Page 50 of Break Point

“Jaden, you’re so beautiful. Do you not know what you look like? Every single inch of you, from the freckles that cross the bridge of your nose to the caramel and gold that mix inside your eyes—beautiful.”

My lips part with a short breath as the pad of his thumb brushes along my bottom lip, his gaze tracing the movement, then traveling down the length of my body.

“Your mouth leaves me hypnotized, and the curves of your body, my God. Jaden, I have spent the last three years memorizing every inch of your rock-hard legs, admiring the discipline shown off by your toned arms, and imagining the way your hair would feel wrapped around my fingers when my mouth touches you . . . right . . . here.”

The tickle of his breath along the side of my neck sends a new round of shivers down my spine, and I have to brace myself against the door before my knees buckle. My eyes find his as he moves his face right in front of mine, inches away from kissing me the way I want him to. Instead, though, he slides his palm along my cheek until his fingertips tease my hairline just below my ear.

“My father sees people based on bank accounts, and unless someone’s last name is also stamped on gas stations across the country or branded on thousands of head of cattle in the Midwest, they’re not on his level. I happen to think his level is pretty fucking lonely, though. And I haven’t met a single soul on it a fraction as interesting as I find you.”

My nervous laugh catches me off guard, and I bring my hand up to cover my mouth as my eyes tear up a bit.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh. I’m actually, I . . . I don’t know what I am, but I didn’t expect that. Any of it.”

Bryson pulls my hand away as his gaze drops to my mouth for a beat, then returns to my eyes.

“I’d really like to kiss you now. Is that all right?”

I feel his breath against my lips before I croak out a whispered “Yes.”

In a heartbeat, his lips consume mine. There’s nothing soft or gentle about this kiss, either. It’s aggressive, and hungry, and the way his hands hold my wrists against the door nearly makes me forget we’re outside. The sharp cut of his teeth against my lip renders my body limp, only brought back to life by the feel of his tongue against mine. Our lips finally part enough for the two of us to pant, our foreheads pressed together as our chests sync up with their rapid rise and fall.

“We should . . .” I start, giving my head a slight turn to indicate the other side of this door.

Bryson drops his mouth into the crook of my neck, chuckling as he nips at my skin.

“Wouldn’t Amelia love to get this on social media,” he jokes.

I spin as I laugh, his chest touching my back as I work the key in the lock and open my door. He follows me inside and quickly shuts my door behind him. Within two steps, he lifts me up, urging my arms and legs to wrap around him as he strides toward my kitchen counter. His hands slide along my midriff, gathering the thick fabric of his jersey in his palms. I raise my arms as he pulls it over my head and tosses it onto the floor.

I’m suddenly aware of everything—from the pink sports bra I thought was a good idea this morning to the messy state of my kitchen sink. My gaze begins to roam the expanse of my apartment, but before I get lost in my own head, Bryson’s hand nudges my chin forward, forcing my eyes on his.

“Hey, Crash? I’m right here.”

I suck in my bottom lip, and he leans forward and nips at my mouth.

“I’m aware,” I hum, opening my neck up for him to taste more.

My eyes flutter shut as he trails kisses down my throat, and the slow crawl of his hands up my thighs and onto my midriff stops my breath short. Not wanting to throw an inadvertent stop sign his way, I lean back on my palms and arch my back, encouraging his touch to go higher until his palms cup the curves of my breasts.

“I noticed these too,” he says, his mouth tickling my skin with his words.

“You did, huh?” I draw in a deep breath, filling my chest as a silent signal for him to keep going.

“Mm-hmm,” he hums, his thumbs running over the hard buds pressing through my cotton bra. A short gasp leaves my lips on his second pass.

“My room is that way.” I glance to my right, and a second later, Bryson scoops me up and marches toward my bedroom door. He stops in the middle of the hallway.

“Left, or right?”

“Left,” I answer, my arms wrapped around his neck as he holds me to him tight and pivots. He twists the knob and toes my door open, then flings it shut before cupping my face with his hands and kissing me as if I’m the air he needs.

He leans forward when he reaches the edge of my mattress, and I crawl back on my elbows, kicking my shoes off while he rips through the buttons on his shirt, shrugging his arms from his sleeves. I’m not sure if I should tug my sports bra off or not, but as he crawls up the length of my body, pressing kisses from my navel to the edge of my bra, I decide it will work itself out.

He tugs on the elastic band beneath my breasts with his teeth, growling playfully as he peers up at me, but abruptly stops, letting the fabric snap against my skin.

“Do you have a condom?” His mouth hangs open, somewhere between want and perhaps panic.

I push up on my elbows, my brow pinched.