Page 195 of Left on Base

His eyes darken, that grin sending a flush straight to my cheeks. “Bigger lead off, huh?”

“Exactly.”

We dive back in, lips crashing with urgency and laughter, breath mingling in the cooling air. His hands roam, widening my legs, and I swear my knees might give out from the butterfly storm in my belly. Jaxon’s tongue drives deeper into my mouth. The warmth of him on top of me is both exhilarating and familiar, but new and tempting. I can feel his hardness right where I need it, so I raise my hips and grind against him.

He grabs the back of my thigh, strong and sure, pulling my leg around his waist with a kind of urgency that makes my heart stutter. Next second, his mouth is on mine—no hesitation, no holding back. He sucks my tongue into his mouth, the world tilting, everything melting into the heat between us. His hips press against me, rougher now, the friction making my whole body light up like a live wire.

I moan into his kiss, clutching at his shirt, all thoughts of bases and rules and “taking it slow” flying out the window. For a second, I forget we’re in the back of a truck, forget the city behind us, forget every promise I made myself. All I know is the feel of him—solid and hungry and mine.

Honestly? I’ve counted every day since we last had sex. Twenty-six days. Twenty-six nights of replaying that last time, the rain, the way he said my name. Twenty-six days trying to convince myself I could wait. Turns out, I’m full of shit because I’ve never wanted sex more in my life.

I want him so bad it hurts. My brain, bless its hopelessly hormonal heart, is negotiating like: what if it’s just the tip? Would that even count? Technically, that’s still restraint... right?

I bury my face in his neck, breathing him in, trying not to say something reckless—because if he knew what was running through my head, there’s no way he’d stop. And honestly, I’m not sure I want him to.

Then, just when the world narrows to us, a beep interrupts the spell. My phone buzzes beside us.

Fork Guy.

Jaxon groans, slumping back with a dramatic sigh. “No.”

I open my eyes, annoyed by the interruption. I pick up the phone, reading Fork Guy’s latest masterpiece aloud, breathless:

FORK GUY

hey lovebirds

how’s the smooch session?

rate it 1-10

need data for science

jaxon remember to whisper sweet nothings about curveballs

very important

camdyn

don’t let him get too smug

slap him if necessary

We burst out laughing, the tension breaking like a wave. Jaxon presses a quick reply, voice low and amused.

JAXON

1000/10

but interrupted by fork-related emergencies

I type back:

Camdyn

Fork Guy is the worst third wheel ever

“All right, that’s enough.” Jaxon takes my phone, tosses it somewhere behind us—it could fall right off the truck and I wouldn’t care. His mouth is back on mine, slower now, deep and sure, his kiss promising things I’m suddenly aching for. He settles between my legs, the hard press of him making my breath catch. “Let’s finish this date. Just you and me. No more interruptions.”

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