Chapter Text
“You know,” Victoria says. “I had your poster up in my room when I was a kid.”
“Which one?” Cassie asks, instead of saying, you’re still a kid. The truth of it makes her squirm uncomfortably, even if Victoria smirks and nudges Cassie’s head back between her legs. Shameless. Cassie should’ve expected it. Victoria’s a prodigy, expected to win slams since she was barely a teenager. Now, she’s freshly twenty-one, has won the French Open twice, and the U.S. Open once. One more slam than Cassie has, with a much, much brighter future.
“It was a Wimbledon one,” Victoria says. “You lifting the trophy.”
Cassie licks into her and Victoria keens. Her heel digs into Cassie’s back, and her hips tip up. Victoria won today, a quick two-setter against some kid from France, and the only reason Cassie’s in her bed is because she has an off-day next. Cassie lost, but managed to drag the match out to three sets, which is about as close as a win as she’s getting in singles. Embarrassing, maybe, but it means she’s less worried about her knees.
“You look good in white,” Victoria adds. “Even though you’re so pale.”
Cassie laughs. She circles her thumb over Victoria’s clit and grins when she whines. Easy. Cassie likes her so much. It’s a problem. Cassie was supposed to retire last year, but didn’t, because Victoria’s team had reached out and asked if she wanted to play doubles. She needs to work on her net game, had been the official reason, which was the reason most singles players reached out.
Cassie was old enough that nobody saw her as a threat in singles, but good enough, and smart enough, that she could rack up doubles titles on a semi-consistent basis. She didn’t know why she bothered. The money wasn’t great, the travel was exhausting, and her body was slowly working against her. But she loved tennis, and she loved winning, and there wasn’t much that could beat the feeling of claiming another trophy.
So, she stayed. She kept playing, rotating doubles partners at random as they left her for other players or retired themselves. Victoria was a surprise. She could’ve played with anyone, but she was stuck on Cassie, even if it seemed to go against what her team wanted.
Cassie wasn’t known for her volleys. She had a solid serve and a dangerous forehand, but her game wasn’t elegant. It was a weird combination of aggression and grit, a determination not to lose that transcended any specific style of play. Enough to grind her way to two slam titles and her highest ranking of #2.
“Cassie,” Victoria huffs. “I don’t have all night.”
“You’re so impatient,” Cassie murmurs. Her body aches, and it shouldn’t, but it always does. She shifts up onto her knees, and Victoria looks surprised. “Honey,” Cassie says, softly. “I want you to sit on my face.”
“Oh,” Victoria breathes. Her expression shifts into relief, and Cassie wants to laugh or explain herself, because she can’t fathom that Victoria thought she was leaving. But she doesn’t want to draw more attention to the fact that Victoria is young and fresh and can play four hours of tennis and not think twice about getting on her knees, licking into Cassie’s cunt until she comes, and be fine at practice the next morning.
Cassie lies on her back and breathes in. The hotel room is fancier than she books for herself now. There’s a kitchen, stocked with anything Victoria wants, and a balcony that overlooks the city.
Victoria shuffles onto her knees, and Cassie watches her tits shift with her movement. “Are you sure?” Victoria asks.
“Yes,” Cassie says. She’s careful not to roll her eyes. She’s done this before. Victoria knows that, but she gets testy about it. Cassie doesn’t mind, just tugs her closer until Victoria’s hovering above her. She thumbs her lips apart and looks at her cunt, wet and soft.
“Cassie,” Victoria hisses. Cassie doesn’t think she’s embarrassed, but feels like she should be. It’s somehow endearing, and she hums instead of answering, thumbing over her clit and watching her lurch forward. Cassie palms over her ass and settles on her hips, urging her to tilt forward. Victoria goes, it never takes much, and Cassie drowns.
Cassie loses track of how many times Victoria comes, thighs spasming on either side of her face, relentless. Victoria gasps, and whines, and her grip in Cassie’s hair tightens then releases, and Cassie can’t get enough. Victoria fucks herself against Cassie’s face, and Cassie gains enough control of herself to get her hand down the front of her sweats and rub herself until she comes.
“I can’t,” Victoria chokes out.
“One more, baby,” Cassie murmurs. She licks into her, soft and careful, feeling Victoria teeter on the edge. She swears, and Cassie hums, sucks her clit into her mouth, and Victoria yelps.
Victoria huffs and settles herself against Cassie, warm and loose. “Were you trying to kill me?”
“No,” Cassie yawns. “I think I was closer to death.”
Victoria rolls her eyes, rubbing her nose against Cassie’s neck. “You liked it.”
“Mhm,” Cassie agrees.
“You know, I was thinking,” Victoria says, sounding much more awake than she did seconds before. “That you should be my coach.”
“Your coach?” Cassie repeats. “I’m not retired.”
“You want to be,” Victoria points out. Blunt, like it’s a fact and not something Cassie’s been trying to hide. “And you know me better than anyone else.”
“That’s not always a good thing in a coach,” Cassie says.
“I think you make me better,” Victoria says. “And I want you around, and this way you don’t lose tennis, and I don’t lose you.”
Cassie falters. They’re in Washington. The season isn’t over, but it’s close enough. One more slam.
“Did you think this was the best time to suggest this?” Cassie asks.
Victoria shrugs, smiling. “I don’t need an answer right now. You can take your time.”
Cassie rolls her eyes. Victoria being patient means that she thinks Cassie’s going to say yes, and she probably isn’t wrong.