CHAPTER 52

west

J ackson’s inability to cook should’ve been more legendary than his goddamn feats as a bull rider. This man burned everything he touched. It was no wonder he fucking survived on freezer meals alone. But not me. Those things were absolute crap. I’d rather eat takeout than a fucking freezer meal.

As it happened, I actually did know how to cook—not a lot but enough. Which was exactly how we ended up grocery shopping together.

I trailed after him while we walked down the meat aisle with him chatting casually about dinner plans. In the week since our talk, we’d fallen into an almost comfortable routine of work, dinner, relaxing, and then bed with him in his room and me in mine. He was consistent in a quick kiss good morning and one good night along with holding my hand when I could handle the contact, but that was it.

A little part of me looked forward to those moments.

“How much meat do you fucking eat?” I demanded when he put another package in the cart. He already had at least twenty different containers of meat in there .

“How much can you cook?” Jackson countered with a grin. Fuck, that grin did things to me.

“Where did your Mom go wrong with you?”

“I’m good at a lot of things. Cooking ain’t it,” he told me. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Just put it in the fucking cart,” I said. We both knew I’d cook him whatever he wanted. I might complain the whole way but I’d still do it. It was the least I could do, considering everything else he was doing for me. “And get a fucking vegetable or two. Jesus Christ. You can’t live on meat alone.”

“I fucking could if I wanted to,” he retorted. I groaned as he grabbed three more packages and dumped them in the cart.

“Do you have a second freezer?” I asked. “There ain’t no way in hell this shit will fit in the kitchen.”

“I have a deep freezer in the garage,” he replied. He made a face. “I think I have like twenty pounds of venison in there.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I ain’t got a clue how to cook that either.”

“Yeah, I fucking figured,” I muttered. This goddamn man. I didn’t get a chance to say anything else because I realized a woman was staring at us. I did my best not to glare. She wasn’t the first and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. But she kept staring at us in a way that had me thinking I should’ve known who the fuck she was.

“Well, look at you, West McNamara!” she exclaimed and started toward me. Ah, fuck. I hated this part. I hated the fucking nosy people in this goddamn town. A guy disappeared for seventeen years and they all suddenly thought they had a right to know all my business.

Before she could get too close, Jackson pushed the cart in front of me and damn near ran over my toes. He leaned over the handlebar, arms crossed and a cheeky fucking grin on his face.

“Hello, Mrs. Harris,” he greeted and tipped his hat in her direction. That stupid fucking cowboy hat seemed to do it for people.

MaryAnn Harris. That was about all I remembered. Her first name. I didn’t remember most people in this goddamn town.

“Jackson Myles, didn’t your mother teach you to eat more than just meat?” Mrs. Harris chastised .

“I like meat!” he protested. “And it ain’t like I know how to cook vegetables.”

He didn’t know how to cook meat either.

“I do,” I said.

“See!” She gestured to me. “At least he knows how to cook vegetables.”

“I don’t know how to cook at all,” Jackson told her.

“He doesn’t,” I agreed. “He burns the shit out of everything.”

“Remember when I burned down one of the ranch houses?” he asked, chucking.

“Jesus fuck.” My lips twitched slightly with the memory. “Weren’t you making s’mores or some shit?”

“Popcorn,” he corrected. “At least I was trying to. Sprayed the cooking oil right into the pan—”

“Which was sitting on an open fire, right… you’re a fucking idiot, you know that?”

“Was.”

“Still are.”

“How in the world are you two boys still alive at this point?” Mrs. Harris asked.

“Well, a bull ain’t killed me yet—”

“Oh, don’t you even say that!” she interrupted. “What an unsavory thing to say. Now, come on. I’m going to teach you a thing or two about side dishes.”

She grabbed the corner of his cart and used it to drag Jackson along with her.

“You too, West!” she called over her shoulder. “Someone has to make sure he eats some real food every once in a while. Your mama would be so disappointed in you, Jackson! Eating like that. Maybe I should give Magnolia a call.”

“No!” Jackson exclaimed. “Don’t you dare tell on me to my mama. That’s just rude.”

I trailed after them, hands in my pockets, as Jackson took the brunt of her attention so I didn’t have to. He’d never understand just how much I appreciated that. I couldn’t put that shit into words.

I had to make six steaks for dinner. Why? Because Jackson did have twenty fucking pounds of venison in his freezer. We ran out of room. I had to cook extra shit and make some for the dog to get rid of it.

Not that we ate all six steaks—though, it was disturbing just how much food this man could put away. Some of it got packed away for later. He was never allowed to just wander a fucking grocery store again. We’d end up with more shit than I knew what to do with.

Dinner led to hanging out on his porch talking while he tossed a ball for Tess. We talked about stupid shit—the dumb things we’d done growing up, ridiculous town gossip I’d missed out on, and the four marriage proposals he’d gotten from the same woman in town over the years.

I let him do the talking as much as possible. I liked listening to him, but I also had nothing real positive to say. It was blatantly obvious that we’d lived wildly different lives. His life had been full of adventures. Mine had been filled with a whole lot of bad.

As always, at the end of the night, he kissed me. Only this time, it didn’t feel like a simple good night kiss. His tongue slipped past my lips and he gently walked me backward until I hit a wall. The weight of his body was heavy against mine, and I was all too aware of how his hips pressed into me.

My dick was too. It thickened until it was strained against the zipper of my jeans. Every kiss and every touch shot straight to my cock. And when his hips rolled against mine—the ridges of his dick pressing into mine?

Fuck, I liked that too.

“Do you trust me?” Jackson asked, his breath warm against my face. I nodded as the words caught in my throat. “I need to hear you say it, baby. Do you trust me?”

“Yeah,” I rasped.

“Do you trust me to stop if you tell me to?” he continued. I swallowed hard as my mind fought my anxiety.

Jackson would never hurt me.

“Yeah,” I repeated. He kissed me again, his lips gentle against mine. As he did, he ran his palm over the front of my jeans. The explosion of sensations was an onslaught to my senses. He did it again, and I groaned, my knees damn near giving out. His mouth skated along my jaw, and his teeth scraped against my scruff while my head tipped back against the wall .

My whole body tensed when he tugged open my jeans.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered into my neck. “Just tell me to stop if you need me to. Your stables, your rules, West.”

That kind of power was foreign.

But I trusted him. I trusted him to listen.

I didn’t have the words to say that, but I did and just nodded to let him know how aware I was.

His fingers hooked into my jeans and boxer briefs, pushing them down until my cock was free between us. A shiver ran through my body, and I forced myself to stay grounded in the moment. The musk of his cologne, the softness of his mouth on my skin, the warmth of his body against mine.

Those were good things.

Jackson was a good thing.

He ran his thumb down the length of my shaft, rolling over each small barbell. I moaned. Why did something so simple feel so fucking good?

“It’s wild how fucking sexy these things are on you,” Jackson whispered in my ear. He repeated the action, drawing out a louder moan from me. “Does that feel good, baby?”

“Yeah,” I breathed out. He took the admission as motivation to wrap his hand around my dick. His fist skated up and down my hard length, slow and steady. The slight pressure was fucking euphoric.

Was this what this was supposed to be like?

I shoved that fucking thought from my head. I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to spiral on the bad things.

“ Jesus fuck. ” I gripped his forearm as he reached under and gave my balls a light squeeze. My heart pounded erratically in my chest as liquid heat built in my core.

“You’re doing so damn good, baby,” Jackson praised. My breathing kicked up as he combined the two—his hand working up and down my cock before squeezing my balls enough to make me gasp. As he kept going, he said, “I’m dying to taste you, baby, so I’m going to get down on my knees and I’m going to suck your dick until you come in my mouth, do you understand?”

He what?

My brain struggled to understand the words he’d just said. Enough so that he leaned back, those blue eyes leveling on mine.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think so,” I admitted a little pathetically. This was the shit that made me feel less than I was. How many people needed to be talked through this kind of thing? Needed to practically have their hand held just to get off?

“You’re doing real damn good, West.” Jackson’s lips brushed over mine. “Can I keep going?”

My eyes practically rolled back as he squeezed my balls one more time. Did I want to do more? Could I handle it?

I shut down those thoughts. My body was fine. His hands on me felt good. From the way my cock throbbed in his hand with pre-cum leaking from my slit, I couldn’t deny that I liked what he was doing. Hell, the urge to rock into his hand—to feel more—was overwhelming.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“Keep going?” he reiterated one more time.

“Keep going, cowboy,” I told him, barely recognizing the strain in my own voice. His hand never left my cock as he lowered himself onto his knees and my gaze followed him.

“Hand in my hair, West,” he ordered. I brushed my fingers through his hair as he instructed. “Faster, slower, deeper… you’re in control, got it. Whatever the fuck makes you feel good.”

Him.

He made me feel good.

Jackson was meticulous and focused as his tongue traced each one of my barbells. That slight pressure and the warmth of his tongue had me moaning. His tongue ran over my slit, lapping up my pre-cum with a small sound of appreciation.

There was something undeniably sexy about the way he did that.

His tongue circled the crown of my dick and pressed into that sensitive spot right underneath it. Fuck me. My fingers tightened in his hair, inciting him to do it a second time.

“Fuck,” I rasped, my head falling back against the wall.

His mouth covered my crown, and he sucked hard once before popping off. The action had my hips thrusting forward on their own. I was desperate for more of whatever the hell he was doing .

Every nerve in my body was on fire—and not in a particularly bad way. I was hot and panting as he took me in his mouth again, lowering a little further down my length. With each pass, he took me deeper in his mouth.

Jesus fuck, his mouth felt so goddamn good wrapped around my cock.

Even when I hit the back of his throat, he went further until he’d taken my entire length. The feel of his muscles swallowing around me threatened to take me out by the knees. And when he pulled off slowly, his tongue pressed into my piercings.

Whatever the hell all of that was, it was fucking magic. There was no hope I’d last at all if he kept doing that.

Jackson alternated his pace—working me up by stroking me with his hand and his mouth around the crown of my dick before taking all of me all over again. I was fucking flying. Nothing had ever felt so goddamn good. My cock pulsated against his tongue as every muscle in my body trembled. The heat in my core was intense—unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. It built and built until I was ready to combust.

“ Fuck ,” I managed to get out. “I…”

I never got the rest of the words out as I came, my balls seizing up violently and my breath catching in my throat. His head continued to bob along the length of my cock, drawing out the orgasm until I was damn near shaking head to toe. My fingers anchored hard into his hair as I desperately clung to him for dear life.

He kept going until there was nothing left in me—until my dick began to soften. His tongue ran over my barbells one more time before standing. One arm wrapped around my waist as he stepped close.

“You with me, baby?” Jackson asked, his gaze searching my face. I nodded slowly. I was breathing too damn hard to hold a fucking conversation. Every inch of my body was buzzing, but it wasn’t bad. “Are you going to run away from me again?”

“No.” I meant that. Curling my hand around the back of his neck and closing the distance between us, kissing him deeply. There wasn’t a single part of me that felt the need to run. Maybe I could do this whole thing with him.

Maybe.