Moaning my name, he comes down my throat, filling me with his warm release. My eyes flutter shut with satisfaction, loving the feeling of his cock throbbing on my tongue. I suck him through his orgasm as his hold loosens on my hair, his body slumping against the bar, boneless and spent.
When I pull off, I huff to catch my breath and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Ashton stares down at me with hazy green eyes, his face flushed, lips parted and swollen. Christ, he’s beautiful.
I slowly stand, ignoring the ache in my bones from kneeling on the concrete floor. It was worth it.
Blinkingfast, he pulls up his pants, avoiding my gaze the entire time. His jaw goes rigid, muscles locking like a trap snapping shut. His whole body stiffens, every line of him pulled taut by the weight of what we just did. The rejection burns in my stomach, sharp and painful.
This. This is exactly why I don’t mess with straight or closeted guys. It always ends the same way—with me getting hurt.
“You okay, Ash?” I ask anyway, even though the answer is written all over him.
He nods too fast, eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder. “Yeah. I just—uh. I forgot. I need to be somewhere.”
I click my tongue, unimpressed. “Uh-huh.”
He drags in a shaky breath, fingers flexing at his sides. “Sorry. I need—I have to go.”
He turns for the door.
“Hey,” I say sharply, moving after him. He’s already halfway across the taproom, boots echoing too loud in the quiet space. “Ashton—wait.”
His hand is on the door when I catch up, the cool night air slipping in through the crack. I grab the edge of it, stopping him from leaving just yet.
“Don’t just walk out like nothing happened,” I say, lower now. “Please.”
He freezes. For a second, I think he might actually turn around.
Instead, his shoulders slump.
“I shouldn’t have—” He scrubs a hand through his hair, breath coming quick and uneven. “I made a mistake, Troy. It was a lapse in judgment. I wasn’t thinking.”
The words land hard, each one a neat little cut.
“A mistake,” I repeat quietly.
He finally looks at me then, eyes wide and panicked, like a deer caught in headlights. “I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have done this. I’ve got too much going on, and I—” He swallows. “I’m not into guys.”
I let my hand fall away from the door, forcing a humorless smile. “Seriously, Ash? Because a few minutes ago, you didn’t seem all thatconfused about liking guys when you were shooting your load down my throat.”
He flinches like I’ve struck a nerve, a vein jumping at his temple. “Troy, please.” His voice drops, thin and strained. “I—I can’t. I’m serious. From now on, we need to keep things professional.”
He reaches for the door again, fingers curling around the handle. The moment stretches—his shoulders tight, his breathing uneven, like he’s bracing for something.
I step forward. Not blocking him, just close enough to smell his cologne and catch the way his throat bobs.
I lean in, my mouth near his ear, my voice barely more than a breath. “We’ll just see how long you can resist me, baby.”
His eyes squeeze shut. A shaky exhale slips past his lips, like the last of his resolve bleeding out of him. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move at all, caught between instinct and fear.
Then he pulls the door open and steps into the night, disappearing without another word.
The click of the door closing behind him pierces through the silence. I watch through the window as he crosses the dimly lit parking lot and fades into the dark, the realization settling heavy in my chest: whatever this is between us, it’s far from over.
Chapter Seventeen
Ashton
Olivialinesupthebaskets of cherries with meticulous care, rotating each one until the fruit looks impossibly perfect. Deep red, glossy skins glimmer in the early morning light. She wears oversized sunglasses and a faded university hoodie, her hair twisted into a messy bun. As a nearby street performer strums a guitar, she bobs her head along to the rhythm, her smile easy and relaxed.
