Page 49 of Smooth As Whiskey

“That’s the god’s honest truth, Sutton. Not once has she ever touched my body like that. And not once have I ever touched her body. I swear to you. Just the thought of touching her makes my balls shrivel up. She does nothing for me in that way. Only you do.”

And when she didn’t react to that statement, I gathered every bit of pride I held onto and made sure Sutton was my only focus as I dropped to my knees right in front of her.

With my eyes looking up into her eyes that hold all my dreams, I said, “This should tell you things about me. This should show you.”

She lifted a brow, “Show me what?”

“I don’t go down on other women. Only you.” I told her, pouring every ounce of honesty into my words that I could.

She scoffed, “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

Seeing that what I was doing wasn’t working, I stood up and then crowded into her space, ignoring the growls from Cruz, Waylon, Teague, Miller, Trajen, and Raj.

I brought my hand up and cupped the side of her neck, “Baby, a man will only drop to his knees for the woman who holds his heart in the palm of her hand.”

She rolled her eyes, then stepped out of reach and asked, “Are you finished? Get everything out you wanted to say?”

I swallowed, then nodded, “Yeah, but two things.”

She sighed, “And those are?”

“I’m sorry for every single time I hurt you. And I love you. I love you so fucking much, Sutton. It’s a wonder I can feel my heart beating.”

And with that, she nodded, “I appreciate you apologizing, but that’s not enough. I don’t think anything ever will be.”

And with that, she walked out of the building.

The six men stood then, and Cruz said, “Time for you to go.”

I was stubborn, but my woman seemed to be even more stubborn.

But the ball was in her court, and I would be here for her, no matter fucking what.

Chapter 12

Sutton

I had just washed the last breakfast dish after the men told me I didn’t have to cook or clean.

And then they all yelled at me that since I cooked, I shouldn’t have to clean.

Why couldn’t I have met one of them before I met Irish?

Damn.

But then a thought crept into my head.

He killed men for me.

Two.

Wasn’t that worth something?

I shook my head, and then, as I dried my hands, my phone on the counter rang.

When I saw it was Asher, I smiled, then answered, “Hey.”

His smokey voice came over the line, and I knew he had a cigar in his hand, “Hey, sweetheart. How’s things?”

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