Page 88 of Break Points and Face Offs

“Enough,” he whispers, batting my hand away and taking me into his mouth. He swallows me down as deep as I’ll go, forcing a strangled sound out of me.

“Fuck.”

I swear he manages to make a smug sound around my dick.

I grip the back of the couch to stop from gripping his head too hard while he gives me a masterclass in blow jobs. Of course he’s fucking amazing at this shit. Priestley Rosenthal doesn’t do anything by halves.

I throw my head back and enjoy it, looking down every now and then to admire the view of Priestley’s shiny black hair, uncharacteristically messy while his head bobs between my legs.

My toes start to tingle and everything in me tenses up, ready for my release. I know he can feel it because he doubles down on his efforts. He’s a competitive fucker. He wants to beat me at blow jobs.

Yeah, well, I’m not gonna let him.

It takes everything in me, but I manage to tell him to stop.

He pulls off in a slow movement, dragging his tongue, making me whine.

“Sure you want me to stop?”

No. I nod.

He takes my appearance in greedily. I must look wrecked. Splayed out on his couch with his spit all over my cock.

“Bed?” I manage. “I wanna fuck you.”

He leads the way.

It would be so easy to forget everything going on out there if we could just stay in here, doing this. Priestley under me, or on top of me, body clamping down in the best way. Watching him let go even for five fucking seconds.

I try to control myself, keep it slow, make it last. But he feels so fucking good, and he’s bossy as hell. Digging his heels into my glutes and throwing out demands to go faster or harder. I lift his legs and tilt him, finding an angle where I can get even deeper and he finally shuts up. The way his breath hitches into panting, telling me he’s getting close.

I watch the peace wash over his face after he comes. All the scowling, stressing and posturing disappears for a second and I see the real Priestley. Just for a moment, he allows himself to be vulnerable. Achingly fucking beautiful.

PRIESTLEY

Do I hate that Will’s taller than me? Yes.

Do I like that he can pick me up without throwing his back out? Also yes.

I allow myself to temporarily let go of any sense of control when we are in the bedroom. The second we step outside, it is business as usual. I find those moments of release offer me a much needed respite. It’s better than any professional massage or meditation session. And much more pleasurable.

Will is still asleep when I wake up. I force myself to get out of bed so I don’t lie there, staring at him like some lovesick … well, I don’t want to be a lovesick anything. I do not love Will O’Reilly. The very prospect is ludicrous.

He wakes up with a caveman groan as I’m putting on my socks.

“Morning, Rosie,” he says. His voice is gravelly in the morning. I hate how sexy it sounds.

“Good morning,” I reply curtly.

“Where are you going? Come back to bed.”

“I thought you had to work this morning.”

“I’ve got time.”

He reaches out for me, but I stand before he can get purchase.

“I have some things to do today, too.”