the same. Two days was not enough. “Well then, I guess this is goodbye,” she said softly, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
“Let me take you to the airport, or maybe I could get you a ticket for my match tomorrow?” I forced out, wishing like hell I could stay the night with her. But I wasn’t going to do that, no matter how much I wanted to. Crossing that threshold, never to be able to taste that sweetness again would drive me insane. Plus my game would be all out of whack the next day—I’d surely lose, and I hated to lose. Sex before a match, no matter how great, would do me more harm than good.
“I’d like that,” she answered, touching my cheek with her hand. “Thank you for a wonderful time today. I will treasure it always.”
Fighting back the urge to ravish her right there on the street, I leaned down and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Good night, Ginny.”
She threw her arms around my neck and pulled me close, until her soft body was pressed up against mine invitingly. I groaned and threaded my fingers through her hair, my mouth ravaging hers. She was intoxicating.
“Come inside,” she said urgently, her hands roaming over my back. “Please?”
“I shouldn’t,” I said, surprising myself. I was never one to turn down a good night of sex, but this was Ginny, not some random broad off the street, and I’d already run through all the reasons I shouldn’t. I would be tortured no matter what fork of the road I took… stay or leave?
“We shouldn’t do a lot of things,” she said, breaking contact with me to reach into her purse. “But that doesn’t stop us from doing them.”
She tapped the door code and threw open the heavy door, grabbed my hand and pulled me in before I could stop her. Kicking the door closed with my foot, I reached for her, pressing her against the cold wall of the entrance hall.
We bounced from side to side, ricocheting off the walls until we managed to find our way to her apartment deep within the building.
She fiddled her keys into the lock, and as soon as I heard the loud click of the mechanism, I had her inside. I spun her around just as the door slammed shut and pushed her up against it.
“Remember, you asked for this,” I reminded her gently, pulling her arms over her head and holding her there.
“I know,” she said, searching my eyes. I swore and kissed her hard, holding her arms with one hand as my other hand roamed down her neck, then her shoulder. She moaned as I flicked open the first few buttons on her shirt, revealing a fiery red lacy bra underneath. My cock responded to the sight, straining against my jeans as I undid the rest of the buttons and pushed the open shirt aside. I was going to control myself tonight. I wanted to leave her with another fantastic memory of Paris, with not a hint of regret.
“Beautiful,” I said, leaning down to kiss her exposed collarbone. She shuddered as my lips trailed down the expanse of her skin. My hand pushed aside the fabric of one of the bra cups to reveal her creamy breast with a ruby red tip, already hardened. “What do you want me to do, Ginny?”
She took in a breath and for a moment I thought she wasn’t going to say anything. I waited, desperate to have her but willing to walk away if need be.
“Touch me. Everywhere.”
It came out in a whisper, the best phrase I had heard all day. With a growl, I captured her nipple in my mouth, her breathy moan telling me all I needed to know. I teased and sucked while my hand roamed down farther to the waistband of her jeans. Slight déjà vu hit me as I undid the fastenings of her jeans. I slid my hand in, loving the sensation of her skin against mine, and cupping her very heat with my hand.
“Oh god,” she said, struggling against my grip.
“I know you like that,” I said, one finger arching against the cotton of her knickers. “And I like you, so much.”
“How much?” she whimpered.
“Let me show you.”
She quit struggling, and I released her arms, my hand yanking at her pants and pulling them down to her knees. “Fucking gorgeous,” I said as I dropped to my knees.
“Damon.”
I looked up to see indecision in her eyes, or maybe it was an echo of the sadness that was to come once this night was over. At least we’d always have Paris, I thought.
“I’ll stop right now if you want me to,” I said, the words hard to get out. “But I don’t fucking want to. Let me show you how much I want this. How much I want you. Even if it is just for one night.”
She opened her mouth, and I waited with bated breath for her answer.
11
Ginny
This was really happening. The thought ran through my mind for the hundredth time as I looked into Damon’s intense eyes. There I was, half-naked with Damon Holden kneeling at my feet for the second time that day, wanting to do naughty things to me. But this wasn’t just going to stop with his mouth on me and his fingers deep inside me. This would go much, much further than that… So why was I hesitating? This was everything I’d dreamed about and more, ever since we crashed into each other.
“Ginny?” he asked, bringing me back to the present.
I gave him a tight nod, and a grin split his face, his eyes focusing back on my panties. My hand went into his short, fair hair as he moved closer, his tongue touching me so intimately that I thought my knees were going to buckle. His finger hooked the cotton and pushed it aside, his tongue found my tight nub.
A shiver raced down my spine as my fingers tightened in his hair, silently urging him on.
He didn’t disappoint. His tongue lavished me, stroked me until I thought I was going to scream, the orgasm starting to build. I wanted to hold on, yet I wanted to let go all in the same breath.
“I’m going to make you come until you can’t walk or stand any longer.”
I looked down to see Damon looking up at me, heat radiating from his piercing stare. He leaned forward, and I screamed out a delicious moan that no doubt the neighbors could hear. The force of the orgasm shocked me; it was more intense and lasted longer than any I’d experienced ever before, including the one in the elevator on the Eiffel Tower. I rode the wave of intensity until I was spent, vaguely aware of Damon leaning his forehead against my stomach.
Shakily, I released his hair, glad I hadn’t pulled it out by the roots, and sagged against the wall, sated. Damon stood and gathered me in his arms, the smell of my arousal heavily in the air. “I’m not done with you yet,” he whispered against my forehead, placing a light kiss there. I tried to reach down to touch him, wanting to give him the same pleasure, but he stepped out of my reach, giving me an adorable grin instead. “Not so fast,” he said. “You can still stand.”
Then his head disappeared, dropping out of sight, back onto his knees before me. His mouth was so close, and his breath sent a warm current across my sex. For the third time that day he spread me wide and rocked me to my core. He did it again and again until I literally couldn’t stand it anymore. My legs were the consistency of jelly, unable to hold me up, and I sank to the floor in a happy heap.
Before I could object, Damon scooped me up into his arms, encouraging me to wrap
my arms around his neck, and he climbed the stairs to the bedroom.
The last thing I remembered was him placing me down, ever so gently, bringing the sheets across my half-naked body and then kissing me deep on the mouth. He whispered, “Good night, Ginny. My sweet.” And no matter how hard I tried to keep my eyes open, my lids fluttered shut. Absolutely exhausted, and wondering what on earth had happened as I drifted off to sleep.
The next day was bittersweet. During the morning, finding myself alone in the apartment, I went out and bought a variety of small souvenirs for the bar staff and for everyone back home, though my heart wasn’t in it. I couldn’t erase the scene of the night before from my mind, hating the fact that my great adventure was almost over. Never in my wildest dreams could have I have imagined this trip turning out like it did. The time spent with Damon was amazing and beautiful all in the same breath. We hadn’t even had sex, and it had still been magical.
I wondered if I would see him again. He’d vaguely suggested that he would take me to the airport, or even get me a ticket for his next match later on that day, but there had been no word. Perhaps it would be better to leave it as we had, I thought. No awkward goodbyes, no weirdness, just a memory that would blend itself into a dreamlike state.
A tear escaped my eye, and I wiped it away. It wasn’t fair. Life was not fair. What I had experienced with Damon was in its infancy and was going to be stamped out before it ever got off the ground. Next week I would be watching him on TV, playing his heart out if he managed to win his upcoming matches—which I had no doubt he would. I’d follow him from afar, watching his career unfold as he attempted to climb the rankings and become the best player he could be. But I would always remember the way he looked at me last night, while we danced, while he was on his knees. There was nothing sweeter.
The doorbell buzzed, and I ran to get it, throwing it open.
Damon stood there, looking handsome in a black t-shirt and muddy-green pair of combat style pants. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses.
My knees weakened at the sight of him. During my morning shopping trip, I’d floated along and daydreamed about him turning up. The same wishful thinking occurred when I packed up all my belongings from around the apartment, but I never really expected it to happen. But he was there, right before me, as if I’d conjured him just with my thoughts, and all I wanted to do was drag him inside, shut the rest of the world out for just a little bit longer and finish what we’d started.
“Hey,” I said, my mind blank. For a second, as I bathed in his presence, I couldn’t even remember how to form words on my tongue.
“Hey,” he responded. “Ready to go?”
“Ready? For what?”
He grinned. “You thought I was going to forget, didn’t you? Thought I was just going leave without saying a proper goodbye.”
“It may have crossed my mind.”
He took my hand and pulled me closer. “I couldn’t let you leave without you seeing me play again. I do need my lucky charm after all.”
My eyes fell to the floor. His lucky charm? Maybe that was all he thought of me. Someone to bring him luck and courage, to cheer him on during his match. But for the moment, if it meant seeing him play live for the last time, I was OK with that.
“I’m ready. Just don’t go rubbing my tummy or something silly like that.”
Damon slid a hand around my waist and skirted it over my rear, and gave it a good squeeze. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a wink, then grabbed my waiting bags for my early morning flight.
He won! Again. I was in awe. He managed to knock out the eighth-seeded player, and I had the pleasure of watching it all from Damon’s players’ box. That in itself had been nerve-racking, but his team mostly left me alone. There were a few glances to where I sat, a few chairs separated from them, but they were more interested in watching Damon play, and so was I.
Damon had followed his routine, as in the previous match, glancing at me before as he prepared for his big serves. And by god, was he in the zone. I didn’t truly believe in superstitions, but whatever it was, the connection between us definitely seemed to give him the confidence he needed to play at another level. The match was over in three sets, and Damon had won each one.
He waved to the crowd and then blew me a kiss and disappeared out of the stadium. At a loss for what to do, I just sat there, soaking up the dwindling atmosphere for the very last time.
A man in jogging bottoms, jacket and t-shirt approached me from the side. He had a buzzcut and looked very athletic. “Ginny?”
“Yeah?” I looked up. I’d seen him before. He’d been in Damon’s players’ box, too. I couldn’t remember if he was his coach or agent, though.
“Damon mentioned he’d be taking you the airport later, and he wanted me to ask you if you’d wait in the lounge bar upstairs. Les Jardins Gourmets.”
“Oh, sure. But isn’t that for just players and stockholders?”
He smiled with his eyes. “I’ve made sure that they’ll let you in. He won’t be long. He has to cool down and do a few interviews.”
“OK, thanks.”
He was about to turn away, his duty done, but then he glanced back. “I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but he’s a different man. So it should be me thanking you. Makes my life coaching him much easier, that’s for sure.”
I didn’t know what to say and sat stunned by what Damon’s coach had revealed. Leaving later that night was going to be incredibly tough, I predicted.
“There you are!” he said as he entered the bar. He was practically bouncing—on a high from winning—and was freshly showered and dressed in what looked to be a pair of expensive slacks and a button-down shirt. No tie. “Sorry it took so long; everyone wanted a piece of me.”
So do I, I wanted to say but refrained. No need to make him feel guilty or spoil our last hours together.
Damon joined me on the leather sofa I’d claimed as my own for the last few hours, nursing drink after drink, waiting. “Did Derek find you? Of course he did, otherwise you wouldn’t be here…”
He stopped, his words trailing off, mingling and disappearing amongst the noise of the bar, and he studied me. “Everything OK?”
I nodded and bit back the tears. I didn’t want this to end, I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to be that type of girl, but the emotions were battering me from every which way.
He pulled me into a hug and held me for what seemed like forever. “This isn’t the end, Ginny. I promise.”
I nodded, unable to speak, and he let me go. I wanted to hang every last shred of hope I had onto that promise, but I knew long-distance relationships were tough, even for normal people. And Damon certainly wasn’t just a regular guy.
“Let’s stay here and have some food, and then we’ll make our way to the airport.”
We ate a good meal, and I knew it was delicious, but it was as if the receptors from my tongue to my brain weren’t working. I just couldn’t enjoy it. Damon paid the bill, and we found our way back to his car. My bags were in the trunk, reminding me this was all going to be over soon.
“You played so well today,” I said once we were in the car, trying to distract myself.
“I’m telling you, it’s all because of you. My gorgeous and sweet lucky charm.”
“Nah, you just got your groove back and laid off the partying for a bit.”
“Maybe.”
“So what do you have planned tomorrow?”
“Torture,” he said with a grimace. “I have a five a.m. court call for practice.”
“That’s brutal,” I said, thinking I would probably still be in the air. “But you won today—surely Derek would give you a day off or at least let you sleep in?”
Damon laughed. “Yeah, well that’s my coach for you. All work and no play.”
I didn’t answer as he pulled onto the road leading to the airport, sadness welling up inside. This was all about to be over, and I wasn’t ready. I was silent as Da
mon parked the car and we climbed out, grabbing my bags before heading into the departures terminal. After checking that my flight was still on time, and getting my bags all checked in, we walked to the security checkpoint.
I fussed with my passport, refusing to look Damon in the eye. I didn’t want this to end. This couldn’t just end like this. I prayed for an announcer to inform us all that every single flight had been cancelled—a sudden snowstorm or lightning strike, anything.
“If we stand here any longer you’re going to miss your flight.”
I glanced up to see an inscrutable look on his face. “Is that necessarily a bad thing?”
He shook his head slowly and reached for me, gathering me in his arms. “Stay here. Then come to London with me,” he said against my ear. “I’ll secure you a ticket. Hell, I’ll buy out the entire event just to keep you here.”
I shook my head against his chest, knowing I couldn’t. How I would’ve liked to forgo all my responsibilities, throw caution to the wind and just do it, but things were waiting on me back home, things I couldn’t ignore. My brother couldn’t look after the bar forever; he had his own job, his own responsibilities.
Damon’s hand slid under my chin and forced me to look at him. “Don’t cry,” he said, wiping away the tears from my face. “This isn’t the end.”
I couldn’t say anything, scared of what would come out of my mouth as Damon leaned down and brushed his lips over mine. “It’s not the end, I promise,” he repeated.
“Air France flight 367 to Miami now boarding.”
I pushed back, grabbing my stuff. “That’s my flight. Oh, god, it’s early.”
“You better go,” he said as I started to back away, getting swept away with the crowd. “Ginny!”
I turned around, my heart aching at the sight of him jogging toward me. Was he going to stop me? What would it take for me to say yes?
“I have to go,” I forced out, turning to go. I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Your number,” he called out behind me. “I need your number.”
The Love Game (a Bad Boy Sports Romance) (Damaged #3) Page 9