Slam

by Holly S. Roberts

  “No, but he kept quiet about who he truly was. Who his father was. He had no problem jumping into bed with me as soon as his dick overruled his judgment.”

  Now my father covered his eyes. “Olivia, please.”

  “No, you please. Stay. Out. Of. My. Life.” I walked away, unable to look at my father any longer. Yes, I still loved him. I wanted to throttle him, too. Right before I reached the door, I turned. “You might have ruined my chance with the only man I’ve ever loved. I hope you can live with yourself.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I never returned to the hospital, which was entirely unfair of me. My anger at my father carried over to Brack. I was horrible. The man I loved hadn’t fully recovered and I left him at the hospital alone. Okay, he had his parents and his team. But, bottom line—I was horrible and a coward. I ignored the calls from Brack and my father. Again… coward.

  I needed complete control of my life. It took me two weeks to come up with a plan. During those two weeks, I hired a new coach and trained until I could barely walk. I trained with a purpose. I’d had my own money. Not just from tennis but from my mother. I’d never used it. That was the way I punished her and myself. Now, for the first time, I paid for my own coach.

  I liked him. I could actually smile over the fact that my father paid for Jerry all those years while the two of them hated each other. Greg, my new coach, kicked my ass. I had no idea if I had a chance this season. But, winning the Grand Slam was in my peripheral vision and not straight in front of me. Thank goodness because I blew the French Open. I could live with it. I wasn’t prepared and it showed.

  It was two months before Brack came to me. Funny, because his timing fit perfectly with my master plan. I’d already taken care of a slight medical problem that stood in the way of… the plan.

  Wimbledon was hot as hell this year. Of course I faced Valery in the final match. She’d taken the French Open and neither of us could celebrate a Grand Slam this year. I’d won the Australian Open back in January. Her winning in France didn’t bother me. Somehow it seemed destined.

  Now, beneath the hot sun and a full crowd of spectators, we were at advantage set and had been for over an hour. The longest tie breaker in history happened in 2010. Between John Isner and Nicolas Mahut, it lasted slightly more than eleven hours. I’d jump over the net and disqualify myself by decking Valery before that.

  At the break between games, I walked off court and took a water bottle from Greg. I inhaled deeply, ignoring the sweat dripping down my arms and legs. I changed out the thin band around my brow. I handed my water bottle back to my new coach and listened as he reviewed Valery’s weaknesses. My eyes wandered the crowd. That’s when I saw him.

  Same aviators. He wore very unlike him white pants with a lime green polo so he fit perfectly in this crowd. He rested back against the seat, thighs spread, smirk quite prevalent. I might have drooled. He hadn’t allowed his hair to grow out more than a short buzz cut. He still looked sexy as hell. I lifted my hand to my face and saluted him with two fingers. I didn’t even know if he was looking at me. Okay, that was stupid. Of course he watched me. He slowly lowered his shades and tipped his head.

  “Get back out there, Stradmore, you’ve got this,” Greg said as he removed a small towel from my hand.

  I did have this. Seeing Brack renewed my incentive. It was time to lay a whole can of whoop ass on Valery.

  It took just over twenty minutes. Valery didn’t know what hit her.

  I won Wimbledon and added another championship notch to my tennis racquet. I kept my eyes peeled for Brack during my interviews. He never made an appearance. I stayed in my room that night knowing he’d come to me. He didn’t. Hell, the jerk was ruining a really good plan. I called for room service early the following morning. When I opened the door to let the bellhop in, Brack stood in front of me and the cart with breakfast beside him.

  I stepped back as he pushed it inside the room. Fuck but he looked good; jeans, a t-shirt and his aviators. While he was in the hospital, Molly gave me updates. I swore her to secrecy and as far as I knew she kept quiet.

  “There’s enough for two and I’m willing to share,” I said a bit nervously.

  Very slowly, Brack removed his dark glasses and sat them on the cart. In that same slow way, he stalked toward me. “We should at least talk first.” I tried for a slight laugh, but it ended on a shriek when he grabbed me. I had no time to utter another word because his mouth took mine.

  The kiss was as angry as his expression. He took out his frustration on and inside my mouth. Well, until his fingers threaded through my hair. My scalp burned with the sudden tug he gave, pulling my lips from his. “I don’t know whether to fuck you, spank you, or turn you on until you’re screaming and then walk away.”

  I didn’t dare smile. “I vote for one and two.”

  He shook me just a bit. “Fuck, Olly. You could have returned my calls. Talked to me. Yelled at me… something. Did you think I would let you just walk out of my life?”

  I reached my hands up and pressed my palms to his cheeks. “Never. Fuck me, Brack, please.” His mouth was on mine again. His hands parted my robe and tugged it off. He walked me backward toward the bedroom. I fell onto the bed a moment later. I watched him whip off his clothes with single-minded purpose. I ached to have his cock between my thighs. My heart ached to have him back in my life.

  He grabbed my legs and pulled my ass closer to the edge of the bed. He didn’t bother pulling down my panties. He ripped the thin material with a growl. He went to his knees on the floor. His mouth came down my pussy. He licked and sucked his way through each fold. I cried out when he added teeth and tongue. This was a punishment fuck and I needed it so badly. He nibbled on my clit the same way he liked to do on my lower lip. Two fingers entered me without warning and I cried out again. He pulled his wet fingers out and pushed them into my ass.

  It hurt. It burned. I didn’t have time to think about other sensations because an orgasm flooded my body.

  “Damn you.” Brack rose up and pushed me farther up the bed. His cock entered me before my orgasm was over. My punishment continued. I moaned and cried. He didn’t let up. After the next orgasm, he turned me over and drove into me from behind. His fingers went back to my over sensitized clit.

  “Please, please, Brack, I can’t. You’re killing me,” I begged.

  “Then you’re out of practice,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “I’m just giving my pussy a workout.”

  His pussy. He had some nerve, I thought as he continued pounding into me. I could no longer stay on my knees and sank forward. He grabbed my hips and forced my ass back against his thighs. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t come. I actually tried to reach my hand around and squeeze his balls to help him along. He grabbed both my hands and pressed them against the bed over my head. My knees slipped again and he now covered my back. His cock didn’t stop rocking into me. He bit my shoulder and another spasm rippled through my core. He really was trying to kill me. With orgasms.

  His groan against my back signaled his release. I cherished the hot cum spurting into me. The weight of him against my back made it difficult to breathe, but I didn’t care.

  He lifted from me. “Roll over, Olivia.”

  I did as he asked. Okay, demanded. His amazing eyes pierced mine. “When you decide you want to talk, call me. I’m not playing a game with you. If you don’t call, I’ll survive.”

  That was truly mean. I lay there as he lifted off me completely and dressed. We watched each other the entire time—neither saying a word. He finally turned and left the bedroom and then I heard him close the hotel suite door.

  I rolled over to my stomach, loving the ache between my legs as I settled against the pillows. I began laughing. Brack walked into my web and I now had the upper hand. He didn’t know it and best of all neither did my father. Men were such fools.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  I hid in Italy for three weeks. Greg came with me and kicked my ass on th
e court. He actually made a great practice partner. I was back to clean eating and drinking only water. It surprised me when Greg brought a bottle of wine to my room one night.

  “What’s this for?” I asked when he gave me one of his golly-gee smiles. Greg was cute. And, married to a lovely woman who worshipped him.

  “I’ve been your coach for three months now and I have no idea what makes you tick. It’s time for a come to daddy talk. Or in your case, come to coach. I figured the alcohol might make it easier.”

  “You’ll need more than one bottle,” I told him. He came back to my room ten minutes later with two more bottles in his hands. “Does your wife know you’re getting drunk with a slutty tennis star tonight?” I smiled to take the sting out of calling myself a slut.

  “She suggested it. We’ve had many long conversations about you.”

  “How romantic.”

  He poured our first glasses and tilted the edge of his glass against mine. “To a perfect season sometime in the future.”

  My smile died and I took a large gulp of wine without clinking his glass. He stared at me quizzically. “This is my last year, Greg.”

  The declaration didn’t faze him. He lifted his glass again. “Then to a perfect life off the court.”

  Our glasses met. Over the next two hours I told him everything relevant that led me to this point in my life. I laughed and cried, cussed, and stormed around the room at times. He kept my glass full and only interrupted when he didn’t follow what I said.

  “My father thinks I screw men because of my mother’s infidelity.” I think I slurred the end of the sentence.

  “He may have a point.”

  I whirled around and grabbed a chair because the room spun. “Of course he has a point.”

  Greg smiled, or at least I think he did. My eyes could no longer focus. “You aren’t a slut, Olivia. You don’t have the reputation as one either. I have no idea how many guys you’ve slept with. You’ve said they’re tennis pros. Funny how they don’t talk about you. I travel those locker rooms. I’ve heard the explicit details of more hookups than you can imagine. Your name never comes up. They respect you and that’s not easy to do in this sport. If you’ve slept with them, they aren’t talking.”

  “Really?” I was dumbfounded. I hadn’t really slept with as many as I portrayed. I just slept with them multiple times. No strings. I was honest from the start and had very strict rules. My only interest was sex.

  “Really. So tell me about this grand plan you have to put your man and father in their place.”

  I told him the entire crazy idea. Drunk, it sounded even better that it had when I came up with it. I passed out on my bed, alone in my room sometime after midnight. Three empty wine bottles sat somewhere.

  My head pounded when I woke up the next day. It was time. And, it didn’t matter how bad my hangover was; I needed to go home. I grabbed up all the items from the room and bathroom. On my way out of the bathroom, I took a last glance at three opened test boxes in the trash. Oh well, it didn’t really matter. Here goes nothing.

  I booked a flight for me and Greg. He wasn’t overly happy with me. His head hurt as badly as mine did. We flew the redeye and slept most of the way. Of course, we had customs to contend with after we landed. All went smoothly, even though it took time. By the time I lay in my own bed, exhaustion pulled me under. I slept for thirteen hours.

  I woke up, took a few ibuprofens, and sent Brack a text. I checked in with my father. He was at his office in the city. He would meet me at his house in two hours. I had little time to accomplish what needed doing. A quick shower and I ran out the door.

  I managed to complete all my tasks and five minutes late, I walked into my father’s house. Brack and my dad waited. Brack looked good enough to eat. Or, at the very least lick. I forced myself to turn to my father. “I owe you an apology, Daddy. You’re stubborn, misogynistic, and you drive me crazy. That doesn’t change the fact that I love you. I know even though tennis isn’t your favorite thing, you’re proud of me. It should make you quite happy to know that I’ve quit the pro circuit. Wimbledon was my last professional match.”

  “I don’t think so, Olly,” Brack spoke up before my father could. “Pardon me, sir, but she loves the game. It’s a part of her and I won’t stand by and watch her turn away from it.”

  That’s why I loved this man. “You can stop right there, Brack. I have a very good reason for leaving tennis. Maybe, and it’s a very small maybe, I’ll go back someday. Age is against me, though, and I’ve faced that fact. I’m satisfied with my decision.”

  My father broke in, “I agree with Brack, Olivia. I know I could be more supportive. I just worried about you settling down. Play another year or two. Brack’s told me he isn’t going anywhere. He supports you, so it’s the least I can do.”

  I wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of my two favorite men in the world digging their own graves. I was seriously enjoying every minute. “Dad, is your shotgun still in the house?”

  “What? What are you talking about?” my father asked with a completely stumped look on his face.

  “I’m not sure if you’ll need it, but it wouldn’t hurt to have it handy.” Both of them looked at me like I’d completely lost my mind. “I won’t be playing tennis for the rest of this season or into the next because I’m pregnant. Brack visited me in Wimbledon three weeks ago. The pregnancy test kit can detect pregnancy at two weeks. According to my calendar and Brack’s visit, the baby is due thirty-seven weeks from now.”

  Priceless.

  If I flicked my finger against either of them they’d have fallen over. Brack was the first to come out of his shock. He jumped up from the couch and did what I’d wanted him to do since I arrived. He kissed me. It wasn’t punishing this time. This kiss was sweet and filled with so much love I almost felt guilty. Almost being the key word.

  “I love you,” he said when he pulled back.

  “I’m glad because I love you.” I looked over his shoulder at my father who wiped a tear from his eye. I took a step back and gazed at Brack. “Do you love me enough to marry me?”

  He nodded slowly. “As soon as we have a judge.”

  “Good, because he’ll be here in five minutes,” I said as I looked up at the wall clock. “I need to change. My bag is out in the car.” Shock registered again on Brack’s face. “You’re not backing out, are you? My dad still has time to grab his shotgun.”

  Something changed in Brack’s beautiful eyes. “Grab your bag and change. We’re doing this again when my parents can be present, though.”

  That worked for me just fine. Judge Heethly was pulling up when I went outside. I’d told him I was pregnant when I went to his office and begged him to officiate. He expedited the marriage license and pulled a few strings because we didn’t have Brack’s signature on the application. It also helped that the judge was my uncle, my mother’s brother.

  Everyone stood waiting as I came down the stairs in my white, knee-length dress. Brack walked over to me and took my arm steering me in the direction of the judge. I almost burst out laughing because his grasp on my arm made me saying my vows a sure thing.

  My uncle didn’t waste any time. “Do you Brack Allan Jacobs take Olivia Margaret Stradmore as your lawfully wedded…”

  I gazed at Brack as my uncle read the vows. When it came time for Brack to say ‘I do’, I waited. His eyes stayed glued to mine. He took a step closer to me and leaned in. “Are you truly pregnant,” he whispered.

  “Three test kits said no but the look on your face was worth the fib,” I whispered back.

  Brack grinned and without taking his eyes off me, said, “I do.”

  When it was my turn, I stepped closer to Brack and whispered, “Can we try for that baby tonight?”

  “Yes, and as many nights as it takes.”

  “I do,” I said loudly.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife,” my uncle said while fighting laughter. He and my father assuredly heard every word Brack
and I said. “You may kiss the bride, but please wait to consummate the marriage until I’m gone. I don’t think my heart or your father’s can take it.”

  I turned to my father, who was fighting his own battle against laughter. “You never do the expected, Olivia.”

  I looked back up at Brack. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “A better thing is for you to kiss your groom.” He pulled me against him and gave me a kiss that had me coming to my toes. I heard my dad and uncle mutter something, but I didn’t care what it was.

  The kiss ended with me breathless.

  “You’re a grand slam, Olly Jacobs.”

  I was and I knew it.

  Dear friends,

  The words “thank you” are not enough. You push me, challenge me, and forgive me when books don’t publish when they should. I couldn’t do this without your PM’s, Facebook, email, review and blog comments. As corny as it sounds; you complete me!

  Slam is dedicated to the selfless book bloggers who rock the book world. This indie author loves you. It doesn’t matter if your reviews of my books are good or bad. You use your valuable time and read, review, share, and give me hours of reading pleasure through your recommendations. From the bottom of my heart; thank you!

  I need to offer a special thanks to Elaine Embry Harvey. She connected me with Arthur Van Michael Rosiles who patiently answered my tennis questions. Thank you Arthur! Elaine also gave me Brack’s name so everyone has her to thank for my sexy book boyfriend bodyguard. The real Brack in her life says he’s hung so we’ll thank him too.

  I’m working on a standalone new adult book that is quite different for me. I’m writing it in my head when I should be sleeping, using up too much hot water in the shower dreaming, and typing as fast as my fingers will fly across the keyboard. I received the finished book cover today and I can’t wait to share.