Page 61 of Sweet Like Whiskey

I choke on my bite of food, coughing roughly.

“All right?” Ira asks, patting my back.

I nod and manage to croak, “Good.”

Jackson eyes me in concern, but I wave it off.

“Fine,” I say again. “Um…shod?”

“Shoe a horse,” Remi fills in, lips quirked.

Right.

Colton grumbles into his soup aboutNoah fucking Kingas Jackson asks Remi if the Silkies are staying dry enough. Apparently, that’s a concern for the breed of chickens.

As the brothers chat, my eyes stray to Jackson. It’s clear he’s close to his family. Protective of them, even. It’s something I noticed right away, but that impression has only strengthened over time.

I’m close to my mom, too, but not in the same way. We’ve never been in each other’s pockets, never caught up over nightly dinners together or had a large family to call our own. It’s not something I thought I missed, but sitting here with the Darlings, withJackson, I find myself not wanting to let this go.

When the lunch crowd disperses, I start clearing the table. I have the process down to an art now: rinsing the dishes and cutlery, loading up the dishwasher for its second run of the day, storing leftovers in the fridge, and then handwashing the bigger serving dishes and other awkwardly sized items that don’t fit in the automatic wash. I fall right into the rhythm of it, humming one of my favorite Johnny Cash covers, my mind wandering as I work.

Which is why, when hands bracket my hips, I nearly jump out of my skin, not having heard anyone approach.

“Jesus,” I mutter, letting my shoulders relax as Jackson’s familiar body presses to mine. “Do you like scaring me, Jack?”

“Mm,” he rumbles, his lips brushing the side of my head. My pulse jumps right back up. “Wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“What were you trying to do?” I ask, setting the final dish aside and rinsing the soap bubbles off my hands.

He lets out a breath that ruffles my hair, his crotch nudging my ass. “Dunno.”

My lips twitch.Among other things. “Was my sitting in a chair and watching you work all morning such a turn-on that you simply couldn’t resist coming and feeling me up?” I ask.

“You always turn me on,” he answers.

Well, fuck.

Blowing out a breath, I shut off the tap and spin inside the cage of Jackson’s arms. He’s still damp, so I don’t feel too bad about grabbing his ass with my wet hands and bringing us flush together. “Would you show me later?”

He groans so quietly I almost miss it.

“I hope that’s a yes, Jackson Darling,” I all but whisper. “But if it’s not, that’s okay, too. I have a hand of my own and the memory of you digging a post hole to keep me company. I’m sure it’d be more than enough to—”

I don’t get any more out before Jackson’s mouth is on my own. He groans again, louder this time, almost tortured, as he kisses me. His hands find their way into my hair, holding tight. I simply melt. He tastes like rain and apple cider, and he smells a little bit like dirt. I think it might be my new favorite combination.

Jackson isn’t tentative as our mouths dance, not this time. He’s direct, and he’s uninhibited in a way I think he’d be embarrassed about if he had enough thought left to realize exactly how he’s kissing me inside his family’s kitchen. But considering I can’t get a word in edgewise, I don’t bother bringing it up. I let him pull me under, my cock hardening against his hip as he pushes me back into the countertop.

When I can finally manage a breath, I murmur his name, a small, “Jack,” stolen from my lips like the breath he’s stolen from my lungs. He likes that. He dives back in, his mouth parting my own, his short beard hairs bristling my skin as he angles my head back for easier access. Something clatters to the floor—tongs, I think—as I reach back to steady myself. My other hand grips his jeans tight, fingers indenting into the meat of his ass as I try to pull him closer or—fuck—encourage him to get me off right here in the kitchen, maybe?

I’m about to suggest that very thing when a long, “Oooh,” pierces the air. Jackson jumps, dislodging my grip as he spins toward Colton, who’s standing in the doorway with a grin.

“Christ,” Jackson grumbles. “Fuck off.”

“Getting frisky in the kitchen,” Colton says, completely unperturbed by his brother’s attitude. “Look at you, man. I’m impressed.”

Colton runs off as Jackson takes a step forward, a wise decision on his part. Jackson heaves out a sigh. “He’s such a shit.”

I rub the back of my hand over my mouth. “Maybe. But he loves you.”

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