Page 93 of Last First Kiss

“Yes. I want to,” Jordan manages to say. “With you.”

Those last two breathy words send something rolling acrossJamie’s eyes. A sunburst. The heat burns against Jordan’s skin as Jamie’s hand slides across the back of Jordan’s head. He applies pressure and Jordan leans in. Their noses brush.

“There is no one like you, Jordan Carter,” is the last thing Jamie says before their mouths connect.

It’s a delicate dance from there.

Jordan’s arms hook around Jamie’s neck. Jamie kisses him, soft and purposeful, all while blindly reaching for something. Jordan hears a palm smacking glass. Fighting with a door handle. Their bodies sway and rotate.

The strength in Jamie’s biceps sends a shudder through Jordan as he’s carefully laid on the Jeep’s back seat.

This is a bad idea. They’re inpublic. If anyone sees them—if even one person clocks him as a Carter—it’s game over. But it’s also thrilling. The kind of live-on-the-edge high he gets when winning.

Jamie’s Jeep smells exactly like Jordan remembers: clean leather and cherry Gatorade and a thin layer of booze from all the discarded work T-shirts thrown on the floor mats. The scent is intoxicating. The best kind of comfort.

Jordan doesn’t even realize his shirt’s been yanked off until Jamie’s mouth is against his sternum. His kisses are feverish. His nose presses to Jordan’s skin, inhaling.

“Fuck, I love the way you smell.”

Jordan throws an arm over his eyes, mortified. He probably stinks of sweat and the outdoors. Did he remember to put on deodorant today?

“Don’t say that.”

“No, no. It’s great. It’s like”—Jamie drags his mouth over Jordan’s tightening stomach muscles—“sea salt. And, okay, this is gonna sound ridiculous—”

“Coming from you? Impossible.”

Jamie grins against his skin. “You know the color burgundy?”

Jordan peeks down at him. “Yeah?”

“It’s like if that color had a scent,” Jamie goes on. His teeth graze Jordan’s abdomen. “Rich, lush. It doesn’t work on anyone else, but on you? Fuck, it’s incredible.”

“So, for the record: I don’t smell bad?”

Jamie laughs against the sensitive skin just below Jordan’s navel. “No, you don’t,” he confirms. “Not one bit.”

“Good,” Jordan says between gasps. “Glad we cleared that up.”

Long fingers curl into his waistband. “Talk to me, Jordan. Still okay?”

For a beat, Jordan considers the question. He’s shirtless. On his back in the back seat of Jamie’s Jeep. His breaths are tight, but his muscles are loose. His erection is fighting to get free.

Jamie hovers over him. His gaze is somehow serene and desperate. There’s no sign he’s going to move until Jordan tells him to.

“I’m okay,” he whispers.

“Can I go on?”

“Please.”

That one-syllable word breaks off halfway in the middle. Jamie groans, tugging so hard he brings down Jordan’s boxer-briefs with his joggers. He’s on Jordan before his next inhale fully forms.

It’s new, different. Being this exposed. Yes, guys have seen him naked in locker rooms before. Jordan’s not modest. But he also doesn’t go around flashing his dick to anyone.

He’s never been spread-legged with another man between his thighs before.

Jamie kisses the soft skin there. Drags his mouth across Jordan’s already tight balls. He smiles over the dark, coarse hair above Jordan’s aching cock.