Page 85 of Hot Streak

The artificial turf meant there wasn’t any mud, but a few minutes later, they were all soaked to the skin, and Jackson’s stomach hurt, he’d been laughing so hard.

He looked over at Connor, lying on the turf, shirt plastered to his chest, and felt something unwind inside him at the carefree smile on his face.

“Hey,” Ro called out, “I’m gonna go make sure the drains are holding.”

When Jackson looked over again, he realized Kevin and Deke and TJ had left with him, and again he and Connor were alone.

He rolled over and his eyes met Connor’s. His clothes were all soaked, and he might’ve been clammy, but the look in Connor’s face as his gaze swept Jackson’s body, head to toe, heated him right back up again.

“This was . . .this was good.” Jackson could see Connor take a long breath and then another, inhaling and then exhaling, his chest rising and falling.

Suddenly, the want bloomed so bright and hot it was like a supernova inside him. Normally, the strength of it would make him turn away, would make him afraid.

But instead, today, he felt drawn to it. Drawn to Connor. Found himself shifting closer on the turf before he even realized he was doing it.

You’re playing with fire.

“Yeah, it was,” Jackson agreed. Reached out and brushed Connor’s arm with his own.

Connor’s gaze darkened. “What are you doing?”

What was he doing?

He was afraid he was giving in—and didn’t give a shit any longer.

“Come on,” Jackson said and got to his feet, tugging Connor with him through the swinging doors into the equipment storage and then, because that wasn’t enough privacy, he kept pulling them. Until they were behind a little wooden shack at the edge of the courtyard.

“What—” Connor said, but Jackson didn’t let him get another word out. Pressed him back up against the rickety wooden wall and kissed him.

Connor groaned in the back of his throat as their lips met, and his hand, still slippery wet, cupped Jackson’s cheek as he dragged him in closer.

He was cold and hot, all at the same time, the heat radiating out of Connor’s body, the cold fabric plastered against it. Jackson could feel every inch of him, like his hands were coasting over bare skin already.

Both times they’d kissed—in the showers and then now—Jackson had wondered if Connor would hold back. If he would approach him nervously, or apprehensively.

But there was nothing nervous or afraid about the way Connor was kissing him now. He felt wild and abandoned in Jackson’s arms, kissing him back like that was all he’d ever wanted.

It wasn’t all Jackson wanted though. He craved so much more. He wanted to strip Connor down. Touch him everywhere. Feel Connor touch him back.

He’d been hard from the first brush of his lips against Connor’s, but he’d been keeping his hips carefully angled away, worried that his erection might be the thing that freaked Connor out once and for all.

But Connor’s hips moved restlessly against his own, and when his dick finally pushed up against Connor’s hard, muscled thigh, it wasn’t only his groan he heard.

Well. Shit.

So much for having a gay freakout.

Connor had claimed he was all-in on this, and everything he was doing right now proved it.

He wanted Jackson just as badly as Jackson wanted him.

And if his self-control hadn’t already been rapidly evaporating, disappearing into smoke with every brush of Connor’s tongue against his own, that knowledge would’ve been enough to do it.

Connor pulled back a fraction and Jackson nearly reeled him right back in. He wasn’t done yet; he wasn’t ever going to be done.

“God, you can’t just . . .” Connor trailed off. But he hardly looked like he wanted to argue. His mouth was red and wet and felt as soft as it looked. His hair, mussed from their water fight and then Jackson’s hands, falling over his forehead. Blue eyes, their cerulean color almost totally swallowed by the growing darkness of his pupils. He was a debauched angel come to life, and if Jackson wanted him, he could have him.

“Can’t what?” Jackson asked, his voice gruff. Rough with longing.

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