Campus Player

He strokes his fingers through my hair, and it’s so tempting to close my eyes and lean into him. When he touches me like this, all the noise buzzing around in my brain goes strangely silent. It’s an addictive sensation.

“Rowan?” The husky way his name escapes from my lips sounds nothing like me.

His gaze flicks to mine. “Yeah?”

“What’s happening here?”

Tension ratchets up until it reaches a fever pitch and becomes almost too much to withstand.

“Something I’ve wanted for a long time.”

Before I can suck in a lungful of air, his hand slides from my face to the back of my head. His fingers splay wide across my skull, cradling it in his palm. As if in slow motion, he drags me forward. My heartbeat stalls as his lips slant across mine. First one way before tilting his head the other. We fit perfectly. There are no awkward angles. No bumping of noses, mouths, or teeth. He caresses my top lip before nibbling at the bottom. A groan builds in my chest.

When I can’t stand another moment of this sweet torture, his tongue darts out to lick at the seam of my lips. There’s only so much of the gentle yet demanding touch I can take before I capitulate, opening under the firm pressure. As soon as I give in, his tongue delves inside to tangle with my own.

I expect his exploration to turn aggressive. Like a triumphant hero who has thrashed his opponent. Instead, his movements remain measured. Slow and languid. As if Rowan wants to take his sweet damn time to savor every single part of me. Within a heartbeat, I lose myself in the drugging caress. I don’t realize my arms have snaked around his neck until I’m pulling him closer. With a groan, he tightens his hold, pressing my body against his.

“You taste so damn good,” he mutters before dragging me to the bottom of the ocean where rational thought becomes impossible. The only thing I’m aware of is the way his mouth coasts over mine.

Everything about Rowan’s touch is masterful and sexy. I totally get why the girls on campus clamor for his attention. If he screws anything like he kisses—

That thought is like a bucket of frigid water dumped over my libido.

What the hell am I doing?

Rowan is even more of a manwhore than Justin. Barely have I extracted myself from one shitty situation only to fling myself headfirst into another.

No. I’m smarter than this.

Correction...I’m usually smarter than this.

Even though breaking physical contact is the last thing I want, my palms settle against the steely strength of his chest before pushing until our lips part, and there is enough distance between us for logic to once again rush in.

By this point, we’re both winded. Like we’ve run a marathon. I have no idea how much time I’ve spent wrapped up in his arms. It could be hours or mere minutes. And I would be lying through my teeth if I didn’t admit that everything inside me is screaming to feel the soft slide of his lips over mine again. Never have I been kissed quite so thoroughly. And I want more of it. I want to keep reality at bay for a little longer and forget all the reasons this is a terrible idea that will come back to haunt me in the not-so-distant future.

But I can’t do that.

No matter how tempted I am.

“Why did you stop?” he asks, eyes still hazy. He licks his lips, looking as if he’s a second away from delving back in and giving us what we both want.

“This is wrong,” I force myself to say. “It shouldn’t be happening.”

His brow furrows. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t be with another guy like Justin.”

The sexual fog clouding his expression evaporates. His eyes widen in shock before disgust flashes in them. “Is that what you really think?” The chill of winter whips through his voice, turning it hard and unforgiving. “That I’m no better than Justin?” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before biting out, “You should know better than that.”

A heavy wave of guilt crashes over me. Deep down, I do realize it. But still...the guy has spent three years cultivating a certain reputation. And I’ve been burned too many times to take another chance. “Why would I know that?”

We’ve never been friends. Not really. It’s the reason why I’ve been able to hold him at a distance with such ease and pretend we’re nothing more than strangers.

Hurt flickers across his features.

Even though doubt creeps in at the edges, I straighten my shoulders. There’s too much evidence for there not to be a shred of truth to it. The rumors that have swept through campus. The girls who have bragged about their sexual exploits with him. I’ve seen groupies hang on him with my own eyes. Not just one. But two or three at a time. He hasn’t exactly pushed them away. In fact, like most athletes on campus, he seems to accept the attention as if it’s his due.