Page 117 of Sweet Like Whiskey

This man has never tried to play games with me. Even in the beginning, when he was closed off, he never lied. Never wanted me to hurt. He cares in a way that’s so very big. It’s immense but not boastful.

I don’t know if it was the wind I followed here. My friend, Ginnie. My heart.

But I’ve never in my life been more grateful to have ended up exactly where I am.

Jackson’s hand wraps around my cock as I lean forward to kiss him again. I’m still wet from his spit, and his work-roughened palm grips me just right. He jerks me as I bounce on his cock, his hand brushing my lower abdomen, his kisses bristling my lips. All hard and soft, every piece of him.

I stutter out a gasp as he shifts, lifting his hips to meet me. “God, yes, there,” I encourage, my hand flying to the couch again, my entire being buzzing, the new angle driving against my prostate just right. “Jack.”

“C’mon, sunshine,” he mutters against my lips, hand twisting over the head of my cock. “I need you to come ’cause I’m barely holding on here. You feel too fucking good. Need you to—fuck. Need you to come on my cock like you promised.”

“You could always…suck me off,” I huff between breaths, “if you come first.”

Not that he’ll have to. I’m two seconds away one way or another.

“Not. Coming. First,” he grunts out, the stubborn, wonderful man. He grabs my hip, slams me down on him as he jerks my cock, and I’m done.

I cry out, my groan mixing with Jackson’s sound of aching relief. He continues to pump my cock as my body pings and releases, everything in me tight and expansive all at once. I suck in a breath, the height of it going on and on andon. Jackson jerks against me as I’m lost in it, his face buried in my neck, his fingers tightening almost painfully on my hip as his cock floods the condom. I can feel it. Not his cum. But the kicking. The throbbing of his dick as he finds his release.

Jackson’s grip loosens as he catches his breath, me doing the same. I inhale the smell of him, the scent of sex and wilderness andhome.

“Yee-fucking-haw,” I mumble happily.

Jackson snorts a laugh against me, his arms wrapping tightly around my back. I chuckle with him, so ridiculously smitten I can’t stop my words, not that I want to.

“Did you mean it?” I ask, my fingers drifting up into Jackson’s sweaty hair. “When you said you might be falling. For me. Did you mean that?”

Jackson lets out a breath, a soft sigh of sorts. “Yeah. I meant it.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

“No,” he says. “I don’t think. I know.”

My inhale feels shuddery as I lean back, catching Jackson’s gaze. There’s only good there. Nothing but absolute good.

“I am so incredibly in love with you, Jackson Darling. I know it in my heart, in my new boots, in the parts of me that led me here to you. I love you,fiercely. Fully. I love you, Jack.”

His lips press together tightly for just a moment before lifting into a shaky smile. “I know.”

I bark a laugh, and his smile turns almost shy. “Really? That’s all you have to say?”

“Well,” he says, those hands on my back running up and down, “are you done talking?”

“Yes?” I hedge.

“Then, no, that’s not all I have to say.” His palms lift to my face, thumbs ghosting over my cheeks before he tucks my hair away, his gaze following the motion.

God, the way he looks. So open. So sincere.

“Ash,” he says, voice hoarse. “From the moment I saw you standing in our kitchen, I was struck. I knew you were something. I just wasn’t sure what. Turns out you’re the love of my life.”

My breath leaves me.

Jackson only smiles. “And it’s bigger than I ever thought it could be, you know?”

I nod. Because I do.

“I love you, Ashley Alcott. And I’ll keep on loving you as long as I can.”

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