Page 71 of The Fire Line

Jay held on, one arm tight around Harris’s shoulders and his mouth against Harris’s temple while Harris shuddered through it.

For a few seconds, Harris couldn’t do much except struggle to breathe.

Then sensation returned in pieces: the wall solid against his back. Jay’s fingers at the nape of his neck. The heat of their bare chests still pressed together.

And Jay was still hard.

Harris lifted his head.

Jay looked wrecked already—hair a mess from Harris’s hands, mouth red, chest flushed, jeans shoved low on his hips—and Harris liked the sight of him so much it bordered on offensive.

So he kept going.

Neither of them seemed inclined to put enough distance between them to make things easier. Harris stayed against the wall with Jay crowded close, one hand at his waist while the other continued what he’d started. He kissed along Jay’s jaw and throat as Jay’s reactions came faster.

His breathing broke. His stomach tightened. The hand behind Harris’s neck stopped being casual and became something Jay was using to hold on.

“Tighter,” Jay said.

Harris adjusted.

Jay’s forehead dropped briefly against his before his head tipped back again. “Yeah. Fuck. That.”

Harris felt an absurd surge of satisfaction.

He kissed him again, swallowing the next broken sound Jay made.

“Harris.”

“Yup.”

“I’m close.”

Harris didn’t slow down.

Jay came with a rough sound against Harris’s mouth, his whole body drawing tight against him before the tension finally broke. His fingers dug into the back of Harris’s neck as Harris held him close through it, feeling every shudder where their bare bodies touched.

Eventually Jay sagged into him.

“Okay,” he managed. Then, after another breath, “Jesus Christ.”

Harris’s mouth twitched.

Only then did either of them seem to register the state they were in.

Their shirts were on the floor. Their jeans were halfway down. Their hands were a mess, and there was absolutely nothing useful inside an abandoned lookout with which to deal with any of it.

Jay started laughing.

Harris looked at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Navarro.”

That only made it worse.

Harris laughed too. One rough, disbelieving sound escaped before he could stop it.