Chapter 16

Jackson

When I get back to the ranch house, I'm fully prepared to keep up my huffing and puffing, if for no other reason than on principle alone. But the moment I step inside the dining room, boots soaked and hair dripping onto the scuffed hardwood floor, I stop dead. Because there, sitting in my mom's nice white porcelain serving dish on the center of the table, is something unmistakable.

Rice pudding.

He made me goddamn rice pudding .

All my feigned anger floats away like dandelion fluff, my insides left bared. I feel like a child again, stripped down to nothing but pure, aching emotions and that certainty kids possess that something big and grand and exciting is waiting just out of reach. Like all you have to do is go find it.

I think I just might have found it.

"Son. Gonna join us?"

My dad's voice breaks through my reverie, and I nod in a jerk, setting my hat on the back of my chair before sitting. Ash isn't in the room yet.

"How 'bout this weather?" my dad says conversationally, cutting into his chicken as I spoon myself some roasted potatoes. It's still pouring out, the rain coming down in a dreary sheet.

"It's rain," my mom replies, her tone fondly exasperated. "What's so special about it?"

"It's a lot of rain," my dad says. "Heard there was a bit of flooding on the roads in town. This keeps up, and we could see mudslides."

My mom hums, but my attention slips to Ash as he comes through the doorway, jugs of water in hand. My gaze sweeps over him, from the sure way he walks to the strong lines of his shoulders and arms. The dark blonde hair curling behind his ear. The small lift of his lips as his eyes catch mine from across the table.

The stutter in my chest doesn't even surprise me anymore.

Ash sets down the water and takes a seat. He talks to Colleen about what the ranchers do in the winter, which is exactly what we do now. He asks Lawson how Wendy is. He even chats with my dad about the new smoker he got for his beehive.

All the while, I watch Ash and the rice pudding, which sits untouched at the center of the table. When I can't stand it anymore, I grab a small ramekin and dish some up. The texture is perfect: creamy enough it spreads some but not too thin that it loses all shape. I bring a spoonful to my mouth, and my eyes slip shut. It's sweet, and the rice has bite, and I swear he must have added something special because there's a hint of a spice I've never tasted in rice pudding before. But the recipe, otherwise, is the same one my mother always used; I'm sure of it.

When my eyes flutter open, I find Ash watching me.

"So, uh…" Colton says, trying to catch my eye from across the table. He leans so far over Ash's lips twitch in amusement. "You gonna share or what?"

Not breaking Ash's gaze, I pass the serving dish to my brother.

"Sweet," he says. And then, "You sick or something? Why're we having rice pudding?"

Ash is the first to break, his mouth turning into a wide grin. I huff my own laugh, shaking my head as I finish my dessert.

"Oh, he's fit as a fiddle," my mom says. "Although I wouldn't be surprised if he spends some time in bed tonight."

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 I kiss you," 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 the want I'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've wanted somebody 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, each th-thump a 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 his early with my mouth. He utters a fuck , 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 and kiss , 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.

I know. I know .

I slide my hand down the back of Ash's jeans, and he groans. There's not enough space, and my grip is hard, but he doesn't seem to care. His breath hits my lips, his mouth so damn smooth and inviting I can't help but remember the way those lips felt wrapped around my cock. Ash rolls his hips, drawing a moan from the both of us. I hang onto the meat of his ass, wanting… Needing…

"What do you want, Jack?" Ash asks, breaking from my lips to kiss down my neck. My head falls back against the couch as his hand trails down my abdomen, fingers skating over my shirt before slipping under the material. My stomach clenches under his fingertips, and he makes an appreciative noise, palm smoothing up my stomach, lifting my shirt.

"Do you…" I get out before Ash nips the tendon at the bend of my shoulder and neck.

"Do I what?"

His nails skim down my stomach, and I buck upwards. Ash huffs an airy laugh as I grunt, the heft of him, the pressure against my lap making it impossible to think.

"Do I what, Jack?" he asks again, almost teasing, but there's too much heat in his words to sound remotely cruel. And he never would be. I don't think he's capable.

I sink my hand into his hair, nearly groaning from the feel alone. He stills, his hips stalling, his lips pressed featherlight to my neck.

"Do you like being rimmed?" I ask, voice rough.

He's motionless for all of a second before he sags with a moaning sort of laugh. He nips my neck again before huffing, "Yeah, Jack. I like it."

"Do you need—"

"Squeaky clean," he answers, reading my thoughts.

I tug his head back, meeting his gaze. The blue is stormy, beautiful and open. "I want you on my bed," I tell him. "Face down."

His lips part, his small inhalation audible.

"I want to eat you out until you come. And then I want to fuck you until you come again."

Ash's eyes slip shut, his groan a low rumble. "Jesus, Jack. You're gonna kill me. I had no clue you had such a dirty tongue."

"Lemme show you," I say, licking up the column of his neck.

He chuckles hoarsely, easing back. I let him go, releasing his hair and pulling my hand from within his jeans as he climbs off the couch. His pants are tented, his shirt rumpled and hair in disarray. Without waiting, he rounds the couch and heads down the hall. "You coming?"

I'm off the couch and after him in no time. Ash disappears into my room just ahead of me. When I get to the doorway, I stop still.

He's pulling off his shirt, arms raised and the long line of his torso on display. The fabric clears his head, and he drops it to the floor. He eyes me as he unzips his jeans.

"This okay?" he asks, the button going next. "Or did you want me to wait?"

I shake my head, voice raspy. "Keep going."

He eases his jeans down his legs, his cock making its presence known. It juts out against the fabric of his briefs, and my breathing turns uneven. He kicks off his jeans, holds my eye, and eases down his briefs.

I let out a breath as he stands, nude, in front of my bed. He shoots me another glance, gauging my reaction maybe, before grabbing the edge of the comforter and flinging it aside.

"Is there where you want me?" he asks, knowing damn well it is.

I nod in a jerk, and he smiles, all that smooth skin and muscle on display as he crawls, slowly, onto my mattress. It feels as if my chest is going to burst, but when Ash's mouth twists into something playful, I'm certain the implosion is imminent. He stretches his arms out, bowing low until his cheek is pressed to the sheets, his back arched, his ass high in the air.

"Like this?" he asks, holding my gaze.

I had the wind knocked out of me once. I was fifteen, riding along the base of the mountains with a mare who was always a bit flighty. A fox raced out in front of us on the trail, and the mare spooked, rearing up and depositing me unceremoniously onto the ground.

I had lain there in the dirt, staring up at the cloudy sky and the mountains towering beside me, my chest so tight I thought I was dying. And then, with a shuddering burst, my lungs reinflated. Relief. Pain. Bliss.

There haven't been many times in my life when I've felt utterly struck. Unable to breathe.

But with Ash's cheek pressed to my bed, his gaze holding mine and every piece of him bared easily and without reservation, I find myself struggling for air. It's a tight, hot thing in my chest, the pain of it welcome, the relief and bliss nearly bringing me to my knees.

It's possibility , that's what it is. It's the chance at something I long assumed gone. Extinguished.

I didn't think I'd want this again. But fuck , how I want it.

Him.

It's him I want.

My legs are steady as I walk forward, and Ash tracks me with his eyes. He makes a small sound of surprise when I stop beside the top of the bed and grab my pillows. I ease them under his hips before climbing behind him and skating my hand over the small of his back. When I give him a gentle push, he takes the hint, settling his weight onto the pillows.

"I want you comfortable," I tell him, my body buzzing as I run my fingertips along the swell of his ass. "'Cause I'm gonna take my time."

"Fucking hell, Jack," he pants.

"Mm."

Ash groans when I skim my fingers down the crease of his ass. He's hairless there. Trimmed neatly along the base of his dick. His balls are shaved smooth, and I pull them into my hand, the backs of my fingers brushing his cock. The sight of it pressed against the pillows has my gut clenching.

"Should have known," Ash says.

I leave a kiss on his ass cheek, running my nose along his skin before doing the same to the other side. "What's that?"

"That you'd"—he huffs a small breath as I lick the top of his ass—"be a giver."

I hum, slowly working my tongue lower.

"Are you going to make me beg?" he asks.

"No," I say, swiping my tongue over his hole once before blowing. "Not make you."

"You'll just enjoy the soundtrack then?" he says, groaning when I flick my tongue. "Please, Jack."

My name, hoarse on his lips, has my eyes slipping shut. Taking hold of his ass, I lean in and drag my tongue over his rim. He lets out a whispery breath, and I do it again and again, wanting to draw more of those sounds out of his throat. He goes slack as I work him open, his body pliant and his position keeping him at my disposal.

"Jesus, Jack," he says, voice gravelly as I edge my tongue inside his body. "That's so fucking good."

The praise is simple but searing in its intensity, lighting up the long-darkened corners of my chest. I groan as I work him over harder, desperate to make him feel good. Desperate to make him come for me. My fingertips indent into the meat of his ass as I bury myself between his cheeks, wetting him, licking and flicking, my tongue dragging the most perfect sounds out of the man now humping my pillows.

" Jack . I need— fuck . Need you in me."

"Am," I say before tonguing him again.

He huffs what might be a laugh. "Your dick . You wanted to fuck me, right?"

"After you come," I tell him, slipping a finger inside his body.

Ash lets out a stuttered moan, pushing back against the digit. The glide is smooth, his muscles relaxed, my spit aiding the way. I have to close my eyes at the feel of him, so silky and warm. I nuzzle my nose against his ass cheek as I fuck him with my finger, my dick aching.

"Jack," Ash says, tone trembling, "I'm trying to be patient, but I'm only human. And you feel— fuck ."

His words dissolve into a moan as I remove my finger and tongue him roughly, pushing myself as deep as I can go.

"Jack, please," he says.

I can't deny him. I tug one of the pillows out of the way and wrap my hand around his cock as Ash transfers his weight to his knees. He pushes back against my mouth, his breath ragged now as I stroke him swiftly.

"Oh God, oh God," tumbles out of his mouth as his legs start to quake. "Gonna—"

"Do it," I say. "I wanna feel you squeeze my tongue."

Ash cries out, pressing back against me as I bury myself in his body. His cock jerks, kicking up as it swells in my fist. And then he's shooting, his body clamping down on my tongue like I asked, muscles reflexively squeezing as his orgasm is dragged out of him. I pull free, licking him in broad strokes, the little jerks and spasms of his body making my chest sing in triumph.

When his cock stops releasing, I bring my cum-coated fingers to his ass, rubbing over his hole before slipping a digit inside. He groans lowly, but I keep my movements light, massaging gently, letting his muscles open back up for me. I slide a second finger in along the first and drop my forehead to the small of Ash's back.

"Did you just…" Ash huffs out a breath, his chest rising and falling. "Did you just… use my cum… as lube… to get your fingers in my ass?"

"Mm," I hum, stroking them slowly.

"You really are… going to wring a second orgasm out of me… aren't you?"

I kiss the base of his tailbone as I press my fingers a little further, seeking, searching…

"Ah, God. Jack ."

Ash lifts up onto his elbows, looking back at me. His hair is in front of his eyes, like the surf breaking over stormy skies. His cheeks are flushed, his lips red and bitten. The muscles in his back and shoulders are valleys I want to explore with my fingers and tongue. He looks strong. Beautiful. Masculine. Delicate.

"You need to take off your clothes," Ash orders. "Because if you're going to start massaging my prostate like that, I want it to be with your dick. Not your fingers."

I plant my lips against one of the divots at the base of his spine, closing my eyes as I breathe and center myself. Slowly, I slip my fingers out of his body, sticky with his cum.

"Whatever you want, sunshine," I drawl, wiping my hand on the sheets.

Ash's responding laugh is bright and happy and familiar. I'm pretty sure I'd do just about anything to hear it over and over again.