Page 73 of Break Points and Face Offs

I wanted him that day in his apartment. If I’m honest with myself, I’ve wanted him since we were back in Boston and I kissed him. It wasn’t just to shut him up.

There’s a secret part to Priestley Rosenthal not many people have seen. I want to peel back the layers of that cocky, cold-hearted competitor and see what’s underneath.

The lights of the boardwalk are behind us. I think we’ve left the area officially known as Atlantic City so I put my hand on his knee and call him Rosie.

He groans. I can’t tell if it’s from pleasure or annoyance. Maybe a little of both?

“Drive faster,” I tell him, trying to hold back the impatient growl building in my throat.

“If we’re pulled over, we’ll get home a whole lot slower,” he says.

I try to settle in for the drive, but I won’t take my hand off Priestley’s leg—and he isn’t asking me to either.

I watch his face as he drives. It’s illuminated by the streetlights and the glow emanating from the dashboard. I admire the slightest bump in his pretty nose, the plumpness of his lips. His skin looks pale and there are dark circles around his eyes, reminding me why I took him on this field trip in the first place.

“Are you still tired, Rosie?” I ask, bringing my hand up to trace a line along his cheekbone. His eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment.

“No,” he says, his voice warm and soft.

I can’t wait to take him home and take care of him. Watch him come apart. Watch him let go.

The familiar buildings of Princeton start to materialize and my nerves mingle with a new anticipation.

I don’t allow myself to think beyond this moment. Beyond Priestley parking his car outside the pretty, ivy-covered building where he lives. Climbing out of the driver’s side. Leading me up a flight of stairs until we reach his room.

The second we’re inside, he pulls me against the door and lets me cover him with my body.

When we pull apart, we’re panting, tugging at each other’s clothes. I bury my face in his neck and inhale his scent. Under the heavy cologne I can smell his skin and the slightest hint of sweat. It makes my head swim.

“Rosie,” I groan into his neck.

“You know you can’t call me Rosie in bed, right?”

“Why not?” I come up and look at him. His hair is even more mussed. He looks fucking pornographic. “What would you like me to call you?”

He smirks.

“Forget I asked.”

I dive back in for a kiss before he can say something ridiculous, only stopping to growl, “Bedroom,” in his ear.

It gives me a rush to feel how hard he is by the time we’re falling down onto the bed and I’m opening his pants.

“This is such a bad idea,” he says. His arms are above his head, gripping the pillow, and his hips lifted off the bed to give me easier access.

Everything about that pose is telling me he wants this as much as I do, but I ask anyway. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare.”

When I cup his cock through his boxers, he grinds his hips against me. The heat coming off his body is so fucking sexy.

I slip my hand under the waistband and familiarize myself with the weight of him. Enjoy the way he throbs under my touch.

“When was the last time you had sex, Rosie?”

I expect him to correct me, but he must be too far gone.

“Too long. You?”