Page 132 of The Fire Line

“More,” Jay said.

Harris pushed the rest of the way in.

Jay’s breath left in a rough, fractured sound. “Oh God. Fuck, Harris.”

Harris went completely still.

The sensation was almost too much to separate into parts.

Heat. Pressure. Jay’s body tight around him. The solid line of his back beneath Harris’s palm. His thighs spread between Harris’s knees. Harris’s hands gripping the muscular curve of his hips.

And the unmistakable sight of himself buried inside Jay. Nothing Harris had imagined resembled the reality closely enough to count.

Desire hit him so hard it bordered on disbelief. He had wanted men. He had wanted Jay. But this—

Jay shifted beneath him. “Harris.”

“What?”

“Move.”

The blunt demand sent another pulse of heat through him.

“Could ask nicer.”

“I could.” Jay looked back over his shoulder. “Not going to.”

Harris’s grip tightened on his hips.

Fair enough.

He drew back slowly, still half disbelieving at the sight of them together, then pressed forward again.

Jay’s voice broke on the next breath.

Harris hesitated.

“Don’t.”

Harris frowned. “Don’t what?”

“Stop every time I make a noise.”

“Could mean I’m hurting you.”

“I’ll tell you if you’re hurting me.” Jay looked back over his shoulder, flushed and visibly impatient. “Right now I’m telling you to do that again.”

Harris did.

The sound returned, rougher this time, but Jay pushed backward to meet him.

Harris stopped trying to prepare for every possible problem and listened to the man in front of him.

Jay’s body gave clear answers. He pushed back when he wanted more. His fingers tightened in the bedding when Harris found the right depth. When Harris became too careful, Jay shifted impatiently against his grip.

And every one of those answers fed something in Harris.

The nerves were still there.