Reunion

It’s my 25th high school reunion, and I survived 30 minutes in the old gymnasium before locking eyes with Scott fucking Preston.

During that time I saw we all got older, still gravitate toward our cliques, and most have partners.

That’s enough. I’m outta here.

Unfortunately, my feet don’t lead me to my car. Instead, I end up at the equipment shed outside the tennis courts. The combination on the lock hasn’t changed, and neither has the location of tennis balls and rackets.

It takes a couple of swings to find my groove—especially since I’m wearing high heels and a cocktail dress—but a serve eventually connects.

A smirk touches my lips and I land another solid hit. Then another, and another.

I may not have gone pro like Scott did after he got the scholarship that should have been mine, but I’ve still participated in tournaments since graduation. I know I’m good, I know I can play with the best of them, but it wasn’t until I got back on this court—the one we used to share as partners—that I truly appreciated how 25 years has changed everything and absolutely nothing at all.

“You still have a strong serve.”

Scott’s sudden appearance jolts me with surprise and I fail to connect with my next ball.

“You’ll see just how strong it is if you get on the other side of the net. Your face makes a good target.”

“Still have an even stronger attitude.”

I ignore him and make sure to slam the next serve as hard as I can.

“Mind if I join you?”

“No.”

“Great, then I’ll—”

“No. I mean, yes! Yes, I mind. No, you can’t join me.”

Still, he moves to the other side of the court, watching the balls fly while removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

“That’s unfortunate, I thought we could catch up.”

“Why? So you can boast about going pro and ending up on a Wheaties box?”

I hit a ball with enough heat to catch it in the chain-link. It’s a terrible serve, but it felt good watching his eyes widen when it zoomed too close to his face.

“I see catching up is unnecessary. Seems you already know what I’ve been up to.”

He waits until I send the next ball flying before lunging for the baseline, getting into position with a wide smirk.

“I said you can’t play!”

“Come on, Mandy,” he says with a sigh that straightens him up. “You can’t still hold a grudge after—”

He dodges the ball I send careening at him.

“That wasn’t a legal serve.”

Despite almost hitting him, he wears a devilish grin. The kind he’d get when he found the opposing team’s weak spot back when we played mixed doubles.

“Yeah, well, we aren’t dressed right either, so the rules are out the window.”

He shrugs and sends back a ball in a gentle lob.

“Don’t insult me with that weak shit! Just because you’ve played at Wimbledon, and I haven’t, doesn’t mean—”

“Mandy, you’re wearing high heels!” He calls over top of my rant. “I won’t let you twist your ankle.”

“I can play in whatever shoes I want! I can—”

The heel of my shoe breaks off while stomping toward him during my tantrum, and my arms immediately windmill. I throw a hand back to catch myself, but my descent ends with a jerk that wrenches me forward and presses me against something hard and warm.

Confused, I glance up and find Scott looking down at me. His lips part slightly as he pants, his gaze fierce.

“Oops,” I mutter with a sheepish grin.

“This,” he says, his voice low and rough, “is why you didn’t get the scholarship. Not because I outplayed you—you’re still the best damn doubles partner I’ve ever had—but because you aren’t disciplined.”

My cheeks warm, partially from the fury over his painfully accurate words, and partially from the way his tone has my core clenching.

“I have plenty of discipline,” I growl, standing up straighter so I can feel the way the net is the only thing separating us.

“Bull shit. I don’t think a brat like you has ever been properly punished for running that smart ass mouth of yours.”

My jaw drops and my cheeks heat as I look up at his smirking face and playful brown eyes.

“No one has had the audacity to do so.”

He then leans in over the net and his next words hot against my ear.

“Twenty-five years and you’ve been cursed with a bunch of cowards then.”

The heat of his assertion spreads like fire across my skin before pooling into molten lava dripping from my center.

“Is that so?” I ask in a voice that isn’t nearly as confident and sassy as I wanted it to be. “And how would you put me in my place?”

“I would say I’d bend you over this net and smack your ass with this racket, but that’s probably a bit too advanced for a brat that’s never been broken in before. So I suppose my hand would do.”

He says it so casually against my ear, while his finger slowly draws up my arm, that I lose all strength in my legs. My knees buckle and with my feet currently at different heights thanks to my broken heel, I nearly collapse.

Thankfully, he catches me again, but this time lifts me in his arms bridal-style.

“Fuck these shoes,” he says with a chuckle, pulling my intact one from my foot before walking around the net to scoop up my broken one without dropping me. “You won’t need them where I’m taking you.”

“But… But the net…”

I bury my face inside the curve of his neck to hide the shame of my pathetic pleading.

“Don’t be like that,” he says in a gentle voice while his hand squeezes my arm. “I’ll happily put you in your place on the court some day, just not one where our entire graduating class might see us.”

“Fuck,” I groan, clinging to him as we round the school and enter the parking lot.

A few of our old classmates had stepped out for a breather, and their conversation dropped the moment they saw Scott cradling me against his chest. However, the silence soon fills with chuckling after a comment about it taking long enough.

He barely waits for me to buckle in before we’re off to a location I’d only heard about in high school. An old pull-off used by hikers during the day, and by couples at night.

“Come here,” he growls, tugging me out of the passenger seat as I squeal with delight. Next thing I know, I’m spread across the back seat, with him climbing on top of me. “Fuck, Amanda, I never thought I’d see you like this.”

“Well, then stop waiting and start doing.”

To enforce the matter, I reach for his belt buckle, but he snags my wrists and pulls them above my head, pinning them down against the very edge of the backseat.

“I don’t think so, I’m taking my time.”

“So mean,” I say with a playful pout that disappears the instant his free hand tugs the hem of my dress up.

“What’s that?” he asks, dragging his fingertips over the damp fabric of my thong. “This is mean? I should stop?”

“Don’t you dare!” I growl, punctuating my point with a roll of my hips. “If I want to stop, I’ll say stop. Otherwise, you better finish what you started.”

“Even pinned beneath me with my fingers stroking your slit, you’re a brat.”

He tugs the crotch of my panties to the side, pulling a gasp from me as two of his fingers coat themselves in my arousal.

“That’s why you’re perfect, Mandy. All your spice, snarling, and smirks hide that soft, sweet center.” He pushes his fingers in, stroking my walls until he finds that spot that has me arching off the backseat. “I want to be the only one who sees you like this. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes!” I cry, writhing and bucking against his fingers. “Only for you. I don’t want anyone else seeing me like this. Only you!”

He pulls his hand away and releases my wrists, before leaning down and capturing my lips.

Despite having every intention of letting him fuck me into his backseat cushions, the press of his lips against mine was a jolt of intimacy I hadn’t expected. I can’t even recall the number of times I had clung onto my pillow and dreamt of kissing my handsome tennis partner. Nor how many times I cried over how stupid I was to push him away after he got the scholarship.

When he finally pulls back, our breaths mingle in the silence.

“You okay, Mandy?”

“Never been better.”

Once he sees the giddy smile tugging on my lips, a weight lifts from his shoulders and a playful smirk lights up his face.

“You okay with me taking this all the way? I have a condom.”

“Came prepared, I see,” I say with a chuckle.

“Never assumed,” he replies seriously, “but I certainly hoped things would end with me between your legs.”

“Fuck me,” I groan.

His response is a grunt of agreement, and he sits back on his heels, hunching over to accommodate the sedan’s low ceiling. I watch him tear open the packet with his teeth before he rolls the latex down his shaft.

It takes seconds, and soon he’s hovering over me again, but this time I feel the cool kiss of the condom against my swollen lips before he slides in.

“Scott!”

“Fuck. You feel even better than I dreamed.” Each word is broken up by a thrust that gets deeper and deeper as his length coats itself with my slick desire. “I can already feel you squeezing me.”

I can’t stop my body from clenching around him, eager to learn his length and girth.

“Dammit, I’m not sure how long I’m going to last like this.” He repositions himself so he’s partially seated and can use both hands to lift my hips and pound into me with more fervor. “You look so beautiful. I’ve wanted this for so long. I just don’t know if I can wait a moment longer.”

To test my longevity, he slides one hand over my hip and down between my legs to circle my clit.

“Scott, that’s not fair!”

I’m panting, sweating, and so close it hurts.

“Come for me, sweetheart, and then I’m taking you to my hotel room to show you I can make this last a lot longer when I’m not releasing the cap off something that’s been under pressure for over two decades.”

He’s right. This isn’t just any quick fuck in the back of the car. This is Scott Preston. The man I’ve never been able to give up, no matter how much I tried to move on. And though we’ll have some logistics to work out to keep this going, I know in my heart, we’re not letting each other slip away again.

When I orgasm, he follows right behind me with a groan so deep, I can feel it vibrating where we’re connected. My moans shift into whimpers and then into satisfied coos. He leans down one more time to hold me close and kiss my neck until we both remember we’re too old to be doing this in a car without our backs killing us in the morning.

“Ready to go?” he asks, tying up the condom to throw away later. “I have a king-size bed and a box full of condoms waiting.”

“Cocky asshole,” I say, slapping his shoulder before letting him help me out of the backseat. “I’ll make sure we empty that box before either of us has to catch a flight home.”

“So competitive,” he chuckles, pulling me close to kiss my forehead.

And he’s right. I am. But it doesn’t matter when I’m with him, because now I know that simply having him in my life is the biggest win of all.

Vixen Gould writes erotica exploring desire, power, and the pleasures of letting go. She lives with her partner, children, and cats. When she’s not writing, she enjoys video games, time with her family, and a good word or logic puzzle. Read more of her work on Substack.