Page 69 of The Fire Line

Then he kissed Harris and moved at the same time, catching him by the hips and turning them until Harris’s back hit the wall instead. The reversal happened fast enough to knock a startled breath out of him.

Navarro was already back on his mouth, hands moving over Harris’s waist and ribs before one shoved beneath the hem of his shirt.

The first sweep of bare palm over his stomach made Harris grab for Navarro in return.

His hands found the hem of Navarro’s shirt and dragged it upward. Navarro broke the kiss just long enough to help, yanking the shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him before reaching immediately for Harris’s.

There was no graceful way to do any of it. Harris got an elbow caught. Navarro laughed into his mouth. Harris swore at him. Then his own shirt joined Navarro’s on the floor, and they crashed back together.

Bare chest against bare chest.

That nearly undid him by itself.

Navarro’s skin was hot from the ride and the afternoon sun, his chest solid against Harris’s, a light sheen of sweat making every slide of skin register. Harris spread both hands over his back and pulled him closer, feeling muscle shift beneath his palms.

Weeks of looking through fabric had not remotely prepared him for being allowed to touch.

Navarro kissed along his jaw, then down the side of his neck while one hand dragged over Harris’s bare stomach.

And kept going.

Harris’s belt caught, Navarro swore against his throat, and Harris tried to help without putting any useful distance between them only to make matters worse before Navarro finally got his jeans open and shoved a hand beneath the waistband of his boxers.

Harris’s head tipped back against the wall with a curse as Navarro’s mouth found his neck again. His hands closed around Navarro’s bare waist and held on.

A man’s hand against him.

The thought barely formed before the sensation overwhelmed it.

Navarro shifted for more room, and Harris helped without being asked, shoving his jeans lower while Navarro dragged his boxers down with them.

Cool air hit him.

His cock sprang free between them, painfully hard, brushing Navarro’s stomach before Navarro stepped back half a pace.

Not away. Just enough to look.

Harris watched his gaze drop and catch. The unmistakable desire in Navarro’s face went through him almost as sharply as the touch itself.

Then Navarro closed the distance again, and Harris stopped having enough room in his head to be embarrassed about any of it. There was only Navarro’s mouth against his, Navarro’s hand on bare skin, the heat of his naked chest pressed close while the rest of him remained hard beneath denim every time Harris pulled him in.

Harris had known men attracted him in the vague, manageable way a person knew a road existed without taking it. Until now, that knowledge had remained abstract enough to keep at a distance.

This was nothing like knowing.

This was Navarro.

This was Jay.

Harris caught his mouth again and kissed him until neither of them could seem to keep a rhythm with anything else they were doing. A rough sound escaped Jay when Harris pushed against his hand, and something about hearing it made Harris reach between them and grab Jay’s belt.

Jay broke the kiss just long enough to look down.

The buckle refused to cooperate, and his mouth twitched.

“Not a word,” Harris said.

“I said nothing.”