Page 196 of Left on Base

“Deal,” I manage, my heart knocking around my ribs, wild and unsteady, caught on the edge of something huge. The city below could be on fire and I wouldn’t notice. All the light I need is burning between us.

His lips brush my cheek, soft and hot, when his phone goes off again. He groans, frustrated, but I can’t help the smirk tugging at my mouth. He chases it, kissing me slow, teasing, his lips dragging over mine until I’m shivering. I let out a little sigh and he smiles, like he wants to memorize the sound.

“I missed the way you moan when I’m between your legs.” His eyes meet mine, dark and open and raw. Before I can say anything, his mouth crashes into mine, hungry now, desperate.

We find this rhythm—hands tangled in each other’s clothes, lips and teeth and tongues, everything heated and messy. Every time it gets too much, one of us pulls back, just for a second, eyes locked, both of us shaky with wanting.

“I don’t want to stop,” I whisper, my voice trembling with the truth of it.

“Me either,” he answers, breath ragged, eyes burning into mine, watching every tiny reaction. “I need you so fucking bad.”

I nod, not trusting my voice, letting the moment take me. The city lights flicker below us but all I see is him, the way his body fits perfectly against mine, like he’s always belonged there. I try to hold back, for all the reasons I shouldn’t be doing this, but none of them matter. Not with him.

Somehow, my shorts are gone and his jeans are half-off, and we’re grinding against each other like we’re seventeen again, desperate and reckless. His hand finds the back of my neck, pulling me closer, his hips rolling against me, the friction enough to make me whimper.

He pulls my shirt up, his mouth hot on my skin, sucking at my breasts until I’m gasping, arching into him, nails scraping over his shoulders. Every movement—his hips, his mouth, his hands—pushes me closer to the edge. My body is strung tight, pleasure curling hot and fast in my belly.

I wrap my arms around his neck, threading my fingers through his curls, clinging to him as his mouth works over my nipple, his teeth scraping just enough to make me shudder. “Oh, Jaxon…” I breathe, the words slipping into the night like a prayer.

He hovers over me, breath coming in harsh, uneven bursts, chest heaving. My body writhes beneath him, every inch of meaching for more. His lips find my jaw, his hands everywhere, the air between us so electric I can barely think.

Then, as I’m about to fall apart, he pulls away, flopping onto his back with a pained groan, like stopping physically hurts.

“No sex,” he mutters, like he’s trying to convince himself. “No sex, no sex, no sex.”

I throw my arms up, frustrated, the heat in my core fading into a dull ache. “Bad timing,” I mutter, half-laughing, half-ready to cry.

He buries his face in his hands, groaning again. But then he looks at me, eyes wild and glittering in the dark. “Wait, what?” His voice is hoarse, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“I was about to… you know…” I mumble, tugging a blanket over my damp panties, cheeks burning.

Whatever spell he’d been clinging to snaps. He rips his shirt off, muscles tense, and suddenly he’s back between my legs, his mouth at my ear, voice rough and commanding. “Come for me,” he growls, watching my face, not letting me look away. “Come on my dick for me.”

He slides against me, slow and deliberate, the head of his cock pressing right where I need him most. The friction is perfect—agonizing and perfect—and I’m shaking, breathless, clutching at his shoulders as he grinds against my clit.

“Jaxon…” I gasp, my voice breaking, his name the only thing I can hold onto.

“Yeah?” he whispers, his mouth at my throat, his body covering mine, blocking out the world. It’s just us, under the open Seattle sky, the city nothing but a rumor below. His heart pounds against mine, wild and in sync, and I know—deep down, in that place where want turns into need—that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

I can barely breathe, the words stuck between my tongue and my heart. “I… want…” It’s not enough, not nearly enough to capture this need clawing through me, but it’s all I’ve got.

He finds me in the dark, his lips at my neck, breath hot and uneven in my ear. “Tell me, baby. What do you need? I want to hear you say it.” His voice is low, coaxing, and I shudder because he’s never asked, not like this, not with his whole body promising to give me anything.

I’ve never been good at asking. But the ache is too sharp to ignore. I swallow and force the words out on a trembling exhale. “You. I need you inside me.”

He doesn’t hesitate, not for a second. There’s a rough, urgent sound in his throat as he shoves his jeans down, the scrape of denim loud in the quiet. Then he’s there, pushing into me with a deep, claiming thrust that steals every last scrap of air from my lungs. I gasp, my back arching, the pleasure so sharp it’s almost pain, and I clutch at him, nails digging in, desperate to hold onto every second.

He kisses me—God, he kisses me like he’s drowning and I’m his only breath. His hands are everywhere, holding me steady, holding me close, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, each word a promise pressed against my lips, my skin, my soul.

We move together, bodies slipping and sliding on the cool metal of the truck bed, the whole world narrowed down to the slick heat where we’re joined, the bite of the night air on my bare skin, the thunder of our heartbeats. He isn’t rough, but there’s nothing gentle about this—need, pure and raw, pouring out of both of us.

He groans my name, voice broken, and I feel him start to lose control, his thrusts growing frantic, desperate, everything building, building, until I’m shaking in his arms. He follows,muscles locked tight, burying his face in my hair as he shudders through his release.

For a moment, the world is utterly still. Then he collapses against me, heavy and warm, his laugh rumbling against my chest. “Pretty sure I slid into home plate.”

I can’t help it—I laugh too, breathless and wrecked, my body still humming. “I think I let you steal on a wild pitch.”

He grins, forehead pressed to mine, and I know—right here, under the open Seattle nigh sky, we’re both exactly where we belong.

---