I didn’t feel sick at all. My pulse was racing and my skin was hot, but it wasn’t because I was feeling poorly. It was because I was nearly out of my mind lusting for Emmy. When I saw her in that black top, her beautiful tits on display, I nearly got down on my knees in front of her. Now I wanted to do the same.

And we were alone. Completely, utterly alone.

I knew she didn’t really think I was so sick that I needed help to my room. I knew she didn’t really think I was that sick period. But I couldn’t deny that it wasn’t charming as hell watching her fuss over me, ordering chicken noodle soup from room service and searching for something “calming” for me to watch while we waited for it.

“I’ll leave as soon as it gets here,” she assured me.

“Don’t you want to stay for the movie?” I asked, hoping she’d find something really long, like the entire Lord of the Rings series.

She bit her lip and I knew she was considering it. I patted the spot on the bed next to me.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not contagious,” I told her. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m feeling better than I have in a really long time.”

It was true. When I was with Emmy, I didn’t feel like the black sheep prince, or the bad boy of tennis. I felt like myself. Or, at least the self I wanted to be. I hoped to be. Emmy treated me like a person—someone that was removed from their title or their fame. It was damn near intoxicating.

“I . . .” Emmy’s cheeks were pink, her eyes darting down to my mouth.

She wanted to kiss me. And I wanted the very same thing. I slid my hand up her arm, cupping the back of her neck, bringing her close. But before our lips could touch there was a knock at the door.

Emmy sprang up from the bed.

“It’s room service!” she squeaked, practically running to the door.

I flopped back on the bed, doing my best to give myself a mental cold shower before she returned.

“It smells good,” she told me, carrying a tray that looked heavy.

Immediately I stood and took it from her. It did smell good, but I really wasn’t in the mood for soup. Putting it down on the table, I took her hands. She looked up at me, her eyes round and questioning.

“You’re beautiful,” I said. “And very kind to offer to take care of me.”

I loved her blush. It spread all the way from her cheeks down to her chest, which was flushed and heaving. I tried not to stare.

“I just want you to do well tomorrow.” She bit her lip, and I could tell that she wanted more than that.

But I wasn’t going to press her. For the first time in a while, I wasn’t in a hurry to get to the finish line—to finish the match, so to speak. I was enjoying the game. So I gestured to the couch in the hotel suite.

“Stay with me a little longer?” I asked. “We can watch whatever you want.”

I could see the indecision in her eyes. But I could also see the interest.

“OK,” she finally said, and I did a mental fist pump. “There is this documentary on the Met Ball that I was interested in seeing.”

The look she gave me was a challenge—was I willing to watch a fashion doc in order to spend time with her? Hell yes, I was willing.

“Sounds great.” I gave her a smile.

She returned it, and bounded happily over to the couch. We settled in and started the movie. I barely paid attention. No, my focus was on moving closer to her. Getting my thigh to press against hers, resting my hand on my knee, the other one around her shoulder. I wanted to bury my nose in her silken hair and just inhale the scent of her—roses and vanilla and everything that was good and comforting.

Fuck, this was out of character. Any other girl, and I would have had her naked by now, but I wanted to take this slow. It wasn’t about scoring the final point, but the rest of the match, too.

Emmy returned my advances, her fingers tangling in mine, her head leaning on my shoulder, her body pressed up close against mine. By the time the movie was over, it was late, and we were a warm, comfortable pile of entwined limbs.

The credits rolled and Emmy didn’t move. For a moment, I thought she might have fallen asleep, but then she lifted her head, her eyes meeting mine. Without a word, she put her hand against my jaw. Electricity shot through me, intensifying when she leaned in and pressed her lips against mine.

I had never wanted anyone the way I wanted her.

But I let her set the pace. The kiss started out tentative and slow, her fingernails scraping against my stubble in a way that made me shudder, it felt so good. She wrapped her arms around my neck, running her tongue across the bottom of my lip, tasting as sweet as she smelled. I kept my hands at her waist, though I was desperate to explore her curves, fisting her shirt in my fingers to keep them from wandering. The last thing I wanted was to go too fast and spook her into bringing our evening to an early end.

She deepened the kiss, her tongue hot and needy in my mouth, her body leaning into mine. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her close. When she arched her back and pressed her tits against my chest, a soft moan escaped her and my control broke.

My hands cupped her face, angling her mouth against mine, the meeting of our tongues urgent and all-consuming. Her own fingers were tunneling through my hair as I leaned forward, wanting to feel her body against mine. Pressing a hand between her shoulder blades, I was rewarded with the amazing sensation of the crush of our torsos, her soft breasts meeting my hard chest. I wanted more.

Skimming a hand down her hips, I found the hem of her shirt and inched my fingers beneath it. Her breath caught as I came into contact with her stomach, that gasp turning into a breathy moan when my palm captured her breast.

Even through the lace of her bra, I could feel her nipple harden, and I circled it with my thumb, loving the way the stiff peak reacted to my touch. Loving the way Emmy reacted to my touch. Her breath was coming out in soft pants as her head fell back. I took advantage of the situation, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her throat and in the deep V of her cleavage.

It still wasn’t enough. Apparently she felt the same because her fingers had begun to wander, finding their way to my stomach. I wanted to feel her small, hot hands all over my body. We were both wearing too many clothes. I pulled back just long enough to yank my shirt over my head and toss it across the room.

Emmy stared. “Oh. My. God,” she whispered, those small, hot hands now tracing my chest and biceps. My cock—already hard as a rock—jerked at the possibility of being touched by her. Being stroked by her.

And while her awestruck look was doing fantastic things for both my cock and my ego, I was far more interested in leveling the playing field. I slid my hands under her shirt, giving a gentle, exploratory tug. To my relief, Emmy lifted her arms, allowing her top to follow mine to the other side of the room.

Now it was my turn to stare.

Because her tits—now barely contained in a lace and satin bra—were even better than I had imagined. And I had imagined them. Many, many times.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered. “You’re gorgeous.”

There was that blush again, but I could see the full spread of it across her chest. Lifting my hands, I cupped her breasts, lifting them, and placing a hot kiss in her cleavage. Her head fell back and she let out a sigh. That was all the encouragement I needed.

Tugging the top of lacy cup down, I exposed the same perfect peak I had felt in my hand. But now I could taste it. And taste it I did. I captured Emmy’s nipple in my mouth, my tongue tracing the swell of her breast.

Her hands were tight in my hair, her moans coming almost continuously as I lavished attention on her tits, my hands and mouth worshipping them as best I could. With a flick of my fingers I released the front clasp of the bra, the thin barrier falling away. I kissed my way down her stomach but when I reached her belly button, my fingers tracing the button of her jeans, she gave my hair a tug, pulling my head up and away from her zipper.

“I— I—” She paused. Her hair was mussed, her lips red and swollen, her torso bare except for a few patches of stubble-scratched skin. She was a sight to behold, all that creamy, pale skin and those pert, pink nipples, her dark hair fanned out across her shoulders and trailing down between her gorgeous breasts. And even though I was extremely, extremely turned on and wanted nothing more than to strip those jeans off and sink between her thighs, I forced myself to focus on her face. On the bottom lip she was chewing, clearly trying to decide something.

“I don’t want to distract you from tomorrow’s game,” she finally said.

I sat back, confused.

“Trust me, luv, this is exactly the kind of distraction I need.”

She shook her head. “I read something about athletes and sex,” she said, grinning. “About how they abstain from sex before games. How it helps them perform better. Helps them conserve their—” Her gaze dropped to my crotch. “Their potency,” she finally managed.

I almost laughed. It wasn’t my potency I was worried about conserving.

Reaching out, I took her hand.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I told her, winking. “Not all athletes subscribe to that kind of program.”

“But you told me yourself that tomorrow’s game is against someone who beat you last year,” she said, still smiling flirtatiously. “I don’t want to be responsible for you losing to him again.”

I was just about ready to show her I was plenty potent enough to fuck her senseless and play a decent game of tennis, but the memory of my coach’s attempt at a pep talk that morning still lingered. I couldn’t get his words out of my head. They nudged at me again now, an annoying reminder of reality.

“I don’t think you’re worried about losing,” Garrett had said. “I think you’re afraid of caring.”

I cared. I cared about tennis. And I was starting to care about Emmy as well. So if that meant we had to abstain from having sex tonight, then we’d abstain from having sex tonight. Unless . . .

“This article that you read.” I scooted a little closer to Emmy. “What exactly did it say about athletes conserving their potency?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her smile growing even wider.

My hands reached for her hips.

“Did it have anything to say about relieving their partner’s . . . potency?” I gave her my most charming, most wicked of grins.

She licked her lips. “You know, I don’t think it did.”

“Brilliant.” I slid to the floor, dropping to my knees in front of her. “Then I only think it fair that I finally repay all the good-luck kisses you’ve been so generous with.” I unbuttoned her jeans and slowly drew down the zipper, giving her ample opportunity for her to stop me. She didn’t.

“Haven’t those been repaid in kind?” Emmy asked, lifting her hips as I pulled her jeans down her legs before throwing them onto the growing pile of clothes in the corner.

“Absolutely not,” I told her, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her knee.

I felt her shiver, and I smiled. She was sitting, her perfect ass perched on the edge of the couch, wearing nothing but a lacy blue thong.

“Well,” she said weakly, breathlessly, as I hooked my fingers around that last, tiny slip of clothing and drew it down. “If this is payment, I suppose it would be rude not to accept.”

“Damn right,” I murmured, my attention focused on Emmy’s naked body.

I dragged my hand up the inside of her thigh, gently pushing her legs open. Continuing my exploration of her silky skin, I kissed my way upwards, alternating kisses with gentle nips of my teeth, drawing a gasp out of her with each one. By the time I reached the apex of her thighs, her legs had fallen open of their own accord and her breath was coming as fast and shallow as my own. Slipping my hands beneath her round ass, I pulled her closer, and finally, finally put my mouth on her.

She let out a moan as I dragged my tongue through her wetness. I tasted her, lapping her up as she was made of sweet cream, her hips arching towards me with each thrust of my tongue. I circled her clit, a groan of my own vibrating through me, when she gripped my hair in her hands and pulled me even closer. I tilted her hips towards me, unable to get enough.

As her breath began coming faster, I added a finger to the mix, sliding it deep into her, coaxing pleasure from her with each stroke. She was moaning continuously, her fingers tightening in my hair as I pleasured her, lost in the sensations and the taste of her. I added another finger, filling her up, her hips thrusting against me as I sucked her clit into my mouth.

I knew she was close, her knees pressing against my shoulders, her desperate gasps urging me on, telling me what she liked, what she needed. I increased the rhythm of my fingers, teasing her tender bundle of nerves with my tongue until she stiffened in my arms, and let out a cry of pleasure as she came in my arms.