Page 77 of Polo Fever
His eyes linger on my mouth as I dig my teeth into my bottom lip. ‘Poor baby.’
Exhaling through his nose, his eyes flare with heat and his Adam’s apple bobs, and I savour every single moment of causing these physical reactions, desperate to be the only one who ever does. My hand drifts to the huge, hardened bulge in his boxers and a shudder rolls down my spine with anticipation. Hooking my fingers into his boxers, I pull them down with his trousers, releasing his cock and bending to my knees.
‘Fuck, Ash,’ he croaks before I’ve even touched him.
Wetting my lips, I lick the tip of his cock before taking him in my mouth, bringing him as far as I can to the back of my throat, sucking and tasting him as he groans in tortured pleasure. Oh my God, seeing him like this, doing this tohim, is making my underwear wet. When I draw back, licking and sucking the tip before taking his length again and moaning as my hand strokes at his base, he lets out a rough, guttural noise and leans a hand against the wall behind me for balance.
‘Yes,fuck, that’s good, that’s amazing,’ he rasps as I begin to speed up, feeling him pulse in my mouth, his low moans making my body ache.
His hand falls to my head, his fingers threading through my hair as I moan with approval around him, my tongue dragging up and down the underside of his thick length.
‘Stop,’ he pleads, and with one last suck, I come off him, gazing up in curiosity. ‘I need to feel you.’
Rising to my feet, I kiss him, his mouth devouring mine, his hand not hesitating to unbutton my jeans and slide beneath my pants, a growl of satisfaction rumbling from his chest. ‘I knew it. I knew you’d be so fucking wet for me.’
‘Fuck me, Mateo, before anyone finds us in here,’ I demand bossily, my hand stroking his length until he grabs my wrist to stop me.
He turns me around, bending me over slightly and placing my hands against the wall. Crouching down, he undoes the zippers on my boots and takes them off, before undressing me from the waist down. Shit, this is hot. I swallow audibly as Mateo grips my hip with one hand and guides his length into me from behind, a thrill rippling through my chest. I bite back a moan as he pulls back and thrusts into me again, harder and deeper this time, hitting a spot at this angle that makes my muscles flutter and clench around him, an aching pressure swelling inside me.
‘God, you feel good,’ I say, my palms pushing against the wall, being driven closer and closer to the edge as he rocks into me over and over.
‘Say it again,’ he grunts, thrusting deeper and making me cry out with pleasure.
‘You feel so fucking good.’ I moan louder, desperate to give him whatever he needs. ‘Like I was made for you.’
He groans, his hand reaching around me to delve between my legs.Oh fuck.
‘Mateo!’ I gasp as his fingers swirl around my clit while his hips find a faster pace, tremors of electricity zipping through my body and making my legs shake.
‘You’re so fucking tight. It’s too good,’ he grits out, winding me higher. ‘Ash—’
A blazing, frenzied orgasm hits and shatters me into a million pieces, and as our moans echo around the stables, his release filling me as my muscles clench and flutter around him, I know that no one has ever made me feel like this and no one else ever will.
It’s amazing. It’s perfect.
It’s terrifying.
Twenty-Five
The high from the Gold Cup begins to ebb in the lead-up to the charity grooms’ match, which takes its toll on the yard’s confidence. Maycourt lose three consecutive matches in two weeks. After winning the Gold Cup, an online polo magazine dubbed us, ‘The Mighty Maycourt’, but a fortnight later and the headline reads, ‘Maycourt Malfunctioning?’
I think the losses are easy to explain away. The boys were so driven to win the Gold Cup, especially after the near-win in Paris, they put their all into their focus and training prior to Cowdray, but once they lifted the trophy, the pressure eased and they relaxed. The UK polo season is coming to an end. It has been such an intense time, it’s natural for their minds and bodies to want a break.
‘Something has to change before Soto,’ Mateo grumbles, driving back to his house after the third loss, his sunglasses doing little to hide his furious expression. ‘I don’t know what happened out there today, but we weren’t at our best.’
‘You played well,’ I say vaguely, knowing he can play better, whilst tying my hair.
I’ve made the mistake a couple of times now of forgetting a hairband when driving with Mateo in his convertible, emerging from the car with my hair even more wild than usual. Mateo claims he likes it that way, untamed and dishevelled, but I can’t agree.
‘I couldn’t focus.’ He exhales through his nose, irritated. ‘When we get home, I need to run through the match. I’ll ask Malcolm over to work on our tactics. Three losses in a row is not good.’
‘Fitz was hungover for two of them and Eric is broken-hearted,’ I remind him.
The girl who ghosted Eric had picked up where they left off after his win at the Gold Cup, only to drop him again for one of the DQ players whose father recently hit headlines for overseeing a major financial merger.
‘Go easy on yourself and the others,’ I add gently. ‘You’ll be ready for Sotogrande.’
Glancing at Mateo as he stares silently at the road ahead, I frown. I hate seeing him like this, taking the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, disappointed in himself when, even if he hasn’t played his best, he’s still the most exquisite polo player I’ve ever seen.
