Too Hot for Me - Chapter 3: Burned in the Best Way

Restless after the bonfire, Sadie finds herself drawn back to Dax—and neither of them are finished. What starts as a kiss on the dunes ignites into something hotter, harder to ignore, and far more real than either planned. Between the heat of the tailgate and the honesty that follows, they discover this isn’t just about thrill. It’s about connection. And that might be the most dangerous part of all.

Chapter 3

Sadie

Burned in the Best Way

The sky’s caught somewhere between night and morning, that soft blue hour when everything looks half-dreamed. The bonfire’s long gone, only a faint orange glow left in the distance and a couple of voices that sound too tired to still be laughing. I should be home, asleep, but my body won’t settle. Every time I close my eyes, I feel him… heat, hands, breath, all of it replaying like it’s burned under my skin.

So I walk. I tell myself it’s just for the air, to clear my head, to shake off the feeling that the night didn’t actually end. But when I round the curve of the dunes and spot a familiar figure sitting on the tailgate of a pickup, hoodie on, bare feet pressed into the sand, I stop pretending I don’t know why I’m here.

He looks up as I approach, hair ruffled by the wind, that small, crooked grin softening when he sees me.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asks.

“Something like that.” I shrug, tucking my hands into my sleeves. “I told myself I was walking. Somehow I ended up exactly where you are.”

His smile turns quiet. “Funny how that happens.”

I step closer, the sand cool between my toes, my skirt brushing against my legs. The air smells like salt and smoke and whatever’s left of last night. It feels calmer now, stripped of noise and expectation. Just him. Just me.

“I wasn’t done,” I admit, my voice barely above the wind.

He studies me for a long moment, then pushes off the tailgate, bare feet sinking into the sand as he closes the space between us.

“Good,” he says, low and certain. “Because neither was I.”

The world narrows again to the sound of the surf, the chill on my skin, and the warmth rolling off him when he stops in front of me.

He stops just close enough that the air between us feels charged again. The quiet stretches, his breath, mine, the faint hush of the tide.

“Sadie,” he says softly, like he’s testing the sound of it in this silence. His hands find my waist, warm against the chill still clinging to my skin. He doesn’t pull, just holds, waiting.

I draw in a shaky breath, my hands resting at his chest but not pushing him away. The tension hangs there, thick and charged.

He dips his head, and I meet him halfway. The kiss starts soft, then deepens, slow and searching. His hands slide up my sides, fingertips brushing bare skin beneath my shirt until I shiver against him. 

He pulls away from me, resting his forehead against mine. “You don’t have to do this just because the night got away from us,” he says softly.

“I’m not,” I whisper.

His eyes hold mine. “Then tell me you’re sure.”

I meet his gaze, steady. “I am.”

The words hang there between us, and something shifts, slow, deliberate. I reach up, my fingers sliding into his hair before tugging him down into a kiss that’s deeper than the last. It’s slower too, not the wild rush of the dunes, but something that feels even more dangerous for how certain it is.

When his mouth parts under mine, I taste salt and heat, every exhale a quiet undoing. His hands tighten on my hips, anchoring me there.

He pulls back just enough to murmur, “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” I breathe. “All of it.”

That earns a low sound from him, half groan, half surrender. I slip my hands under his hoodie, feel the muscles flex beneath my palms. He lifts his arms, and the fabric goes with it, falling into the sand behind him.

The wind skims over my bare shoulders, cool and sharp. I toe off my sandals, grounding myself in the cold grit of sand while he grabs a blanket from the truck bed, shaking it loose and spreading it out.

He glances back at me, that same teasing spark in his eyes. “Careful, princess.”

I smile, heat curling low again. “Maybe it’s you that should be careful.”

The metal of the tailgate is cool under my thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat burning through me. He’s already stripped down to just his jeans, hoodie tossed somewhere in the sand, shirt yanked over his head like it was nothing. I’m still mostly dressed, skirt bunched up around my hips, panties shoved down and dangling from one ankle like a flag I forgot to take in.

He stands on the sand, palms my knee, spreading me wider. The night air slips in, but I barely notice, it’s him, his focus, his touch, that makes me shiver.

“Hold on,” he mutters, reaching for his wallet in his pocket and pulling out a foil wrapped condom. The small pause has my chest rising too fast, anticipation building. My lips part when he tears the foil, smooths the condom down over his cock in one firm stroke. The sight alone makes my breath catch.

“Don’t make me wait,” I whisper, shaky but sure.

He grins, wicked and certain, before dropping lower. His hands skim up my thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he lowers his mouth to the inside of my leg. One slow, dragging lick up the tender skin has me gasping his name, my head tipping back against the open night sky.

“Jesus,” I breathe, fingers tangling in his hair.

He doesn’t linger there. Just enough to make me shake before his mouth travels higher, lips grazing, tongue teasing, until his thumb finds my clit. He circles once, twice, and my whole body jerks like he’s rewired me.

“Please,” I beg, my voice gone, raw.

He looks up, eyes locking with mine, and the weight of it steals the last of my air. “Right there.” His thumb presses harder, steady, while his mouth works its way closer, kissing up my stomach, my chest, until he’s standing over me again.

“Don’t stop,” I pant, clutching his shoulders like I’ll fall if I let go.

“I wasn’t planning on it.” His tone is rough, low, like it scrapes out of his chest just for me. His grip shifts, strong arms sliding beneath my thighs. He pulls me forward without effort, settling me at the edge of the tailgate, my body lining up perfectly with his.

“Look at me,” he orders, voice tight as the head of his cock notches against my entrance.

I do. Wide-eyed. Breathless. Because nothing in this world feels as raw, as real, as this moment.

His fingers dig into my skin, anchoring me as he pushes forward. The stretch makes me whimper, makes me claw at anything I can find purchase on, but I can’t look away from him. Not when he’s pushing inside me, not when he’s watching every reaction like it’s his own salvation.

The night is quiet around us, only the sound of my breath and his ragged groan filling the space, until he’s fully seated, holding me there, giving me no doubt, this is where I come undone.

He moves inside me slowly, like he plans to feel every inch. The first push makes my lungs forget what to do. I exhale hard and tighten around him, body clenching like a fist, then easing when I force my shoulders to drop. He watches me. Doesn’t move until I nod.

“Okay,” I breathe. “I’m good.”

His mouth tips like he knew I would be. He starts with a steady roll, not fast, not rough, just deep enough that I feel the slide and the heat and the way my body opens for him. My hands slide to the lip of the tailgate for leverage. The metal bites my palms, harsh and real, grounding me while he works me open.

“Just like that,” I whisper.

His grip adjusts on my thighs. He angles me a little higher, hips shifting, and the next thrust hits a place that steals the sound from my throat. I arch hard. He catches me with a palm pressed flat over my lower belly.

“Feel me?” His voice is sandpaper, low and sure.

“Yes.” It rips out of me. “God, yes.”

He keeps the rhythm, steady and confident, eyes locked on mine. It does something to me. This isn’t just thrill and ocean wind and the back of a truck. It’s the way he looks at me while he moves, like he’s learning me in real time. It lands. 

Deep.

“You take me so well,” he says, pace tightening.

A shaky laugh slips free. Cocky now because I can’t help it. “Told you I can handle the heat.”

“More?” He’s amused, like he already knows my answer.

“More.” I push back for it.

He gives it to me. The roll shifts to something greedy. Not messy, just more. Deeper. His thumb finds my clit again, firm and sure, and I swear my vision goes bright around the edges. He keeps me right there, talks me through it in that voice that makes my whole body listen.

“Right there. Stay with me. Look at me.”

I do. I hold his gaze and let him take me apart. My breath climbs. My sounds get rougher. My thighs start to shake around his hips. He keeps the pressure exactly where I need it, the stroke perfect and relentless, and I break with a hard gasp that tips into a cry. My hands slip on the metal and he is there, holding me steady while my body grips around him, wave after wave pulling me under.

“That’s it,” he rasps. “That’s my girl.”

I’m still shuddering when he drives in deep and holds. His mouth finds my neck. His rhythm stutters. The groan he lets out is ragged and helpless against my skin, and the sound sets off one more sharp aftershock that makes me whimper into his shoulder. He buries himself and goes still, breath hot at my throat, heartbeat pounding where his chest is pressed to mine.

The truck creaks. The ocean fills the quiet, steady and indifferent. We breathe together, bodies slick and spent, his palm still warm over my stomach like he doesn’t want to stop touching me. I don’t want him to either.

---

Dax

The Thing Under the Heat

She sits on the tailgate, skirt rucked up, my shirt forgotten in the bed behind her, hair wild from my hands. I should be thinking about getting her off the metal and into the cab. I should be thinking about anything but the way my chest feels too full.

I’m not a fling guy. Haven’t been for a long time. I moved here to quiet the static, took the transfer because it sounded noble, but it was burnout and I knew it. I wanted sleep that wasn’t full of noise. I wanted easy days and water and work that ended when I locked the door.

Then she walked onto that beach like trouble I wanted to keep.

I don’t dump any of that at her feet. I keep it simple. I stand between her knees and rest my hands on her thighs, thumbs brushing the soft skin there.

“I came to quiet the noise,” I tell her. “Didn’t expect you to be the loudest thing that feels good.”

Her mouth curves. Not a smirk. Something softer. I feel it like impact.

“I’m not great at casual,” I add, honest, because I don’t know how to be anything else. “I can try. I just don’t do…  pretend very well.”

The wind shifts. The ocean keeps talking. She studies me like she’s trying to decide if this is something she can hold without dropping it. I let the rest sit between us. The long drives that emptied me out. The months I didn’t want anyone. I don’t need to say it. She’s smart. She hears it anyway.

I hold her gaze and keep my touch steady. I want her to see the man, not just the heat.

---

Sadie

What Are We Doing 

He says he doesn’t do pretend and it makes something inside me go quiet in a way I like. I sit there with my legs around his hips and try to make my brain catch up.

“This was supposed to be temporary,” I admit. My voice sounds smaller than I want. “Came back for a breather. To see Kelsey. Reset a little. I even had a leave-by date in my head.”

“Okay.” No judgment. Just that steady calm I’m starting to recognize.

I try to name this a fling. I open my mouth to say it and the word tastes wrong. Like I’m trying on shoes I grew out of.

“It can be simple,” I try instead. “We don’t have to make it a thing.”

He reaches to the ground and grabs his hoodie, then tries to put it over my shoulders like I’m not stubborn. I dodge. A beat later the wind reminds me I am half dressed on cold metal, and I take it anyway. He doesn’t say anything about it. Just steadies me while I slide my arms in.

“Simple works,” he says. “As long as it’s real.”

I play with the hood ties to buy a second. The truth sits heavy and warm under the cotton. I like how he watches me. I like that he waited. I like that he says what he means and then shuts up so I can think.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I say finally. “But I know how this feels.”

His fingers brush my knee. A small touch. It lands bigger than it is.

“We can start there,” he says.

I nod. It’s not a promise. It’s not nothing either.

---

Sadie 

Open Ending, Hopeful Lean

We climb down from the tailgate and walk toward the waterline where the sand is packed and cool. Our fingers don’t lace. They bump. They hover. It’s almost worse because I want the rest.

“I wasn’t planning on you,” I say again, because honesty seems to be the theme.

He looks at the dark horizon, then back at me. “And I’m not planning to let you go this easy.”

I huff out a laugh that feels like surrender. “Then don’t.” A beat. “Or make it easy to find you.”

He works sunrise shifts. I have a calendar full of maybes. We don’t pretend it’s neat. I tug his sleeve. “Give me your hand.”

He holds it out and I write my number on his wrist with the stubby pen from my bag. The ink drags a little over his skin. He lifts my hand and snaps a quick photo of my fingers swallowed by his hoodie sleeve.

“No social,” he says. “Just memory.”

“Just memory,” I echo.

He leans in and brushes my mouth with his. Not hungry. Not nothing. A promise without the word. “Told you you’re too hot for me,” I murmur, because teasing is easier than admitting the size of what I feel.

“Nah.” His smile hits soft and certain. “Just hot enough.”

We walk the wet line of sand while the sky starts to pink. Our fingers touch again and stay there, not quite laced, pulse still humming from everything we did and everything we didn’t say. It’s hopeful. It isn’t tied with a bow. It’s enough for now.

The End

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: October 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix