Page 64 of Sweet Like Whiskey

The clatter of my spoon against the ramekin is loud. “Jesus.Ma.”

“What?” Colton says, looking between us. “I don’t get it.”

At least the woman waited until I was done eating to try and ruin my appetite. She simply smiles to herself as I push out of my seat, wondering if it’s too late to trade the lot of them in. Ash’s eyes are practically twinkling as he watches me walk away.

“Ridiculous,” I mutter to myself, swinging by the kitchen. I chug a glass of water before looking around at the countertops, trying to spot an errant spice bottle. Was it nutmeg? Cloves?

“Looking for something?” Ash asks, arms crossed as he stands in the doorway.

“What’d you put in it?”

His smile widens. “Secret.”

I grunt.

He kicks off the doorframe, stepping closer. “Am I still coming over tonight?”

“Invited you, didn’t I?”

He licks his lips, head shaking back and forth as he says, “Jackson Darling, you sure know how to make a guy swoon.”

I refrain from rolling my eyes. “C’mere.”

“Nuh-uh,” he says, backing away when I reach for him. “If I do that, I’m going to kiss you again. And I’m not going to want to stop.”

“And that’s a problem?” I say gruffly.

The grin he gives me is so damn familiar it sets off my heart again. “If Ikissyou,” he says, still edging toward the hall, “I’m going to want to do other things to you. So no, it’ll have to wait.”

“When are you coming over?” I ask, my voice too damn hoarse.

“After I clean up,” he answers, the many possible meanings of that setting my thoughts racing. “Better hurry home, Jack. Don’t keep me waiting.”

With that, Ash is out the door, and I wheel around, doing my part of the nightly cleanup as fast as I possibly can. Once the counters are spotless, I book it, passing Colton and his stacked pile of plates in the hall.

“Hey,” my brother says, smile slipping as I hurry past. “Where are you—”

“Gotta go,” I answer, not slowing. I pull open the front door, stomp down the porch stairs, and race home.

I shower as quickly as I can without neglecting any part of my hygiene. My pulse is firing as my hand passes over my dick, not lingering, but it doesn’t seem to matter. I perk right up, all thewantI’ve been trying to keep at bay taking off like a herd of goddamn horses. I give myself a slow stroke, just one, before groaning and dropping my hand.

When I jump out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and check the front door. No Ash. I head back to my bedroom, drying myself on the way. My dick isn’t fond of being corralled, but I tug on boxer briefs and jeans all the same, telling it to behave. I pull on a shirt next. Take it off. Put it back on again, not wanting to be too presumptuous.

Christ.

I know what this is. Why Ash is coming. The man is not subtle, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate that fact.

But it’s been a long damn time since I’ve had anyone in my bed. Since I’vewantedsomebody there.

It’s not a small thing. Not to me.

The knock at the door has me jumping. I drag my hands through my hair, over my short beard, and set off for the front of the house. My pulse is heavy, eachth-thumpa dense beat propelling me forward. Remarkably, my hand is steady as I reach for the door.

Ash’s smiling face greets me, the rain still falling down behind him. “Hey,” he says, a coy lilt to his words. “You made it. Hope I’m not too—”

I drag him inside the house, silencing hisearlywith my mouth. He utters afuck, but he kicks the door shut, him pushing or me pulling, maybe both. We end up stumbling back onto the couch, me hitting first, Ash following me down. He straddles my lap like he did all those weeks ago in my kitchen, the weight of him solid and sure. His lips never leave mine. They kiss and kiss andkiss, his hair tickling my cheekbones, his hands on the cushions above my shoulders. I tug him in closer, the denim beneath my fingertips rough, the bite of his teeth on my lip more so.

“Jack,” he breathes, grinding down on my lap.

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