Whiskey and Country

Free from the past. Free for any suffering it had ever gone through. Free from any restraint.

Its hasty beats shook the center of me. If Dahlia looked closely enough, I bet she could see its hammering. The cadence intoxicating. Hoping to fuse to hers and live in her chest, where I knew it would be safe. And loved.

Carrying my other half in my arms, I laid her on the floor, careful to place her shirt underneath her head.

Balancing over her, our stares never breaking apart, I rammed into her.

Every expression of bliss on her face played with the strings of my heart.

Every display of love on her lips made it swell a little more behind my ribs.

Every promise dancing in her eyes increased its addictive rhythm.

Dahlia’s head tilted back, and we climbed to the edge together, nearing the precipice. Holding on. Until it couldn’t be contained anymore. Until none of us were strong enough to resist the pleasure building at our cores. Her walls clenched around me and milked my dick to the last drop, a muffled purr breaking the orgasmic silence of our bodies convulsing together.

It took a few minutes for our breathing to go back to normal.

In this time, we lost ourselves in each other, chests heaving, satisfied smirks pasted on our faces.

Dahlia propped herself up and landed a kiss on my chin, a soft laugh tumbling out.

I gave her a quizzical look. “What’s so funny?”

“You. You have that look. The plenitude of being. Your eyelids are half-closed, and you’re so handsome right now.”

I kissed the corner of her lips, her eyebrows. “You think I’m handsome?”

She snickered. “Don’t play dumb, Nicholas Peterson. You know I’m obsessed with ya, and I think you’re very good-looking.”

I winked.

“Oh god, stop. Your level of smugness just multiplied. If I thought you looked vain after what we just did, now it’s another game entirely.”

“I had no idea you thought I was hot, Dahlia Ellis,” I said with a shake of my head, no conviction in my words.

She blushed. Pink being my favorite color on her. “Don’t be all conceited now.”

“Never,” I promised, claiming her mouth in the slowest possible kiss, relishing the sensations it awoke inside me. Every single time.

I dropped beside her, and with my arm around her waist, we rested like this for a while. Just enjoying being with each other. And the after-sex rapture that had settled between us.

Dahlia, Jack, and I were about to become a family. For real.

A lightness settled in my chest at the idea.

When I left Chicago, I was broken. And lost.

And now I felt better than I ever did. And complete. Positive about my life and the future.

Dahlia went to shower while I attacked breakfast. She came back downstairs a little later, a still half-asleep Jack in her arms.

Picture perfect.

My family. Mine. Mine to love and to protect.

I perused the space around us.

This house was ours. Because this was where we belonged. Together.

The moment he saw me, the boy stretched his arms so I could take him.

“Nick,” he said in his sleepy voice. “Bakefast with me?”

My lips found the top of his head. “Yes, I’ll have breakfast with you. Hungry?” He nodded. “Almost ready, little guy. Will you help me out?” He nodded again. With him perched over my hip, together, we poured orange juice and set the table.

“To us,” Dahlia said, raising her glass once we sat around to eat.

“To love and family. And to us,” I repeated, leaning in so our lips could meet. “I’m happy we’re doing this together.”

Dahlia’s gaze found mine. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She grabbed my hand in hers, kissed my fingers, and I saluted the sky, my eyes trained on her. “Thanks, bro. It’s all because of ya. Cheers.”