Page 70 of The Fire Line

“Keep doin’ that.”

“Absolutely.”

Harris finally got the damn thing open. He shoved Jay’s jeans lower on his hips and hooked his fingers into the waistband beneath them, too far gone now to give himself the careful, contemplative moment he might once have imagined this required.

He pulled them down.

The sight of Jay hard in front of him hit with the strange force of something both completely unsurprising and impossible. Harris knew what a man looked like. He had never seen this man like this.

Jay’s lower stomach tightened beneath the dark trail of hair Harris had noticed in the equipment room all those days ago and tried very hard not to think about since.

“You planning to take notes?”

Harris hooked a hand behind Jay’s neck and hauled him back in. “Won’t be needin’ notes.”

Jay’s breath caught. “Good.”

The sound went straight through Harris. He kissed him again before Jay could say anything else, partly because talking had become difficult and partly because Harris was discovering he liked shutting Navarro up this way.

That was about as much discussion as either of them managed for the next several minutes. Harris lost track of where their shirts had gone and stopped caring that their jeans were shoved down just far enough to make everything awkward. He was too occupied with the heat of Jay’s skin against his and the unfamiliar pleasure of having this much of him within reach, of being able to put his hands wherever he wanted and feel Jay respond.

Their hands collided between them, knuckles knocking together hard enough that Jay broke away laughing.

Harris bit his jaw for it. “Asshole.”

“You like me.”

Harris kissed him again rather than dignify that with an answer.

There was no practiced rhythm to hide inside, but urgency made up for a surprising amount. Harris knew his own body. He knew pressure and movement and what felt good. Jay told him the rest without needing many words—the sharp intake of breath when Harris got something right, the way his hips moved, the tightening of his hand at the back of Harris’s neck.

When Jay wanted something different, he told him.

“Tighter.”

Harris adjusted.

Jay’s head tipped back. “Yeah. That.”

Something hot and vicious twisted low in Harris’s stomach. Knowing he’d gotten it right affected him almost as much as anything Jay was doing to him.

Harris was already too damn close.

Weeks of wanting him. Weeks of watching his mouth, his hands, his ass in the saddle, that line of hair disappearing beneath his jeans that was now beneath Harris’s hands. Weeks of telling himself none of it mattered because nothing was ever going to happen.

Apparently his body had kept a separate accounting.

“Navarro.”

The name came out wrong.

Jay looked at him, and whatever he saw must have been enough.

“Yeah. Come on, Harris.”

That finished him.

Harris came hard enough that whatever control he still had simply disappeared. His face dropped against Jay’s neck as his whole body locked with it, one hand braced against the wall at his side and the other clamped hard around Jay’s waist.