Breaking Point (Varsity Heat Crew #3)

Chapter 1 Liam

I shouldn't be here.

The thought hit me as I crossed the bridge from Riverside to Kingswell, the river dark and cold beneath my feet. The air smelled like October—wet leaves and rain. My breath fogged in front of me.

Two days since the closet. Two days since I'd had Alex pressed against me in the dark, his mouth on mine, his hands everywhere. Two days since I'd cheated on Emily.

Cheated.

The word sat heavy in my chest and made my stomach twist.

I wasn't sure if Emily and I were broken up but it felt like we should be. She said she needed time to think about us, which probably meant it was over. Or it would be over.

Kingswell's campus opened up ahead—all those Gothic towers and manicured quad lawns. Students walked past, heading to the library or wherever rich kids went on Saturday nights. Nobody gave me a second glance, which was good. I didn't belong here.

Langford Hall rose in front of me—brick and stone, tall windows glowing warm against the darkness. The sophomore dorm that somehow looked more like a mansion than student housing.

I pulled out my phone and checked Alex's last text. Third floor. Room 221.

The building smelled different than my dorm. Cleaner. Like wood polish and money instead of microwaved food and old carpet. My footsteps echoed in the stairwell as I climbed.

Third floor. Long hallway with dark wood paneling and brass light fixtures. I counted the room numbers. 215. 217. 219.

I stood there for a long moment, hand raised to knock.

What the hell am I doing?

We'd made plans on Wednesday. Said we'd talk before Monday's joint practices started. Figure out what happened in the closet. Make sure we could handle being around each other without it being weird.

That was the plan. Talk. Set boundaries. Keep it professional?

I don't know.

But standing there, heart hammering against my ribs, I knew that wasn't why I'd come.

I knocked.

Footsteps inside, then the door opened.

Alex stood there in sweatpants and a Kingswell crew t-shirt, barefoot, hair damp like he'd just showered. A smile cut across his face when he saw me.

"Liam."

Just my name. But the way he said it made my chest tight.

"Hey." My voice came out rough. "Can I come in?"

He didn't hesitate. Just stepped back and opened the door wider. "Yeah. Come in."

His room was exactly what I'd expected—perfectly organized, everything in its place.

Desk clear except for a laptop and a lamp.

Clothes hung by color in the closet. Bed made with precision.

Even his mini-fridge—more like one of those fancy wine fridges—looked like it was arranged with a fucking ruler.

The only sign he actually lived here was a framed photo on the desk—Alex with his stuffy family at Brackett Lake on their boat, smiling those perfect smiles.

"You always this organized?" I asked.

"My mother." Alex closed the door behind me. Locked it. The click echoed too loud in the quiet room. "She has... 'standards.'"

We stood there. The silence stretched between us, heavy and loaded.

He looked good. Too good. The t-shirt clung to his shoulders and chest in ways that made it hard to look anywhere else. His hair was messy from the shower, falling across his forehead. The line of his jaw. The way his throat moved when he swallowed.

I wanted to kiss him.

The thought hit me hard.

"So." Alex didn't cross his arms this time. Didn't put up walls. Just looked at me with something open in his expression. "You came."

"Said I would."

"I know. But you could've changed your mind."

"Thought about it. About a hundred times on the walk over."

Something flickered in his eyes. "But you're here anyway."

"Yeah." I took a step closer like a dumb chunk of metal drawn in by a magnet. "I am."

Alex didn't move back. Didn't create distance. Just watched me with those blue eyes.

"We're supposed to talk about the closet… and about Monday," he said.

"I know."

"About what happens when we're training together."

"Yeah."

Silence. He was waiting. Not pushing — just leaving space for me to fill or not.

"That's not why I came," I said.

I wasn't sure why I said that but it made something shift in him. He wanted this too, but he didn't press. Just held my gaze and let the admission sit between us.

"Okay," he said.

"The closet was—" I started.

I stopped. Didn't know how to finish.

Alex didn't finish it for me.

But I could see it. The want. Barely contained behind that composure.

"I have a girlfriend. Or… had. Maybe. I don't know. Emily said she needed time."

His throat moved. A swallow he couldn't hide. "Did you tell her? About us?"

"No. But I lied to her. About breaking into Kingswell. About a lot of things. She's pissed. Says she can't trust me anymore."

He nodded slowly. "Makes sense. No one knows about me."

And then the words fell out of my mouth. Something about him standing in front of me made me say stupid things. "I don't know anything right now except that I can't stop thinking about you. And I don't know what the fuck that means."

Something in Alex's expression cracked. Not all at once — just enough for me to see underneath. A relief so sharp it looked like pain.

But he didn't move. Didn't close the distance.

"Do you want to stop?" he asked. Voice barely steady.

"I should want to."

"That's not what I asked."

"No." Raw. Honest. "I don't want to stop."

Alex's eyes went dark and I kissed him.

One second we were standing there, the space between us charged, awkward, and scary all at once. The next, my mouth was on his and his arms were around me and everything else disappeared.

Alex's back hit the wall and I pressed against him, one hand braced beside his head, the other sliding up under his shirt. His skin was warm. Smooth. The muscles of his stomach tensed under my palm.

He made a sound—half gasp, half moan—that went straight through me.

"Liam—"

"Don't." I kissed him again. Harder. "Don't think. Whatever—"

His hands slid down my back, gripped my hips, pulled me closer. He was hard against me, and fuck, that made everything worse… or better.

I broke the kiss long enough to pull his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

His chest and stomach were smooth, only flecks of little blond hairs.

The cut of his hips above his waistband—god, he was perfect.

And that trail of blond hair that led down under his boxers—it made blood rush to my dick.

Alex's chest rose and fell with quick breaths. Pupils blown. Lips red and swollen.

"You're sure?" he asked. Voice rough.

"No." That was honest.

Something flickered in his expression—relief, maybe. Or recognition. Like he'd been waiting for me to admit what we both already knew.

Then his hands found the bottom of my shirt and pulled it up. I raised my arms and let him strip it off me.

Skin against skin. The contact made my breath catch—his chest warm against mine, the ridges of his abs pressing into my stomach.

"Bed?" Alex asked.

We moved together, stumbling, kissing, hands everywhere. The back of my knees hit his mattress and I sat. Alex stood between my legs, looking down at me with an expression that made my chest tight.

Then he dropped to his knees.

My brain short-circuited.

"What are you—"

"Is this okay?" His hands were on my thighs. Steady. Sure. No hesitation.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only nod.

Alex's fingers found my zipper and pulled it down slow. The sound was too loud in the quiet room.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he said. Eyes locked on mine.

I wouldn't. We both knew it.

He pulled my jeans down. I lifted my hips to help. Then my boxers followed and my dick sprang out and slapped against my my belly.

Then his tongue was around my tip and thought became impossible.

My hips jerked off the mattress. Couldn't help it. Couldn't control anything right now.

Alex's hands pressed my hips down. Firm. Holding me there. And that—being pinned by him, being at his mercy—made it so much worse. So much better.

I looked down and almost lost it.

His tongue twirling around my tip like it was everything he ever wanted. He pulled away and stroked my dick—pre-cum dripped from the tip.

It was so hot to watch with him between my legs, his hand around my cock. Then, his lips stretched around me, and as he took me in, he closed his eyes.

Jesus Christ.

"Alex—" My voice cracked. Didn't even sound like me.

He opened his eyes. Looked up without pulling off.

Blue. Dark. Wrecked.

I was thick and hard and his mouth was so warm and wet around me that my vision blurred at the edges.

He took me deeper and I felt the back of his throat and my whole body locked up—every muscle, every nerve, everything narrowing to the heat of his mouth and the pressure of his tongue and the way his fingers dug into my hips like he was afraid I'd disappear.

My hands went to his hair. Not pushing. Just needing something to hold onto because the world was coming apart.

"Fuck—that's—" I couldn't finish. Didn't have the words. Had nothing except the sensation and him and the sounds—wet, obscene sounds that should have been embarrassing but were the hottest thing I'd ever heard.

He pulled back just enough to breathe. His lips were shiny. A string of spit connected his mouth to my cock.

"You taste good," he said.

Then he licked from base to tip—one long, slow stripe—and I stopped being a person.

The sensation hit like lightning—hot and wet and perfect. My hands fisted in his hair without thinking. He took me deeper, and I had to bite my lip to keep from making sound.

He pulled back just enough to look up at me again. "I love this."

The words made my hips jerk forward. He took me again, and I was lost.

"That's right," I moaned.

This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to come here and talk. Set boundaries. Figure out what the hell we were doing.

Instead, I was falling apart in his dorm room while his mouth did things that should be illegal.

My breathing went ragged. Too fast. The sharp edge of pleasure building too quick.

But then something else cut through the haze. A want that was bigger than just getting off. A need to see him. All of him. To touch him the way he was touching me. To know what he looked like when he lost control.

We'd been in the dark in that closet. I'd felt him, heard him, but I'd never seen him. Never had him laid out in front of me where I could actually look.

I wanted that. Fuck, I wanted that so badly it overrode everything else.

"Wait." My voice was rough. "Wait, stop."

Alex pulled back immediately. His eyes went wide, worried. "Did I—"

"No. Fuck, no. That was—" I couldn't finish. Brain too scrambled. "Come here."

I reached down and grabbed his arms, pulled him up. He came willingly, confused but not resistant. I kissed him hard—tasting myself on his tongue, which should have been weird but somehow wasn't—and guided him backward toward the bed.

"What are you doing?" Alex asked between kisses.

"What does it look like?" I pushed him down onto the mattress. He fell back against the pillows, eyes hungry and wanting.

I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. His hands went immediately to my waist, gripping tight. He was hard beneath me, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths.

"I want to see you."I want to actually see you this time."

Something in Alex's expression cracked open.

I kissed him before he could speak. Deep and desperate, and hungry. His mouth opened under mine and we were tangled together again, hands everywhere, bodies pressed close.

I kissed down his jaw. His neck. Found the spot where his pulse was hammering and bit down gently. He gasped, hips jerking up against me.

"Fuck," he breathed.

I kept moving down. Kissed across his collarbone. Down his chest. His stomach. The muscles flexed under my lips, and his whole body was shaking.

My hands found the waistband of his sweatpants. I looked up at him, checking. Making sure.

"Yeah. Please."

I pulled his sweatpants down. Then his boxers. And there he was—hard and throbbing, blond hair trailing below his navel, everything exposed.

Fuck.

Beautiful. That was the only word for it. And I'd never thought about guys like that before—never let myself—but looking at Alex now, at his whole body laid out beneath me, I couldn't think of anything else.

I wrapped my hand around his dick. Warm. Hard. He gasped at the contact and so much pre-cum dripped from his tip that it touched my hand.

"You're so hard," I said.

"Because of you. Fuck, Liam, because of you."

The admission made something hot coil in my gut. I stroked him once. Twice. Watched the way his face changed—eyes going unfocused, mouth falling open, his whole body arching into the touch.

Then I leaned down and did exactly what he did to me. I licked around his tip, my tongue licking up his pre-cum. It was the hottest thing I'd ever done.

Alex's whole body went rigid. "Oh fuck—"

The taste of him was different than I'd expected. Salt and skin and something uniquely Alex—like the way he smelled on those hot summer days at the lake, but a taste. I took him deeper, figuring it out as I went, trying to remember what felt good when he'd done it to me.

His hands were in my hair now, not pushing but just holding on. Like he needed something to ground him.

"Liam—Jesus—you don't have to—"

I'd never done this before. Never had a guy in my mouth. And the only truth that existed in that moment was simple…

"I love your dick," I said.