He watched her stroll on to the tennis court. Long, slim, tanned legs stretched to unimaginable heights and disappeared beneath a very short white tennis skirt. It barely covered the twin globes of her trim rump. He swallowed and hoped that he wouldn’t get a hard on right then and there before they’d even tossed the first serve.
She stepped forward and stooped to pick up a wayward ball and he flushed as the tender flesh of her inner thigh was exposed from beneath the skirt. She rose, concentrating on bouncing the tennis ball and he noted with admiration her slim but well toned arms as she held her racket casually.
Her long, golden-blonde hair was tied up neatly in a ponytail that flipped around as she moved. She was constantly pushing back strands that flitted about her face. Now holding the ball in one hand, she looked up and smiled at him.
“Ready?” She asked.
He could only nod weakly, dazzled by that smile and those luminous dark eyes on a heart-shaped face, high cheekbones and a pretty pink mouth. His pulse was beating hard and he knew it wasn’t the thrill of a tennis competition.
The air was warm, buzzing with summer noise; people in a pool nearby, kids playing basketball, distant traffic. The smell of jasmine was everywhere, intoxicating, wrapping him in a haze of pleasure. He stretched his taut muscles and tried to loosen up, tried to focus on the game at hand. Pulling his mind away from his distracting fantasies about this girl.
She hit the ball with a smooth stroke and it bounced easily in front of him. He lined it up and hit it back. They had a short rally to warm up then played for serve. He watched her twenty-one year old, athletic body maneuver around the court. Shapely calf muscles and slim thighs flexing as she planted her feet then shifted quickly to a new position. Her concentration and athletic skill was evident as she hit a cross-court forehand that whizzed by him.
He flashed her a smile. “Nice one. Your serve.”
“Thanks,” she replied with a small smile.
She set up for her serve on the baseline and threw the ball high in the air. As she bought her racket back and moved forward over the ball her small but nicely rounded breasts pressed up against the white sleeveless top she was wearing. He couldn’t help but notice that her nipples were slightly hard poking obviously through the fabric. With barely a second to spare he wrenched his concentration back but lucky for him her first serve hit the net. He shook his head wondering how he could ever get through this game being as distracted as he was.
Her second serve sailed across the net and hit the service court. He returned it with ease, winning the first point.
“Love-Fifteen,” she called.
The game played out and she raced around the court winning her service game by a point. He realized they were in for some good tennis, they were both breathing a little harder. He watched her position her body to receive his serve, a small furrow of concentration on her brow.
After the first set, which he had barely won, they took a quick break for a drink and perched on the concrete bench at the side of the court. She was so close now, he could smell her sweat; it was fragrant and musky; perfume and woman. He breathed her into his nostrils and tried to keep his eyes off her legs stretched out in front of her, her left thigh barely inches from his right hand. She raised the drink bottle to her lips and he noted the pleasing lines of her neck and throat and longed to plant his lips in that tiny crevice that pulsed at the base of her throat.
He licked his lips and looked up at the splendid blue of the sky, cloudless and azure. When he looked down again, he caught her looking at him. Her dark eyes were shining and he thought for a moment that there was something in their depths that looked familiar. He glanced at her again. He knew that look! His throat went dry and he started to panic. He’d seen that look before but he’d never dreamed it would appear on the face of this girl who sat beside him. He cleared his throat and wiped the sweat from his brow once again. He must be mistaken. Combing his fingers nervously through his short but unruly hair, he glanced at her again.
“You really do play great tennis,” he murmured, more to try and calm himself than to make conversation. She looked away then, leaning over to put down the drink bottle.
“Thanks,” she said with a pleased smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve played. My dad taught me to return his serve, it’s how I learned to hit.” Her voice, accented and unusual to his ears, was like music; soft and breathy.
“He taught you well.”
“Not well enough. You’re very good.”
She was grinning at him and he noticed her appreciative look. Ridiculously, he felt himself flush with pleasure at her compliment. He noticed her body was turned more towards him, the side of her knee almost touching his thigh. The body language, he thought, I know that body language.
He felt an icy chill of excitement as he dared to believe that this girl was actually sending him signals. But no, it couldn’t be. Everything inside him told him it was wrong, that it was never going to happen. He was virtually her boss, although not directly he reasoned with himself. He’d been watching her for awhile at work, admiring the shape of her. The way she moved her body was liquid and sensual. He had even struck up a conversation with her, pleasantly surprised that she was interesting and intelligent. He couldn’t believe his luck when she’d consented to play tennis with him. Now she was here, her body mere inches from him. He itched to reach out and run his hand along the length of her thigh and up inside that white skirt.
She caught him looking at her legs and he watched her expression change. There was hesitation, fear, and then a glint of knowing. Had he blown it? He saw her shift on the seat but to his astonishment it was towards him till her leg was touching his. He felt the contact immediately, her warm, slightly damp skin on his. A curl of excitement erupted inside his guts and wormed its way down between his legs. His cock responded instantly. It moved in his pants and he gritted his teeth hoping she didn’t notice. But she was staring at him now and the look on her face left him in little doubt.
The atmosphere around them was electrically charged, he could feel it prickling his skin like he was being touched by air-sprites. He caught her eye with difficulty and licked his lips. It was make or break right now but he was going to go for it. His hand moved as if through molasses and without taking his eyes from her face he gently laid a finger on her exposed knee. Her expression did not change and he lay his whole hand on her thigh. Her large, oval brown eyes gazing into his were doe-like. They seemed to shimmer with unspoken words: I want you?
This first contact was intensely pleasurable and he felt his mouth go dry. Her skin was damp and tight. He could feel the tone of her muscle beneath his fingertips as he pressed gently. Her lips parted slightly; her chest was rising and falling more rapidly now. Tentatively, with questioning eyes, he slipped his hand gradually along her thigh till it rested just below the hem of the short tennis skirt.
She leaned into him, continuing to hold him enthralled with her eyes. Their arms touched and then he watched in amazement as she lifted her hand and touched his face. Her caress was soft like a butterfly. She drew her fingertips across the contours of his cheek and brow and then traced the line of his lips. His skin burned where she touched him and he closed his eyes, too overwhelmed to speak, knowing her touch to be an invitation.
When he opened his eyes her dreamy pink lips were inches from his, all he had to do was move his head just slightly, then … there it was. His lips contacted hers and he could smell her sweet breath and feel the soft fullness of her lips against his. He moved his mouth against hers and incredibly she responded, the lips moved apart slightly and carefully. Fatefully he tasted them with his tongue. As if on cue, her tongue darted out to meet his. The kiss deepened.
His response was immediate and his pants moved inexorably as all the feelings inside him flooded directly to his cock. It was straining against his tennis shorts now; he shifted uncomfortably and they pulled apart, both breathing a little unsteadily.
She was smiling at him, all hesitation seemingly gone from her expression now. A stray strand of blonde hair escaped from the ponytail and blew across her face. He suppressed the urge to catch it between two fingers, wind the silky stuff around his hand, and pull her face to his for another kiss.
“You look stunned.” He heard her say gently, with that smile playing at the corners of her mouth, her eyes dancing with amusement.