Page 93 of Break Points and Face Offs

“One of tennis’ greatest rivalries—‘Fire and Ice.’”

I smile. I don’t make a habit of getting into conversations mid-makeout with the guy’s pants open, but I like the way he talks. I never know what he’s gonna say.

“Why are we like them?”

He swallows. “They made each other better. Bjorg was the ice to McEnroe’s fire. Without a worthy rival, you settle for ‘good enough.’ But if someone keeps pushing you further than you thought you could go, you’re forced to be better. Good enough isn’t good enough anymore. You reach heights you never knew you could reach.”

My chest gets warm. Priestley looks shy. I never thought I’d see the day.

“So, who am I in this scenario?”

“I guess you’re McEnroe, because I have to be ice, right? And you can have a temper, I’ve seen it.”

I laugh. “You are a bit icy, Rosie, yeah. But you can be warm, too.”

I kiss him before he can say anything else. This is getting too far into boyfriend territory, and while I don’t mind, I can’t ignore the fact that Priestley finds me ‘unsuitable’ as a partner.

We make out on the couch, the breakdown of the San Jose v Chicago game playing on the TV in the background. We kiss, slow and lazy, grinding, getting naked. I could do this all night, despite the ache in my joints from my two jobs and sitting hunched over in a library for hours.

“Let’s go to bed,” Preistley says. His cheeks are flushed and his lips swollen. How long have we been kissing?

“Not yet.”

He groans. “You’re such a tease.”

I climb off him and guide him so he’s sitting up on the couch. “Why don’t you familiarize yourself with hockey while I blow you?”

He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t seem fully convinced either. I make it a mission to change his mind. Maybe if I blow him every time we watch hockey, he’ll learn to associate hockey with pleasure and become the world’s biggest hockey fan? Not sure I like the thought of him looking at those guys when he comes, but we’ll move into the bedroom before he reaches that point.

Priestley groans when I take him into my mouth. I don’t think he’s paying attention to the TV until he says, “That Cellebrini guy is quite good looking.”

I pull off. “Don’t make me bite you, Rosie.”

He gives me that evil laugh I haven’t heard in a while.

“And he’s only nineteen. Perv.”

“Oh.”

I smile around him as I take him to the root. He makes a strangled noise and I chalk another point up on my side of the sex leaderboard. But any sort of leaderboard disappears completely from my head when he starts moaning and burying his hands in my hair, whispering my name. All I can say in my head is, I’ve got you. Like he had my back today with the library books, and the food, and the ride home from work.

He pulls my hair and tells me to stop.

“Let me make you come,” I say, running my hands up his thighs while I look up at him.

He nods. “Bedroom.”

In the bedroom, I press him against the wall, unable to keep my hands off him for a second longer. I can feel him smiling against my mouth. It feels nice to make Priestley smile. It’s a shame the rest of the world doesn’t get to see it. And I meant what I said to him about being warm. He isn’t all ice and sharp corners. He has soft parts, too. It’s even more rewarding getting to see them because they’re usually hidden.

He presses his weight against me to push me back onto the bed. I’m stronger than him, but I let him win. He straddles my waist and I run my hands greedily over his body, admiring him as he grinds his hips and bites his lip.

“Need inside you, Rosie, come on.”

He tuts. “You’re such a caveman when you’re turned on.”

“Who’s being a tease now, huh?”

He laughs, rolling off me to reach into the nightstand. I position myself on the pillows and watch as he takes out a condom and some lube. My eyes are glued to his pretty hands as he opens the packet deftly and rolls the condom down my cock. I groan at the contact.