Tasting Notes

by Cate Ashwood

  He shook his head and reminded himself who he was. Joseph Alexander Weston. The man who hunted ruthlessly and fought mercilessly for what he believed was owed to him. Never had he backed down from getting what he wanted, and he wasn’t about to start now.

  “What are you doing here?” Rush asked once he opened the door. It was reminiscent of the last time West was there, but this time there was less heat in Rush’s voice and more in his eyes.

  West didn’t think there was any reason to answer. He stepped forward and curled his fingers against Rush’s shirt, bunching it and pulling him forward. Rush had no time to react before West slammed their mouths together, consuming him in the kiss. He could taste the whiskey Rush had been drinking, and he thought that nothing ever tasted as good as Rush’s tongue.

  Heat built between them, the temperature in the house rising steadily as they ground against one another, seeking the slick friction of skin on skin but getting no relief behind the tight confines of their clothing.

  Rush took over, gripping the back of West’s neck as he kissed him, his fingers bruising, his movements desperate. He pulled West toward him as he took a step back and then another, until they were stumbling into the house. West was vaguely aware of the door slamming behind him as Rush guided them toward his bedroom.

  West felt the back of his knees hit the mattress, but all he could see was Rush. His body was solid, powerful, and West was so tempted to touch. Without breaking their kiss, he angled his body away, giving himself room to work on Rush’s belt. His fingers were fumbling, made clumsy with adrenaline and need. He felt Rush push his hands away, tackling his belt himself.

  He shoved the leather through the buckle, then pushed his pants to the floor. Breaking their kiss, he tore his shirt over his head and tossed it across the room before giving West’s the same treatment. Within seconds the warm air from the room was rushing over his feverish skin, and the look Rush was giving him made his skin tingle and his cock ache.

  “Get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

  The way Rush’s voice cut through the stillness of the night made West tremble. He was authoritative, in charge, and his tone brooked no argument. Not that West would have given one.

  He did as he was told, crawling into position on all fours in the center of the bed. He closed his eyes and waited, the quiet in the room surrounding him like a thick fog. And then he felt the mattress dip. He could feel Rush behind him even though he had yet to touch him.

  He waited, his breath held, until he felt Rush slide his hand along West’s spine. With more force than needed, he pushed West forward, pressing his chest against the softness of the duvet, leaving his hips high and his legs spread just enough. Before he could realize what was happening, he felt Rush manipulating him, positioning him, and then his mouth was there, his tongue hot and slick as he licked and teased him open.

  West gasped and held on to the covers, the fabric bunched in his fingers as he fought to keep from screaming. Thankful he couldn’t see what Rush was doing, he concentrated on the sensation of it, knowing the image of Rush with his tongue buried in West’s ass would be enough to send him right over. Rush swirled his tongue, softening the muscle and coaxing West into a state of blind euphoria. It was too much and not enough, and West thought he might come from that alone. He was so close. He needed a little more. He lifted one hand, reaching backward.

  Rush pulled away. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded. West froze and lowered his hand, keeping perfectly still as Rush picked up where he left off.

  “Close,” West muttered, too far gone to worry about how breathless he sounded. He suppressed a whimper when Rush stopped once more, and West felt the bed shift as Rush reached over to the bedside table. He didn’t need to hear the tearing of the wrapper or the snick of the cap from the bottle of lube to know what was coming next. The coolness of the slick seeped into him as Rush drizzled a generous amount.

  And then the coolness was gone, replaced by a sharp burn as Rush took him in one swift movement. West cried out, then bit down on his bottom lip, waiting for the inevitable transformation from pain to pleasure as his body adjusted to Rush being inside.

  A long moment passed. “You good?” Rush asked, his voice rough.

  West lifted his head enough to nod once.

  “Good,” Rush said as he pulled back. His grip on West’s hip was binding, holding him in place as he slammed forward. West held his breath, anticipating each forceful thrust. Rush picked up speed, driving their bodies together and pushing West right to the edge of almost too much.

  It was perfect and what he needed, and Rush didn’t stop. West rocked against him, his movement restricted by Rush’s hands on him. He could hear Rush behind him, a flurry of curses falling from his mouth as his hips snapped forward. The bed creaked beneath them, but Rush didn’t slow. He changed angles, pushing deeper and hitting that spot that sent West soaring. He gasped, his body taut with need. Rush had him poised right on the edge.

  Sliding his hand from hip to cock, Rush gripped him. Three strokes was all it took. Pain and pleasure blurred together as West’s back arched and he spilled come across Rush’s fist, and still, Rush fucked him harder, his cock sliding in and out as West rode out his orgasm. West was peripherally aware of Rush gripping his hips just a little tighter as he heard Rush swear, and with one last thrust he buried himself as deeply in West’s body as he could.

  For several long moments, the only thing West was aware of was the deep-seated radiating pleasure that still threatened to pull him under. His eyes were heavy, his body boneless. Rush held him steady as he slid his arm around West’s belly, pulling his back against his stomach. He rolled them carefully until they were lying together, skin to skin, Rush’s cock still inside.

  He carefully pulled out, but he didn’t move. Sweat and come cooled on their skin, but West didn’t care. He could have stayed there forever, riding the aftershocks of bliss as Rush placed a soft kiss against the back of West’s neck.

  The movement was gentle, tender, and in such stark contrast to what they’d just done.

  West took a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing his heart to return to a normal pace. He’d never experienced anything like it. He’d never been owned like that before. He knew he was quickly becoming addicted to Rush, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  Sometime later the need to get up became impossible to avoid any longer. Rush rolled from the bed and padded to the bathroom, returning a few minutes later with a warm cloth. They cleaned themselves up, and then Rush tossed the towel into the corner and climbed back into bed.

  West expected Rush to subtly—or not so subtly—urge him out the door, but to his surprise, Rush slid his arms around him and pulled him closer.

  West took a moment to bask in the warmth of Rush’s body. “What were you like when you were a kid?” Normally West wasn’t into chatting after sex. Normally West didn’t stick around after sex. But now he felt sleepy, and sated, and a little curious.

  Rush chuckled. “That’s random. I make you come, and then you want to know what I was like as a kid.”

  West rolled over and slid his hand across Rush’s belly. “I’m wondering. You’re this gruff, serious guy, and I guess I’m curious what you were like before. You couldn’t have been like this when you were… say… sixteen.”

  Rush laughed again. “Nope. I was young and idealistic. I wanted to change the world, and I wanted to fly.”

  “Helicopters, right?”

  Rush looked surprised.

  “Rosie told me the other night,” West admitted.

  “So you were talking about me?”

  “You might have come up, you know, in passing. She told me you were an ex-Marine.”

  “Once a Marine, always a Marine,” Rush corrected, nuzzling against West’s temple.

  He was surprisingly affectionate. West hadn’t expected to be allowed to stay, let alone cuddled, but he was finding out there was a lot more softness hidden beneath Rush’s surface than
he ever would have thought possible.

  “Sorry. Do you miss it, though? The action, adventure, excitement?”

  “It’s not like it is in the movies. Some days are boring as fuck, and some days are horrific. I miss some of the guys that became like brothers, but I don’t miss the combat. As for flying, yeah, I miss it.”

  “You didn’t want to do something related to flying rather than Christmas tree farming? It seems like they would be worlds apart.”

  “They definitely are. When I retired, I thought about continuing to fly—to start up a helicopter tour company or something—but I couldn’t handle it. Flying signifies freedom to me, and there’s nothing freeing about flying around in a circle, pointing out pinpoint-sized landmarks to tourists. I chose to start Black Mountain because it was simple. At the time it seemed perfect for me. There had been so much that happened… I wanted a quiet life. Every few months I travel down to San Diego, and I work as an instructor for the newbie pilots there. I feel like I’m giving back, and I get a taste of flying again, even if it’s just for a week or two.”

  West wondered what had happened to Rush during his time in the military, but he kind of glossed over that time period. West didn’t want to push. Things had clicked into place for them, and he liked the way everything was easy. He didn’t know what would happen in the morning, if the closeness would remain or if they would go back to their platonic rapport, but for now West was happy.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The next few days flew by. For Rush they were a blur of evergreens and grapevines as he tended to his farm as well as Lennox Hill. He and West fell into an easy routine where West would help him in the mornings at the farm. Then they’d have lunch together, and Rush would wait the twenty minutes while West concocted himself a sugary, foamy atrocity of a cup of coffee before working on the winery. West hadn’t shown up at his place since the last time they slept together. Rush pushed the thought to the back of his mind that he shouldn’t be bothered by that. But he found he was and examining the reasons behind that didn’t seem prudent. He decided to worry about it later.

  They finished another day of labor at the vineyard, completing the shoot thinning on the upper level. West finally got the hang of it and needed less guidance from Rush. It took them all week, and they still had yet to complete the lower level, but West seemed inordinately proud of himself for his accomplishment.

  When they arrived back at the house, Rush turned toward West. He had dirt smudged across his forehead, and Rush was taken with how handsome he was. He’d always been handsome, in that too-polished, untouchably rich sort of way, but over the last few days Rush had begun to see him in a different light. He wasn’t sure if West changed or if he had, but either way he enjoyed his company.

  “You want to do something tonight? Like go out somewhere, not just to my place…,” Rush asked.

  West appeared as surprised at the request as Rush felt. He hadn’t intended to ask him. It slipped out.

  “Uh, sure. What did you have in mind?”

  “I don’t know, really. A movie or something?”

  West smiled then, and the look made Rush’s heart flutter a little in his chest. “That sounds nice, actually. I don’t remember the last time I saw a movie in a theater. Or a movie, period.”

  “Well, if it was four or five years ago, it might be the same one playing here. We tend to miss the new releases. Since there’s only one screen here too, you won’t have much choice.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me. It sounds fun anyway.”

  “Great,” Rush said, really meaning it. “I’ll head home and get showered and changed. Then I’ll be back to pick you up in a couple of hours?”

  “Sure.”

  He turned and left, Casper following dutifully to his truck. He paused as he opened the door, mildly stunned by the exchange that just took place. Did he have a date? It certainly felt like it.

  They pulled up to the theater, and Rush parked the truck right outside. It was a weeknight, and the street was quiet. Inside the cab of his truck, the space seemed smaller somehow, like West took up every inch and Rush was surrounded by him. He felt awkward and uneasy, like he was once more the pimple-faced fourteen-year-old sitting in the back of his dad’s Ford Taurus, being dropped off at the same theater with Emma Nicholas on his very first date.

  He gave himself a mental pep talk to stop acting like such a fucking moron. This wasn’t his first date. This wasn’t even technically a date. He was being ridiculous. He tried not to think about the way his body had reacted when West opened the door of the house, looking fucking edible in relaxed jeans, a soft gray pullover, and a black leather jacket. He had shaved too, and Rush could smell the soap. For a moment he had considered canceling the movie. He could definitely make a case for staying in….

  But he kept his mouth shut, and West followed him to his truck, climbing in and settling like this was any other night. Rush tried to do the same, but the whole drive from Lennox Hill to the Cameo, he was more than a little distracted.

  They got out of the truck and walked up to the box office.

  “Two please,” Rush said, pulling his wallet out. There was no need to specify which movie—there was only one playing—and West didn’t argue with him about who was paying. In fact, he didn’t even offer, and a small part of Rush appreciated that. He was acutely aware West had more money than he knew what to do with, but letting Rush pay for the tickets somehow said he considered them on a level playing field.

  They ducked inside the lobby of the nearly deserted theater, handing the attendant their tickets as they passed through the door.

  “Popcorn?” West asked, walking over to the concession counter to the left. The popcorn was a sort of neon yellow color, one not generally found in nature, but movies without snacks just weren’t the same. West ordered for them both—a bucket of popcorn to share, two drinks, and a box of Milk Duds—then paid when everything was ready. They carried their goodies into the theater and found two seats in the very center. There were two other clusters of people closer to the front, but other than them, the theater was empty.

  “Have you seen this one?” Rush asked.

  “Sherlock Holmes? No. I haven’t had a lot of downtime in the past few years. Not really conducive to keeping up with what comes out of Hollywood.”

  “Me neither, but we’re here now.”

  “Yeah. It’s kind of nice, actually. The last few weeks have been… better.”

  “Better?”

  West stared straight ahead. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve been happier. Less stressed. More relaxed. I feel… better.”

  “You weren’t happy in Chicago?”

  Now West moved his focus from the dark screen at the front of the theater to Rush’s face. “I thought I was. Not to sound like the asshole you thought I was when I rolled into town, but I am comfortable. You know, financially.”

  Rush rolled his eyes as hard as he could. “No shit.”

  “And for the most part, I equated money to success. Happiness. I didn’t have a lot of time to give it much thought. I ate, slept, and breathed work. Literally. I didn’t have lunch without a lunch meeting, and work followed me home every night. I was in early, out late, and I kept a journal beside my bed so when I woke up in the middle of the night, I could write down anything that came to me while I slept. It was a lot, but it was all I knew.”

  West hadn’t spoken much about his life before he came to Canyon Creek, and Rush never asked. He was curious, but he didn’t want to pry. It wasn’t his style.

  “Were you brought up to work like that?”

  “That’s the thing. No, I wasn’t. I was raised to work hard and build an honest living, and until a few weeks ago, I thought that meant working as hard as possible and amassing as much wealth as I could. Now I’m not so sure. I think if my grandfather could see me now, I don’t know he would be all that proud of me.”

  “I didn’t know your grandfather, but I don’t think that’s true. You’ve accomplished more tha
n most people do in a lifetime.”

  West drifted closer, until their shoulders were brushing. Rush leaned into him, increasing the contact.

  “I think he would have liked you. You are cut from the same cloth.” West’s voice was quiet, almost reverent. Rush didn’t know exactly how to respond. He had heard West speak about his grandfather in the time they spent together, and it was clear he had been the most important person in West’s life. Thankfully, the lights in the theater dimmed and the screen burst to life with the same ancient introduction they’d used since Rush was a kid.

  As the previews played, Rush felt West’s hand slide into his. He closed his fingers around West’s. His palm was warm and dry and felt right against his. He hadn’t held hands with someone in a theater since that date with Emma Nicholas. It was nice.

  He kept turning West’s words over in his mind. He missed half the movie, thinking about what he said. His breath hitched a little at the thought of being compared to West’s grandfather. He knew it was a high honor. What he didn’t know was what was happening between them. It scared him and excited him at the same time. He still held his reservations about getting involved with a billionaire—he knew, he Googled—especially a billionaire who was leaving. They were from different worlds, even if they had similar beginnings, and in the end it wouldn’t matter anyway.

  What he needed to decide was how much to invest in the meantime. And investments were West’s domain, not his.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  West felt like a kid the night before his birthday party. He was practically vibrating with excitement as he waited for Rush to arrive. The shoot thinning was finished, Black Mountain was taken care of, and they could finally take a day off. Since the night of their date, there seemed to have been a silent understanding. West didn’t know how long he would be there—the longer he spent in Canyon Creek, the less he thought about Chicago. He knew he would have to go back eventually. He couldn’t avoid his life there forever, but the pleasant little bubble he was living in here was difficult to consider abandoning.