Page 51 of Sweet Like Whiskey

“We’re going to work on you talking to me,” he says before licking me in an almost kittenish manner. His hand continues to work my base, the familiar tug and squeeze feeling so much better than it has any right to. It’s been too long.Solong since I’ve had this. And this isAshcrouching at my feet. His hand on my dick. His tongue coming out to swipe at my crown.

Fuck.

“You’re going to learn you can trust me,” he says, eyes flitting up to meet mine. “You can trust me, Jack.”

“Ash,” I groan.

“I know,” he says, a small smile on his face. “I’ve got you.”

He ducks his head again, and I miss the sight of that smile. But then his mouth is back on my cock, and his hand is sinking inside my underwear to grasp my balls. Ash cups them, rolls them, his fingers sliding back against my taint. I about shoot to my tiptoes as those fingers rub and rub andrub, the suction of his mouth never ceasing.

Just like that, I lose it.

I call out Ash’s name as my muscles tense, my fingers blanching against the top of the dresser. He doesn’t pull off, even as my release coats his tongue. For the briefest of moments, I feel out of my body. I’m washed in sensation, in the euphoric waves rolling beneath my skin. In the pull of my balls emptying in blissful relief. It’s all-encompassing, threatening to pull me under and sweep me away.

But then, there’s the pressure of Ash’s hand on my hip. His mouth soothing my cock. The hum he lets out that seems to travel straight up into my chest. He’s there, grounding me as I catch my breath, as I try to wrap my head around the fact that Ihad sex for the first time since Otto, and it felt…good. It felt good and right, and I don’t think I realized until right this instant how terrified I was that that wouldn’t be the case. That maybe he’d truly broken me. That—maybe—I wouldn’t ever be able to have this again.

But he didn’t take that from me, did he?

A soft kiss against my hip has me glancing down. Ash’s hair is a mess, half-covering his eyes as he looks up at me. His cheeks are red, and his lips look slick.

“Okay, Jack?” he asks quietly.

I turn and sink down beside him, my ass landing on the floor. Ash takes a seat, too, kicking his legs out in front of him. Our softened cocks are still hanging out, and I have no doubt my face looks as utterly wrecked as his. But none of it matters.

“I’m all right,” I tell him honestly. I’m not sure how he seems to know something is going on in my head. Maybe I’m just not that great at hiding it. Or maybe he’s simply looking.

Ash rests his head against the dresser, gaze softly assessing as it travels over me. “You’re not going to walk out that door, right?”

I shake my head slowly. “No. Not yet.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied with that. Facing forward again, he closes his eyes, an almost serene smile on his face. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“Fuck,” I agree, still trying to catch my breath.

Ash lets out a small chuckle. And then another. And then he’s laughing outright, his chest shaking and a grin on his face.

Without quite knowing why I’m doing it, I laugh along with him.

Chapter 13

Ash

When I wake, the sun is just starting to rise, casting soft light into the room and giving the walls a hazy glow. I stretch for a minute, working out the ever-present kinks in my body. Even though I’m sore, I feel good. Refreshed, even.

A smile spreads across my face as I remember the man who’s at least partially responsible for my good mood. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jackson is already up and moving around the ranch, even though it’s the weekend. He’s probably grumping about, overthinking what happened between us last night. But somehow, I know he’s not regretting it.

The look in his eye as he left was proof enough of that. His gaze had been pinned on me like he didn’t want to go. Like he was afraid I might slip through his fingertips given the chance.

I get it. I don’t know the whole story of what happened between him and his ex, but Jackson has clearly been hurt. He’swary of that happening again. The best I can do is show him I have no desire to be a cause of more pain.

When I fling off my comforter and transfer my weight to the ground, there’s a moment where the bottom of my feet sting. Peripheral neuropathy. It’s worse when my back is acting up, the nerves in my body affected by the inflammation connected to the pain. It’s like a shitty chain reaction—pain leads to more pain. But I walk through it, and by the time I reach the hall, the pinprick sensation has mostly passed.

I take care of my business quickly and head downstairs, finding a half-full pot of coffee in the kitchen. I fill up a mug and make my way to the back porch to enjoy the morning view. The air is cool, cutting through the sweater I put on, but the sight of the mountains lit pink in the early morning sun is oh so worth the chill.

It’s idyllic here. Beautiful in a way I’m not sure I could ever get sick of.

I’m startled from my thoughts by a voicesaying, “Morning.”

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