#tennis court maintenance

[dorumoru]

#aesthetic #uploads #tennis court maintenance #tennis #hotel #relaxingday #sports #sport news #reblog

[powerwashhousecleaning]

Revitalize Your Property with Pressure Cleaning Services in Gold Coast

Transform your Gold Coast property with professional pressure cleaning services. Our expert team utilizes high-pressure water jets to remove dirt, grime, mold, and other stubborn contaminants from driveways, sidewalks, decks, and building exteriors. Restore surfaces to their original beauty and enhance curb appeal instantly. Pressure cleaning not only improves aesthetics but also helps extend the lifespan of outdoor surfaces by preventing deterioration.

In the coastal climate of Gold Coast, where mold and mildew thrive, regular pressure cleaning is essential for maintaining cleanliness and hygiene. Our services are tailored to meet your specific needs, providing thorough and efficient cleaning with minimal disruption.

Whether you're a homeowner looking to enhance your property's appearance or a business owner aiming to create a welcoming environment for customers, our pressure cleaning services deliver outstanding results. Contact us today to schedule a consultation and discover how pressure cleaning can revitalize your Gold Coast property.

#house cleaning #roof cleaning #power washing #housewash #tennis court maintenance

[tenniscourtrepairs]

via Twitter https://twitter.com/tennisrepairs

#tennis court repairs #tennis court maintenance #tennis courts #tennis courts uk #tennis court servic

[champion-grass]

One of the biggest complaints about natural grass tennis courts is that they can become uneven over time, which can impact the game play. With artificial turf, you don't have to worry about this because the surface will always be level. This leads to better game play and fewer injuries.

#tennis court maintenance

[agilecourts]

To construct a new tennis court, you must hire a Tennis Court Construction Company. Given how many contractors declare themselves to be experts in this field, this could be complicated. Before choosing a company, you should be aware of the following: the contractor's insurance and licence status, the length of time they have been building tennis courts, samples of their earlier work, the best surface material, etc. Based on how you want to use the court, it is also crucial to understand the needs for the fence and lighting. You can go to Agile Courts for the greatest assistance. We have a business that instals sports courts, provides equipment, fences, lighting, resurfaces, and performs upkeep. We would be honoured to build your tennis court.

#tennis court #tennis court maintenance #tennis #Tennis Court Fence Repair #Tennis Court Installation #Tennis Court Accessories #Caribbean Tennis Courts #Tennis Courts Maintenance

[tenniscourtrepairsblog]

Tennis Court Maintenance Specialists: Guardians of the Perfect Court

Imagine stepping onto a tennis court on a sunny day. The anticipation of a great match fills the air, but what truly makes the court perfect is the effort of tennis court maintenance specialists. They are the silent guardians who ensure that the court is not just safe and functional, but a pleasure to play on. In this article, we'll unveil the world of these unsung heroes, exploring what they do, why they are essential, and the magic they bring to every tennis court.

Meet the Tennis Court Maintenance Specialists Tennis court maintenance specialists are the backbone of court care. They're like the caretakers of a grand estate, tending to every detail to maintain its beauty and functionality. Their role is multi-faceted, covering a range of essential services:

Cleaning and Power Washing Tennis courts, like any outdoor surface, accumulate dirt, dust, leaves, and more over time. This buildup not only hampers the visual appeal but also poses safety risks. Tennis court maintenance specialists use power washing techniques to clean the court's surface. It's like a rejuvenating spa treatment for the court, restoring its vibrant colors and slip resistance.

Repairs and Resurfacing Just as a home may need occasional repairs, tennis courts require maintenance too. Cracks, potholes, and worn-out surfaces are part of natural wear and tear. Maintenance specialists are like skilled craftsmen, meticulously repairing and resurfacing the court. They make it look and perform like new, ensuring it remains safe and visually appealing.

Line Painting and Maintenance The lines on a tennis court are like the road markings on a well-organized highway. They guide players, ensuring fair play and accuracy. Tennis court maintenance specialists are responsible for painting and maintaining these lines, ensuring they are clear, crisp, and in compliance with regulations. It's like the specialists are the conductors of an orchestra, ensuring that every note is perfectly aligned.

Net and Post Maintenance In tennis, the net and posts are like the goalposts in football – they define the game. Maintenance specialists ensure that the tennis net is taut and at the correct height, and that the posts are securely anchored. It's like making sure that the goalposts in a soccer game won't topple over during play.

Regular Inspections Regular check-ups are crucial for health and safety, whether for humans or tennis courts. Tennis court maintenance specialists conduct routine inspections, identifying and addressing potential problems before they become major issues. It's like preventive medicine for the court, ensuring it stays in the best shape.

Seasonal Care Tennis courts, like gardens, experience seasonal changes. For example, clay courts may need specific care in wet seasons to prevent excessive moisture. Maintenance specialists adapt their services to address these changes, like a tailor adjusting the cut of a suit to match the season.

Why Tennis Court Maintenance Specialists are Essential You might wonder, "Why invest in tennis court maintenance specialists?" Here are the key reasons why they are indispensable:

Safety First Tennis court maintenance isn't just about aesthetics; it's about safety. Cracks, potholes, or slippery surfaces can lead to injuries. Regular maintenance ensures that the court remains a safe place to play, just as you'd maintain the brakes on your car to ensure safe driving.

Longevity Just like changing the oil in your car, maintenance prolongs the life of the court. It's an investment in the court's longevity, ensuring that it provides enjoyment for years to come, like regular exercise for a longer and healthier life.

Playability A well-maintained court isn't just safe; it also plays better. The right surface, net tension, and clear lines make a significant difference in the quality of the game. It's like playing a musical instrument that's perfectly tuned for an exquisite melody.

Visual Appeal Imagine stepping onto a court with faded lines and a dull surface. It's like dining in a restaurant with dusty menus and worn-out furniture. A well-maintained court is visually appealing, adding to the overall enjoyment of the game, just as a well-designed restaurant enhances your dining experience.

Regulation Compliance Whether it's for recreational play or competitive matches, maintaining a court's regulation dimensions and features is essential. A maintenance specialist ensures the court meets these standards, just as referees ensure that a soccer match adheres to the rules.

In Conclusion Tennis court maintenance specialists are the unseen heroes who keep tennis courts in perfect condition. Their range of services, from cleaning to repairs, addresses the unique needs of each court. It's not just a matter of upkeep; it's about preserving the soul of the game, one court at a time.

So the next time you step onto the court, take a moment to appreciate the seamless surface, the crisp lines, and the net that's perfectly tensioned. It's the work of tennis court maintenance specialists, silently ensuring that the court is ready for an exciting match.

#tennis court maintenance specialists #tennis court resurfacing #tennis court painting #Youtube

[tennisrepair]

Website: https://www.tennisrepair.com/

SUPERTEN, also known as ""LA SUPERTEN,"" is a revolutionary tool designed specifically for the removal of foam that settles on playground surfaces covered with grass carpet. Proudly developed in Quebec, this innovative invention brings undeniable pleasure to its users.

The primary purpose of the SUPERTEN is to effectively eliminate debris and foam particles that become deeply embedded within the synthetic fibers of carpets. With its cutting-edge design, this unit is engineered to tackle the most heavily contaminated carpets, providing exceptional cleaning results.

Imagine investing in a beautiful tennis court, only to witness the rapid spread of moss and other contaminants after a few years. This is where SUPERTEN comes to the rescue! With over 12 years of continuous refinement, SUPERTEN has established itself as the go-to solution for efficient cleanup, surpassing all competitors.

Let's explore the outstanding benefits offered by SUPERTEN:

Powerful Performance: The unit boasts 54 high-quality cutters, ensuring thorough and effective cleaning.

Robust Design: The SUPERTEN is an all-mechanical, heavy-duty machine built to withstand demanding cleaning tasks.

Long-lasting Durability: This exceptional tool has a proven track record of 12 years in service, providing reliable performance for 2 to 4 hours of continuous cleaning on a full tennis court.

Patented Innovation: SUPERTEN holds a patent for its groundbreaking design, guaranteeing its uniqueness and effectiveness.

Minimal Maintenance: With very low maintenance requirements, the SUPERTEN allows you to focus on the task at hand without the hassle of frequent upkeep.

Versatile Usage: All you need is your own tractor to operate the SUPERTEN, making it suitable for various applications, including tennis courts, soccer fields, baseball diamonds, football fields, and playgrounds.

Customizable Options: You have the freedom to choose the color of your SUPERTEN unit, allowing you to personalize it according to your preferences.

Lucrative Business Opportunity: SUPERTEN presents an excellent business venture for owners, as its efficiency and versatility ensure high customer satisfaction and demand.

Unmatched Performance: No tennis court or any other surface is too dirty for SUPERTEN. It effortlessly dislodges debris, which is typically lighter than sand, making disposal a breeze.

Investing in a SUPERTEN means investing in a reliable and effective solution for playground surface cleaning. With its exceptional features, durable construction, and proven track record, SUPERTEN is the ultimate choice for maintaining the cleanliness and integrity of your synthetic carpets.

Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/julien-jomphe-10559349/?originalSubdomain=ca

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[dorumoru]

#aesthetic #tennis #tennis court maintenance

[powerwashhousecleaning]

Serve up a Clean Slate: Tennis Court Cleaning on the Gold Coast

Maintaining a pristine tennis court is vital for optimum play and aesthetics. For tennis enthusiasts on the Gold Coast, professional tennis court cleaning services are the ace up their sleeve. These services specialize in eliminating dirt, algae, and mold that can accumulate on court surfaces, ensuring a safe and enjoyable playing experience.

By investing in professional cleaning, tennis court owners can extend the lifespan of their courts while enhancing their appearance. Regular maintenance not only improves the court's aesthetics but also prevents potential hazards such as slippery surfaces caused by algae or mold buildup.

Professional cleaners utilize advanced equipment and techniques tailored to tennis court surfaces, delivering thorough and efficient results. With their expertise, tennis players can enjoy a clean and safe environment to practice and compete, free from distractions or safety concerns.

Don't let a dirty court hinder your game. Schedule professional tennis court cleaning services on the Gold Coast to serve up a clean slate for your next match. With a pristine court under your feet, you'll be ready to smash every point with confidence and precision.

#housecleaning #pressure cleaning #housewash #tennis court maintenance

[syntheticgrass]

Improve Your Syenthic Grass For Tennis Court Maintenance

If you want to enjoy the benefits of a synthetic grass tennis court, it’s important to do your research and understand what makes one system better than another.

For instance, if you’re planning on installing synthetic grass for recreational use, then it may not be as important to have a high quality infill product compared to if you were planning on installing a professional stadium grass field an do right Tennis Court Maintenance Melbourne.

Synthetic Grass Settlement

Synthetic grass is often laid on a flat surface, but it must be properly settled before use. This process helps to remove air bubbles and any loose fibres that may have become attached during manufacturing. If you don’t give your synthetic lawn time to settle, these issues can affect its overall performance and lifespan.

Settling can be accelerated by laying the turf on a flat surface (such as concrete) and rolling it back and forth several times with a heavy object such as a roller or paint mixing tray filled with water.

Tennis Court Infill Products

The infill is the material that fills the space between the grass blades and provides a cushion for players to serve, volley, and run. This is one of the most important elements of your lawn since it determines how far balls will bounce and how quickly they can be retrieved.

 If you have chosen a good surfacegrass, then it’s likely that you want to keep it in perfect condition by using an appropriate infill product.

The two main types of infill are sand and rubber granules; both have their own benefits but also some drawbacks depending on your desired outcome:

Sand: Sand has been used as an alternative to clay for decades but tends not to last as long because it compacts under pressure from use over time (such as tennis balls hitting against). If you're looking for something low-maintenance then this may be ideal for you!

Rubber Granules: These provide better shock absorption than sand which means players can play more comfortably without having discomfort when moving around on court or hitting hard shots into corners where there are no spectators sitting nearby; therefore making them ideal if playing regularly with friends or family members who aren't professional athletes yet still enjoy

Sand/Rubber Mix Infill Systems

Sand/rubber mix infill systems are popular in sports fields, and can be used on tennis courts. These infill systems are designed to provide a soft surface for players, but also help with drainage and aeration.

When you install this kind of system, you’ll need to decide on what kind of sand you want to use. You can choose from natural-coloured or black-coloured sand. Natural-coloured sand is good if you have dark topsoil because it won’t show up as much against the dark background; however, natural-coloured sand may cause problems with heat absorption on hot days because it absorbs more heat than black-coloured sand does. 

Black-coloured sand looks better when installed over lighter topsoils; however, if your court has already been filled with natural-coloured topsoil then there won’t be much contrast between them anyway, so most people don't worry too much about whether they should use one over another type when installing their courts' surfaces!

Always look for quality products to improve your synthetic grass.

There are a lot of different ways to improve your synthetic grass and it’s important to look for quality products when you do. While the first thing people think about may be the price and how much they can get for their money, there’s more to choosing the right product than just what brand or store has it at a good price. 

When you install turf on your tennis court, thus you need to do proper Tennis Court Maintenance Melbourne that will last a long time so that you don’t have to worry about replacing it every year or two like some people do with their natural grass courts.

The best way I know how to find out if something is quality or not is by looking at reviews from other customers who have bought similar products before me (so they must have known what they were doing). That way I know whether I should trust them with my hard earned money!

Conclusion

We hope this article has helped to improve your knowledge of the best infill products for tennis courts. If you have any questions, please feel free to comment below.

#Tennis Court Maintenance Melbourne

[tenniscourtrepairs]

via Twitter https://twitter.com/tennisrepairs

#tennis court repairs #tennis court maintenance #tennis courts #tennis courts uk #tennis court servic

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

the pro

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: My brain chose violence this morning. Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.8K

Warnings: Slow burn; unhappily married reader; divorced Art Donaldson; infidelity; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Summary: Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

He's the biggest men's tennis star since Andy Roddick.

That’s what your husband says, as if it’ll entice you. As if you know anything about tennis, about the pro that your husband says will be coming to the house to teach you to play.

It’ll be good for you. You need a hobby. 

You don’t gripe or argue. You don’t tell him that five months into your marriage shouldn’t have you looking for a new hobby. You should still be in the honeymoon stage, spending all of your time with him, hanging off of his arm, off of his every word. But he works so much and he’s away so often—

I don’t want you to get bored. 

It’s a sweet gesture. The maid handles the housework; you have a chef that handles most of the grocery shopping and cooking, unless you insist on making something yourself; you have a housekeeper that arranges for anything you need—dry cleaning, maintenance. And it’s no wonder that with all of his money, his power, he can just order a retired pro tennis player up to your house, like you’d order a pizza. There’s a tennis court in the back of the mansion, a few feet from the pool. You’ll get some new outfits, the best sneakers, the nicest rackets. You’ll finally have something to do to fill your days. 

Art Donaldson. 

You know his name before the lean, fair-skinned patrician man turns up at your front door. He trails you through the house, politely declines your offer of a beverage. 

“You ever played tennis before?” He asks. 

You haven’t. Before your husband arranged this for you, you hadn’t so much as given the sport more than a passing thought. You don’t have the heart or confidence to tell that to a man that’s made tennis his whole life, so you just give him a small, guilty smile and say no, you haven’t. He nods, waves you off, insists that it’s fine. 

“We’ll start with the basics.” 

-- 

Two months of lessons on the basics make your arms tired, and your hands sore. But where your swings are clumsy and your grip is weak at first, you can see improvement in the way that you move. Your steps are less clumsy when you go after a ball; you’re more aware of the service line and the base line; your forehand stroke from contact to your left shoulder is smoother; your rotation and follow-through on your backhand is coming along, but has a long way to go. 

Art’s instruction is calm and steady. He explains technique as much as he demonstrates it. When you get something wrong, he doesn’t scold, just lightly corrects. When you do something well, his encouragement is constant and free-flowing. Every accurate move and motion is met with, “Nice,” or, “Perfect,” or, “That’s it.” 

On the days when you don’t have a lesson with Art, you practice. You order a tennis ball machine to work on your forehand and backhand. You attempt (and fail) to learn how to slice on your own. You try anyway—you can only imagine the way his eyes might light up if you manage to surprise him. 

You’ve tried to ignore the rising interest that you have in Art, but you can’t help the little…Crush that’s developed. He’s just so attentive, and kind. When you find yourself smiling these days, it’s often because of something that he said, or did. You can’t remember the last time your husband made you feel giddy this way. It was probably when you started dating—before you’d made the decision to marry for comfort, rather than love. Your husband is practical, rarely physically affectionate, more heavily involved in his job and social circles than with you. 

But you’ll have to find a way to thank him. He’s given you a hobby, and a man that grins at you like you just painted the goddamn Mona Lisa when you serve your first ace. 

-- 

“So, tell me about the Mark Rebellato Academy.” 

Art smiles, dipping his head as he reaches for his coffee. It’s taken a few months, but you finally convince him to have something to drink with you after practice. Your chef is blessedly out shopping for ingredients for dinner, so you have the kitchen all to yourself. Art has watched you putter around, seeming surprised that you know where everything is. You can’t blame him; the kitchen is chef-grade, and you don’t cook much these days. 

“Did your husband tell you that’s where I went?” 

“No.” 

“Then how do you know?” 

You’re too embarrassed to admit that you’ve done some googling, and watched a couple of clips of him interviewing before and after his matches. 

“I’ve just heard,” You fib. “Tell me about it?” 

He leans back in his seat, eyes skating across your face as he seems to consider something. 

“What do you wanna know?” 

“Did you enjoy it? I mean—” It feels like a dumb question once it’s out, and you hurry to redirect, “With what you know now, if you had the choice, would you have learned how to play tennis somewhere else?” 

He considers for a moment, trailing his finger over the side of his cup. Your gaze flits to his fingers, and your own flex around your mug handle. You’ve spent far too much time looking at and thinking about Art’s fingers—their length and quickness; the slight roughness of his calloused hands; the lingering tan line from where his wedding band used to sit. 

“Yeah,” He admits, drawing your full attention back to his face. “I would. It was foundational, you know. I’ve been thinking of sending Lily there.” 

“Lily?” 

A bittersweet smile twists his lips. “My daughter.” 

“Oh!” It catches you off-guard.  

“Tashi, uh—” He clears his throat, “Lily’s mother, my ex-wife. She and I are thinking about schools.” 

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have her. Does she play tennis?” 

“Little bit. She didn’t start until last year, but she's a natural.” He clears his throat again, presses, “Are you and your husband planning on having kids?” 

“Oh god no.” You blurt it out, and realize as he raises his brows that you’ve spoken too quickly. You lean back in your seat, stirring your coffee quickly to distract yourself from your growing embarrassment. “He actually has kids already. Two girls, seven and ten. They’re at boarding school and they stay with their mother when they're on vacation. I haven’t gotten to spend much time with them.” 

“...He seems to be pretty busy.” 

“He is.” 

“So it’s just you in this big house?” He tips his head to the side, brows knitting with curiosity. “What do you do all day?” 

“Play tennis.”

He grins, chuckling, and your stomach flips at the sound. 

“It shows, you know,” He says. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can tell you’re practicing without me. And,” He leans across the table, running his fingers lightly over the exposed skin of your bicep, “You’re getting stronger.” 

You wonder if he can see or feel the goosebumps that break out across your skin at the gentle sweep, his gaze heavy on yours.

“I have a good teacher,” You murmur. Art’s lips twitch with a soft smile, his hand gently cupping your arm. 

“Just good?” He plies. 

“The best. A real pro.” 

His smile widens, and the flash of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip makes your face go hot. You know that you’re caught when Art’s touch becomes firmer, pulling your arm toward him just a little. 

The sound of approaching footsteps startles you, and you hurriedly tug your arm away. The sight of your husband makes your heart leap into your throat. 

“There you are,” He smiles. “Art, how’s she doin’?” 

“She’s killing it.” 

You don’t dare look at him, but you can feel the weight of his attention lingering on you still. You just give your husband a smile, tipping your cheek up obligingly as he leans down to kiss it. 

“Actually, Art,” Your husband straightens up, hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s a charity event for a local club this month. It’s for uh…What is it?” He squeezes your shoulders for answers, and you have to keep from rolling your eyes. 

“It’s a charity tennis match to raise funds to fix up the local courts. They need resurfacing and they’re raising funding to keep the fees down.” 

“We could use a sponsorship from the foundation,” Your husband adds. 

“Honey,” You glance back, wary of insulting Art. But—

“I’ll do it,” Art agrees. “Send me the details.” 

“Excellent,” Your husband grins. “Maybe we could coax you into a match or two.” 

You don’t chastise him this time—not when you see something light up in Art.

“Maybe.” 

--  

You haven’t seen Art play before. You’ve specifically avoided it. You’ve known that when you saw it, you would be too intimidated to do a damn thing on the court with him. But now, you can’t stop watching him. You don’t even care that you probably look so out of place—where everyone else is watching the ball, you’re just watching him. 

His movements are so neat, so precise. It’s like watching a dance. He’s running the poor guy on the other side of the net up and down the court. And the sounds that he’s making—god. Every little grunt and groan is weaving increasingly filthy thoughts in your mind. You already know that you’ll seek out the memory of those sounds, as you reach between your legs later. His shirt clings to his chest, showcasing the muscles that you’ve always suspected he has. Strands of hair plaster to his forehead as sweat drips over his cheekbones, down the bridge of his nose, over his jaw. 

When he scores a match point and he looks toward the cheering crowd—when his eyes land on you instantly, without having to search—it’s like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. You can’t think, or move. You barely have the focus to applaud, but you manage to raise your hands and clap. 

-- 

Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch. 

Coffee becomes a post-lesson ritual. He starts to stick closer and closer to you as he follows you into the house until he begins to rest his hand on your lower back, guiding you to your door. He keeps nearby when you’re making it, brushes droplets of sweat off of your forehead or neck. Every touch is electrifying; you have to make a concentrated effort to keep your hands steady, your face neutral as your heart pounds and your stomach floods with butterflies. 

He pushes you harder on the court, and you force yourself to meet the level that he sets for you, even when you don’t feel confident in it. But you want to make him proud. 

It spurs you to lunge a little too far. 

The sharp stabbing pain in your left ankle makes you shriek, and you tumble to the ground, dropping the racket with a clatter. You hear the pounding of his feet, glance up just in time to see him clear the net before he’s on the ground at your side. 

“What hurts?” 

“My ankle,” You grit out, hissing softly as he helps you straighten your leg out. He smooths his hands over your calf, leaning over you and gently guiding your foot in a few different directions. You whimper as he starts to guide your foot to the left. 

“Okay, okay,” He soothes, “Let’s get you inside.” 

For as much as you damn the throbbing in your ankle, you thank it a little, too. You lean heavily against Art, making the slow, arduous journey back to the house with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. 

When your husband comes home, he finds you with on the couch with Art coming back in from the kitchen, an ice pack in your hand. 

You’d hope for concern, but your husband frowns, glances at the swelling knob of your ankle, and simply asks: “What did you do?” 

“She lost her balance.” Art sits down on the other end of the couch, soothing you as the chill of the ice pack makes you shift with discomfort. 

“Are you going to be able to walk tomorrow?” Your husband presses. “We have dinner at the Fineman’s.”

“I'm still going, don't worry about that."

“...Tomorrow might be a bit soon,” Art warns. 

“I’ll be okay. It’s just a sprain, right?” You tip your brows up, hoping, praying that he’ll agree for your sake. His fingers flex around the ice pack, jaw ticking as he clenches it. He doesn’t say a word as your husband sighs heavily, grumbles, “I hope so. Still, we should put a pause on the lessons until she’s fighting fit again.” 

Art finally tears his eyes from yours, a tight smile on his lips. 

“Of course.” 

-- 

“How’s the ankle?” 

It takes you a moment to scrounge up an answer. You can’t believe that he called. You knew that Art had gotten your number when you started taking lessons with him, but he’s never used it beyond texting to confirm a lesson time now and again. 

You look down at the still-swollen flesh as it strains against the thin strap of your slingbacks. 

“Fine,” You lie, “It’s um—” You glance over your shoulder, listening for your husband. “It’s not that bad.” 

“Good enough to walk on?” 

Hardly. 

“Yes.” You think you’ve gotten away with it, but when you hear Art sigh and chastise, “You should rest,” You know that you haven’t.

“I have,” You insist, “All day.” 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Yes.” 

“You can tell him no, you know.”

Your mouth works wordlessly, body going hot with indignation. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can’t tell him that he’s wrong, that your husband’s connections are the lifeblood of his business. You can’t tell him that if your husband’s business falls apart, you won't be able to afford those tennis lessons, and then how the hell are you supposed to see Art again? 

You just yank your phone away from your ear and hang up. 

-- 

I invited Art. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise, but your husband’s statement makes you feel like you’ve swallowed your tongue. You haven’t seen or spoken to Art in nearly two weeks. Your doctor recommended putting off any physical activity, which your husband surely relayed to him. He was the one whose name was on Art’s checks, after all. 

Your husband has always thrown a massive party to kick off the summer. Every year, 150 of your husband’s closest family, friends, and business associates flooded into the house. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that your husband invited Art after the performance he had given at the fundraiser—$25,000 from the foundation, and ticket sales went through the roof when it had been announced that the Art Donaldson would be making an appearance. Your husband owed Art a lot, and probably saw this as an opportunity for him to network, to take on more clients. He had been evangelizing Art’s training to any of your friends that would listen—how good you are on the court, how engaged and energetic you seem to be these days. 

It’s one thing to know that you’ll have to put on a happy face for the crowd, but to know that Art will be among them makes your insides twist with nerves. You can’t stop thinking about the way that he had spoken to you when you were hurt; his calm, steadying demeanor as he’d gotten you inside; the careful coaxing and gentle touch that he’d used as he’d taken your shoe off and examined your ankle more closely. 

You think about it now, as you strap on another pair of heels. Your ankle really is doing well, though you have a little lingering pain in shoes like these. You’ll likely be on your feet for the length of the party; it’s going to be a long night. You look over yourself in the mirror, self consciously tipping your ankle from side to side for anything that he may spot or catch out. But there’s nothing, you reassure yourself. You slide your hands over the skirt, plastering on a smile as your husband pokes his head into your dressing room. 

“Almost ready in here?” He asks. 

“All set!” 

-- 

He doesn’t come over to you. On the crowded patio, you can feel him watching you—you’ve gotten so used to seeking out the sensation that you can’t ignore it now. The first true look at him is agony. He watches you from just a few feet away, a glass of champagne in hand as he speaks with your husband and the Finemans. He openly looks you over, eyes drifting over your body to the flash of ankle revealed by the slit in your dress. He tips his head to the side just a little, squinting before his eyes flit back up to your face, lips twitching with a small smile. 

You want to hate how good it feels; you want to be angry with him for his smug knowing, his insistence of You can tell him no, you know. But it feels so goddamn good to have his attention again that you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed. You know that you’re staring—that you both are—and you force yourself to turn away and excuse yourself from the conversation you’re in. You go inside, murmuring your thanks for the waitstaff that pass you along the way.

The house isn’t nearly as busy as the patio, and you're able to slip into your darkened study unnoticed. You leave the lights off, certain that if you turn them on, people will be drawn in to bug you, like moths to a flame. The party’s lights and music filter in through the partially-closed blinds. 

You lean against the desk, circling your ankle and wincing a little. You’ll hide for a few minutes, let it rest—

Your breath catches in your throat as the door opens. You expect your husband, ready to scold and usher you back to the guests. 

You only have a second to get a look at Art before he shuts the door behind himself, plunging the room back into darkness. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the desk as you use it to ground yourself. 

“...Do you need something?” You ask, voice wobbling with nerves. 

“Wanted to come say hi.” 

“Well. Hi.” 

You hear him chuckle, his footsteps muted by the carpet. 

“Thanks for the invite.” 

“It wasn’t my idea.” It’s not polite to admit, but you want it to sting him, just a little. Maybe it does; in the dim of the room, you can’t see Art’s expression as he comes to a stop just a couple of feet from you. 

“Do you want me to go?” He asks. You know what you should say, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

“No,” You whisper. You feel the heat of him as he comes closer, his hands resting on the desk and caging you in. You bite your lip as gently brushes his nose against yours. 

“He isn’t taking care of you.” 

“My ankle is fine.” 

“I’m not talking about your ankle.” He lifts a hand, smoothing it over your hip as your breath mingles. Art’s fingers drift from your hip to stroke over the apex of your dress’s slit. His fingers slip further down, and you nod as he palms your thigh. Before you can say or do a thing, Art sinks to his knees. He curls his hand around your left calf, lifting it. You shiver as his lips press a gentle kiss to your ankle. His hand and lips travel up, easing the fabric of your dress higher with each second. The first brush of his knuckles against your panty-covered clit makes you jolt. Your hands dig into the wood of the desk as his fingers hook between the fabric and your skin. You lift your hips without a word, allowing him to draw them down. 

Art presses a kiss to your mound before he lowers his head, giving your lips a sweet, sucking kiss. You gasp softly as his tongue swipes across your clit. You look down despite the fact that you can’t see him well. You can just make out his blissful expression, his eyes closed as his laps broadly across your aching cunt. You lower your hand to his neat hair, winding your fingers through it, unable to help grasping it. His heady moan vibrates against you and you nearly cry out at the sensation. You manage to just catch it, the sound dying in your throat as Art buries his tongue inside you. He sweeps his thumb over your clit in rush, harried circles, panting against your heated flesh. You rock your hips down against his lips, tightening your grip on his hair as you guide him. He lets you do as you please, whining against your skin as your movements become less controlled.

“Art,” You warn, “I—Oh, oh god—” 

He hums in encouragement, sucking your clit back between his lips and lashing it with his tongue. Your jaw drops open, your hand shoving Art even more tightly against your skin as you cum suddenly. A stunned, breathy moan slips from your lips as Art leans back, smearing his lips against the inside of your thigh. 

You use your grasp on Art’s hair to draw him back up off of his knees, giving him a crushing kiss as he catches his balance. You swipe your tongue across his lips, whining against his lips as you taste yourself on him. He presses close, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants. You reach down, palming and squeezing his length as you trade slick, messy kisses. He steers you back onto the desk as you fumble to undo his belt, button, and zip. 

“Condom?” He asks. 

“Pill,” You reassure, shoving his pants down. You lap broadly across your palm, grasping Art’s length and guiding him closer. He brushes the tip of his cock against your still-throbbing clit, smiling as you whine. You’re going to ache tomorrow, but you’ve never been so happy to be sore.

“Art.” 

“Sssh.” 

“Please—” It’s hardly out of your mouth before he shoves his hips forward, seating himself fully with a single thrust. You bite down on your lip to quiet your moan, curling your arms around your shoulders. He rocks into you with firm, quick strokes, his mouth covering yours. You can hear things on the desk rattling with each thrust, kisses growing less controlled as he hoists your thigh up around his hip. 

“Oh, god,” You breathe, “We have to be quick—He’ll come looking—” 

“Not until you cum for me again,” He urges. “I need to feel it, sweetheart.” 

“Art—” 

“When’s the last time he did this? Hmm?” He presses, “When’s the last time he made you cum? When’s the last time he tasted you?” 

“Never,” You admit with a shiver. It seems to renew Art’s passion, his thrusts and hold growing more intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands hooking tightly in the fabric of his jacket. He yanks the front of your dress down, bowing over you and drawing one of your nipples between his lips. You whimper as he toys with the bud, tugging it gently with his teeth before swiping across it. You arch into the slick heat, using your leg to tug him even closer as you chased the swelling curl of your orgasm. 

“Just like that,” You urge, “Ffffuck—yes, yesyesyesyes—”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your hips buck down against his, pussy pulsing as he spills into you. Your heart pounds in your chest as the two of you slow and still. Art rests his forehead heavily against your neck, peppering gentle kisses across the exposed skin. You have to move—now. You don’t know if anyone heard you, but if someone did, you’re screwed. If no one did, your husband will probably be looking for you anyway, ready with a scold for neglecting your hostess duties. 

“...I have to go,” You warn softly. It takes Art a moment to move, but he does, gently drawing himself back from his still-throbbing cunt. You hear the clanking of his belt buckle as he tucks himself away, and you reach down, righting your dress where it’s been pulled away. You take up your panties from where they’d been discarded on the floor, tugging them on before you straighten your skirt and hurry out of the room. 

--  

“Can I see you?” 

It’s only been an hour since the last guest has left, and you are so, so fucking tired. You glance toward the bathroom door. You know that you locked it, and you’re certain that your husband can’t hear you over the shower running, but you can’t help but be paranoid.

“You just saw me,” You remind him. 

“Tomorrow,” Art clarifies. 

“Where?” 

“I’ll send an address.” 

You bite your lip, toying with your earring. Your pussy is still aching from the stretch of him, your ass sore from getting fucked on the desk. 

“...You regret it?” He asks. 

“No,” You don't give your answer a second thought.

“I’ll send an address. Whether or not you see me is up to you. Just…think about it. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

You lower your phone, hanging it up and watching his contact information blink away. It’s only a moment before a text with an address lights up your phone. You don’t have to think about it. You already know what you’re going to do. 

--  

You know that you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Art has spent so much time in your home, so you feel entitled to look around a little bit. You eye the row of trophies on his mantle, photos of him playing when he was young. You come to a stop at a picture of him with a young girl, a racket in her hand and a medal around her neck. 

“Is this Lily?” You ask. 

“Yeah,” He nods. “First competition.” 

“Already getting gold,” You smile. “The Mark Rebellato Academy isn’t ready for her.” 

Art chuckles, nodding as he steps around you.

“You, uh…You want something to eat, or drink, or…?” He trails off, tucking his hands into his pockets as he takes a couple of steps back toward his kitchen. You turn to face him, taking him in more fully. 

“Art?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Why am I here?” 

He doesn’t answer for a few moments. You can see him weighing his options before he comes closer. 

“I…I’ve been thinking about last night.” 

Fear shoots through you, but you force yourself to stand tall. “Okay.”

“I could lie and tell you that it should be a one-time thing, but I can’t remember the last time I got through a day without thinking about you. And I think you’ve been thinking about me, too.” Art stops as the tip of his shoes brush against yours, and you let your eyes slip closed as he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Tell me I’m wrong,” He pleads. “Tell me to fuck off right now and I will never say another non-tennis related thing to you again.” 

-- 

When he fucks you, he curls close, chest pressing against yours as he catches your lips in a kiss. You sink back against his pillows, your head cradled by his broad palm as he rolls his hips achingly slowly. You don’t bother to hide your whines and moans, and you revel in his. Every grunt and whimper and groan that Art lets out lights you up. 

And when you cum, you don't have to quiet yourself. His name tumbles out of your mouth, cushioned between expletives as your nails dig into his shoulders.

--

"What time is he home tonight?"

You don't want to think about it. You want to stay in this cozy little bubble, trailing your fingers over his muscled chest as he massages your nape and kisses your forehead.

But you know that you'll have to let the world back in sometime.

"I don't know," You admit. "Late."

"...Could stay."

"He'll be suspicious if I'm not home when he gets there."

Art sighs softly, running his hand down to rub between your shoulder blades.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it."

"What?"

"Letting you go every day."

"Every day?" You tease, pushing yourself up to get a better look at him. "Don't get greedy, Mr. Donaldson."

He smiles, raising his hand and cupping your cheek. "Is it greedy to know what I want?"

You shake your head a little, lowering your lips to brush against his.

"Not when I want it, too."

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