Luke. “You stay and rest, old man. I’ll go.”
“Hey, who said I was old?” Luke turned onto his side and propped his head in his hand. He watched Jesse walk into the other room (or more to the point, he watched Jesse’s firm, round ass).
“You say you’re old every time I beat you on the court.” Jesse popped a strawberry in his mouth after putting down the tray laden with fruit and chocolate on the bed.
“I still win my fair share of matches.”
“ Mmm hmm. Hey, we’re playing doubles at that charity thing next month, right?”
“Damn straight. Stein Koehler is going down.”
“Not that you hold a grudge, or anything.”
Luke affected an innocent expression. “ Moi ? Never.”
“He’s playing with Riel. It’s not going to be an easy match.”
“But it’s a match we’re going to win.”
Jesse chuckled. “Glad to see your competitive juices are still flowing.”
“Oh, my juices are flowing. Don’t you worry about that. ”
Jesse nipped at Luke’s neck. “I have no worries.”
“Speaking of flowing liquids ...” Luke reached for the champagne. Once it was poured, they raised their glasses and clinked them together lightly. Luke cleared his throat. “To the new Roland Garros champion.”
“I will never get sick of hearing that, just for the record.” Jesse took a gulp of his champagne.
“Soon to be Wimbledon champion for the second year in a row.”
Jesse snorted. “Not if Chernekov has anything to say about it. Or Richardson.” He took another big swallow, and Luke mused that Jesse would be drunk before long, since alcohol always went straight to his head and the wine had been flowing at dinner. “Is it wrong that I don’t even care right now about winning Wimbledon again?”
Barking out a laugh, Luke shoved a piece of cantaloupe into Jesse’s mouth. “Get back to me when we’re in London and you step out onto the grass again at Queen’s Club. You’ll be raring to go for Wimbledon.”
“I know, I know.” Jesse flopped back onto the bed, sending some strawberries rolling onto mattress. “It’s just so hard to go right from clay to grass. Why can’t they put an extra week in there? The schedule’s crazy.”
“Because the French and English are both equally stubborn.”
“Thank god I have a bye in the first round tomorrow. Maybe I should just skip this tournament and rest up for Wimbledon.”
“I think you know what Jeff will say to that suggestion.”
Jesse sighed. “I think it would involve something about not resting on my laurels.”
“He’s a great coach, and he’d be right. You don’t have to win Queen’s Club; just play a few matches to get ready for the big show. But you don’t have to worry about that tonight.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” With quick movements that scattered more fruit every which way, Jesse took Luke’s glass of champagne and rolled him onto his back. He straddled Luke’s hips and tipped the cold, bubbly liquid onto his chest. Luke barely had time to cry out before Jesse’s warm mouth covered his nipple, sucking it gently.
Jesse took his time lapping up the champagne from Luke’s skin, and when he was done, Luke was hard again. Jesse grinned. “So, how private is that terrace?”
“ Very .”
“Hmmm. It’s such an incredible view. Would be a shame to waste it.” Jesse leaned down and kissed him.
“Especially since it’s our last night in Paris.”
Jesse disappeared into the bathroom and came back with two robes, tossing one at Luke before slinging his over his shoulders. Luke followed him outside, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath of the warm night air. The lights of Paris spread out before them, the
Eiffel
Tower
rising up towards the sky.
Flowers bloomed in every corner of the terrace, their sweet fragrance lingering in the air. The balcony railing was wide, and Jesse spread his arms out, bracing himself. Luke reached down and lifted Jesse’s robe, his fingers making light, teasing circles
“Hey, who said I was old?” Luke turned onto his side and propped his head in his hand. He watched Jesse walk into the other room (or more to the point, he watched Jesse’s firm, round ass).
“You say you’re old every time I beat you on the court.” Jesse popped a strawberry in his mouth after putting down the tray laden with fruit and chocolate on the bed.
“I still win my fair share of matches.”
“ Mmm hmm. Hey, we’re playing doubles at that charity thing next month, right?”
“Damn straight. Stein Koehler is going down.”
“Not that you hold a grudge, or anything.”
Luke affected an innocent expression. “ Moi ? Never.”
“He’s playing with Riel. It’s not going to be an easy match.”
“But it’s a match we’re going to win.”
Jesse chuckled. “Glad to see your competitive juices are still flowing.”
“Oh, my juices are flowing. Don’t you worry about that. ”
Jesse nipped at Luke’s neck. “I have no worries.”
“Speaking of flowing liquids ...” Luke reached for the champagne. Once it was poured, they raised their glasses and clinked them together lightly. Luke cleared his throat. “To the new Roland Garros champion.”
“I will never get sick of hearing that, just for the record.” Jesse took a gulp of his champagne.
“Soon to be Wimbledon champion for the second year in a row.”
Jesse snorted. “Not if Chernekov has anything to say about it. Or Richardson.” He took another big swallow, and Luke mused that Jesse would be drunk before long, since alcohol always went straight to his head and the wine had been flowing at dinner. “Is it wrong that I don’t even care right now about winning Wimbledon again?”
Barking out a laugh, Luke shoved a piece of cantaloupe into Jesse’s mouth. “Get back to me when we’re in London and you step out onto the grass again at Queen’s Club. You’ll be raring to go for Wimbledon.”
“I know, I know.” Jesse flopped back onto the bed, sending some strawberries rolling onto mattress. “It’s just so hard to go right from clay to grass. Why can’t they put an extra week in there? The schedule’s crazy.”
“Because the French and English are both equally stubborn.”
“Thank god I have a bye in the first round tomorrow. Maybe I should just skip this tournament and rest up for Wimbledon.”
“I think you know what Jeff will say to that suggestion.”
Jesse sighed. “I think it would involve something about not resting on my laurels.”
“He’s a great coach, and he’d be right. You don’t have to win Queen’s Club; just play a few matches to get ready for the big show. But you don’t have to worry about that tonight.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” With quick movements that scattered more fruit every which way, Jesse took Luke’s glass of champagne and rolled him onto his back. He straddled Luke’s hips and tipped the cold, bubbly liquid onto his chest. Luke barely had time to cry out before Jesse’s warm mouth covered his nipple, sucking it gently.
Jesse took his time lapping up the champagne from Luke’s skin, and when he was done, Luke was hard again. Jesse grinned. “So, how private is that terrace?”
“ Very .”
“Hmmm. It’s such an incredible view. Would be a shame to waste it.” Jesse leaned down and kissed him.
“Especially since it’s our last night in Paris.”
Jesse disappeared into the bathroom and came back with two robes, tossing one at Luke before slinging his over his shoulders. Luke followed him outside, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath of the warm night air. The lights of Paris spread out before them, the
Eiffel
Tower
rising up towards the sky.
Flowers bloomed in every corner of the terrace, their sweet fragrance lingering in the air. The balcony railing was wide, and Jesse spread his arms out, bracing himself. Luke reached down and lifted Jesse’s robe, his fingers making light, teasing circles
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