“It’s fine,” I say quickly, still smiling, a little lightheaded from laughing. I take his glass and mine and drop them into the dirty dish bin, the clink of glass echoing softly. “Occupational hazard.”
He exhales, shoulders loosening—but then I notice it. The thin dribble of cider slipping from the corner of his mouth, sliding down his chin, catching in the stubble there. It glints under the taproom lights.
Without thinking, I step closer.
“You got a little—” I start, and then I’m already lifting the hem of my T-shirt, swiping it gently across his chin.
Ashton inhales sharply.
His eyes drop to the sliver of my bare stomach, the muscles there tensing. His gaze follows the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath my waistband. I’m acutely aware of the heat of his attention and the fact I’m standing way too close.
“Sorry,” I blurt, dropping my shirt. “I didn’t mean to—”
I start to step back, but his hand clamps around my wrist.
My heart slams against my ribs. For half a second, I’m certain he’s going to shove me away or punch me in the face.
Instead, he tugs me closer.
I search his face, but his expression is unreadable. His jaw is tight, eyes dark, breath shaky.
Maybe Ashton’s restraint isn’t a lack of desire—it’s fear.
“Ash…” I whisper, unable to say anything else.
A small smile curves the corner of his mouth. “You finally called me Ash again.”
I don’t trust myself to speak, so I don’t. His fingers stay wrapped around my wrist, light but unyielding, his thumb brushing slow, absentminded strokes over my skin and raising goose bumps in its wake. His gaze holds mine, and I get lost in the green of his eyes—vibrant and lush, like a sunlit meadow.
“You make it really difficult to hold myself back,” he says quietly.
I swallow hard. “Then maybe you should stop trying.”
He looks down at me, jaw tightening, and I can almost see the gears turning in his head. Calculation battles with instinct, hisrestraint wearing thin. One part of him is trying to pull him into a cage, while the rest claws at the bars, desperate to break free.
In the end, his hunger wins, and his mouth crashes against mine.
He fists my hair and kisses me, a desperate clash of teeth and tongue. I let out a quiet gasp of surprise, but the sound is muffled by his lips. My neck strains as I struggle to reach him, standing up on my tiptoes.
Christ, he’s tall. I fucking love it.
Ashton grabs my hips and shoves me against the bar, his mouth never leaving mine. My ass presses into the hard wood of the countertop. His tongue slides against my piercing, giving it an experimental flick. A quiet whine slips out of him, desperate and fervent, as he laps at the metal like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.
“Ash,” I whisper against his lips.
My palms slide down his stomach, warmth bleeding through the flannel. I love the way he looms over me, how his back curves to meet my height. I love that despite being so much bigger than me, he’s putty in my hands.
His fingers brush the hem of my jeans, his touch cautious. He breaks the kiss and gazes down at me, brow furrowed.
“Can I touch you?” he asks, his voice barely audible over the pounding of my own heart.
I can only nod.
He clumsily unfastens the button of my jeans, his breath hot and heavy, brushing against the top of my head. His hand dips beneath the denim to squeeze my half-hard cock. I groan, and he curses under his breath, fingers tracing along my length, exploring.
He swallows hard, a flicker of hesitation hardening his face. “I’ve never… done this before.”
I plant a reassuring kiss to his chin, gently squeezing the back of his neck. “We don’t have to—”
