"Sure. Let's take about five minutes. "
Though Tyler was certain he was warmer than he'd ever been, every organ and muscle of his body revved for action. And she was making it far, far worse. Having brought her to climax several times now, he saw no sign that her response was in any way sated. It was as if her body was starved for sexual fulfillment, while his cock was staying in a state of painful rigidity. He had worked it down during their banter but the Florida heat and their impromptu race had already dampened the skin beneath the sports bra. He could see her nipples peaking hard and aroused against the stretch fabric. And when they started volleying for the warm-up, each spin on her toe or jog to return a ball gave him a flash of bare pussy or ass that was going to have him calling paramedics.
No, doctor, I'm not on Viagra, but I've had a nonstop hard-on for forty-eight hours, thanks to my angel.
His angel. It wasn't just the scars on her back, so obviously designed to mock one.
Her profile as she looked over her shoulder, her white spill of hair. Her elegant bearing.
It made it so obvious, the likeness to myth, art and imagination.
The night the mugger had attacked her, he'd seen her fight with all the fury of an avenging warrior. Then there had been her forgiveness, offered along with the money and the advice that likely wouldn't be heeded, because that was the kind of world they lived in.
She was so many things, always surprising him, like now. Definitely an athlete, she didn't play like a girl. Her return strokes were powerful, controlled, the lean muscles of her upper body showing that Marguerite Perruquet took care of herself very well. He wondered where she worked out and had a very disturbing image of her doing bench and shoulder presses. It made him miss a relatively easy cross court. Thank God it was only a warm-up.
"You ready?" she called out. Her color was up and there was a light, challenging curve on those lips that never did seem comfortable with a full smile. As he suspected, the simple physical exertion without the emotional pummeling that seemed to go hand in hand with sexual expression for her was doing her good. It would make her more relaxed for what he had planned for her later.
"Ready," he responded.
"First set, first game, first point, love-love. " She threw the ball up and her body poised, frozen in a split second of motion, arm pointed up toward the ball, racquet back, back arched, the line of her throat perfect. If he could have frozen the moment, she would have been Athena with her bow and arrows, her sleek hunting hounds clustered around her bare calves. He was beginning to wonder if she had any moment, any movement, that wasn't sheer aesthetic perfection.
Once at his dentist's office, there'd been a woman sharing the waiting room with him. She'd been fascinated by the Siamese fighting fish gliding lazily in an aquarium there.
"You seem very interested in him," he'd said.
"Because he's always beautiful," the woman had responded instantly. "The way he moves, sudden charging bursts or gliding like this. And all the marvelous colors of his body. He knows he's beautiful. He's so comfortable with it, he's as near perfection as one of God's creatures can be. "
That woman had been Leila, the first time he'd met her. Her words now filled his mind as Marguerite's presence filled his eyes and heart, giving him a strangely tranquil moment where he realized he could easily spend eternity just watching her.
When the ball sizzled just inside the center line, he didn't even make it to the balls of his feet.
Marguerite gave him a look of pure feline satisfaction and moved to the left side.
"Fifteen-love. This is going to be too easy. "
He bared his teeth at her, took a ready stance. "That's what you think, angel. Just building your confidence. "
Her eyes gleamed in response as she served the second point.
The sun climbed into the sky as they worked their way through the first set. She had great ball placement control and strength behind her strokes. So did he. He could knock her back with lobs but quickly realized she was deadly at the net, never flinching to throw herself out to return a ball and drop it over. She was faster on her feet but he had more power. As a result, the intent
ion of two of three best sets diminished for them both as they fought for every point of the first set, never holding more than a one game lead until they were up 6-5, with him leading. Then she won the game point, taking them to a tie-breaker.
It was marvelously arousing, Marguerite thought. She'd never experienced a demand on her senses from two such equally strong compulsions. Determined to win, she was nevertheless undeniably affected by the way his body moved, the thigh muscles bunching, stretching as he pivoted and charged. His bare chest glistening with heat and the ripple - and ripple was exactly right term for it - of shoulder, oblique and biceps muscles when he drove a shot down the line.
While their focus was absolute when the ball was in play, they baited each other verbally between points, the sexual tension never abating. She started making a habit of bending to pick up a ball rather than using the side of her foot and racquet to pull it up into the air. It wasn't exactly to distract him, because she liked the idea that she was holding her own against his best game. But she did want to see if she could distract him.
She wanted him to ache the way she was aching, seeing his body move, sweat, stretch.
At one point, while he was retrieving one of her balls, she bent to flex her calf, to stretch out her hamstrings, something often done during a tough game, only this time she did it with slow deliberation, at a very slight angle to Tyler, so he had an unimpeded view of her ass and pussy. Then she straightened, strolled to the sidelines and got a drink of water from the cooler. When she glanced at him, she found he was leaning on the back fence in the shade of the screen cloth, his gaze as predatory as a hawk's. His body still, waiting. Feeling inexplicably wicked, wanting to taunt, she pulled the sports bra up, exposing her breasts and poured the remainder of the icy water over them, cooling her down with gasping pleasure in the humidity. She slicked the water over the curves, her nipples now puckered from the cold. When she lowered the band back below her breasts, the fabric stuck, transparent, the dark areolas clearly visible.
He still hadn't moved. She sauntered slowly back to the line, bent one more time, this time to retie her shoe. The flexibility she'd earned from yoga served her now as she brought her chest practically to her kneecap, suggesting the sexual possibilities. This time she heard a muttered oath, coupled with a chuckle.
She'd never indulged or enjoyed the art of flirting but her blood was high from the competition, everything charged up and ready to do battle on this more playful field. It was obvious from the fit of those wonderful shorts that he was aroused. And yet he just watched from that fence. Letting her display herself to him as if he'd commanded it rather than her choosing to tease him.
The startling thought sobered her. She straightened, taking the line. Cleared her voice. "First point of the tie breaker. "
He nodded, came to his line. "Marguerite?"