Pretty Instinct

by S. E. Hall

  “I’ve never understood this song,” she says, pointing a tipsy little finger up in the air toward the music sounding from above.

  I perk an ear… “High for This,” by The Weekend. I can’t wait to hear her insight, constantly fascinated by our in-depth discussions on all things music…throw her shot count into the equation, and this is set to be noteworthy.

  “Whaddaya mean?” I ask, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, wanting a clear shot of that stunning face.

  “Don’t get me wrong, it’s got a solid, unique beat, but the words?” She scrunches up her nose. “Call me crazy, but if a guy has to warn you, ‘excuse me, ma’am, you’re gonna want to be high to get through this’? I’m thinking warning bells don’t ring any louder than that. Do not start undressing or lay yourself beside him! Run, screaming ‘help me!’ the entire way!”

  Delighted by her mind, sarcastic and always engaged, I laugh and lean in to thieve a taste of that clever mouth. “Excellent point. You are a lyrics girl after all. So I’m guessing ‘Informer’ drives you crazy?”

  “Right? What the fuck is that dude saying?” Jarrett the Eavesdropper yells. “Is he even speaking English?”

  “It wouldn’t matter what language it was, the natives of any country couldn’t understand him. I think it is English, and we don’t.” Lizzie giggles, then stretches back in her chair, arms reaching for the sky, and yawns.

  “Looks like I need to take you home,” I hiss in her ear.

  “Mmm,” she closes her eyes and hums, the mewl throbbing in my ears louder than the music. “So ready when you are.”

  “Gentlemen,” I stand, offering my siren a hand, “we’re out.”

  “Heads up, I will be having Skype sex on the bus tonight.” Jarrett consults his invisible watch. “Soon as Nessy’s off work, it’s on. Plug your ears, close your eyes, whatever you need to do, but it’s happening. Maybe two or three times.”

  “I’ll be plugging that.” Rhett gestures with his head and we all turn to track his crosshairs. Cute, tiny little blonde, not bad, but my foremost thought is how much she looks like the old Lizzie. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt on this one—maybe he simply prefers blondes—unless he forces me to cure any hang ups in the form of my foot up his ass.

  “Bus is all yours, boys, just sterilize. I’m bathtub and room service bound tonight.” She clicks the side of her mouth. “See ya.”

  She leads, her grasp on my hand unyielding as she weaves us through the horde of bodies. I should probably take over and commandeer control, but damn it all if I can’t pull my eyes off her ass in that skirt, salivating just imagining all the things I wanna do to it.

  But not tonight…the greatest test of willpower I’ll ever endure. I have to keep reminding myself—let her come to me, set the pace and limits. I can’t scare her off when I only just got her…if I’ve really got her.

  In the bustle, a hard blow into the side of my body knocks me sideways enough that my hand loses Lizzie’s. I’m quick to gather my bearings, my only concern reconnecting myself to her, but it’s hard to spot her, much shorter than all the others around us. “Baby!” I yell frantically, then shake my head—like she’s the only baby in here? “Lizzie!” I scream again, louder.

  Relieved, I see her little hand pop up amongst the sea and wave madly, and I instantly know it’s not a good wave, she’s scared. Growling, now a ruthless man, I shove and toss people aside like limp rags, fighting to get to that hand; the only thing I see. But when I make it there, I’m no longer relieved.

  Some punk, about an inch shorter than me, but say, 20 pounds heavier, has my Siren wild-eyed and pinned against the wall. From here, I can see the pulse in her neck racing, and all I see is red, crimson, the color of blood when it first leaves a body. Yanking him by his shoulder, I pull the fucker back and spin him to face me. “I believe you may be too close to what’s mine,” I sneer, fists already locked and loaded at my sides.

  “I didn’t see your name on it,” he drawls, wreaking of cheap whiskey, teetering slightly.

  “You don’t know my name, dumbass.” I hold my hand out to my side, around him. “Come to me,” I tell my frightened girl and she does so immediately, curling her hands, face and whole body into my side snugly.

  “Just wanna go,” she mumbles.

  I snatch dude up by his collar and growl in his face. “When they’re shaking and waving their hands in the air, they’re scared, not into you. Try picturing your mom or sister next time, asshole.” With that, I shove him back hard enough his ass finds floor and sweep Siren into my arms, cradle style, marching us the hell out of there.

  Chapter 22

  I confess, tonight scared the shit out of me. Before I knew what was happening, I’d lost Cannon and been trapped by a stinky, obviously too drunk to decipher right from wrong cowboy with bad teeth and a worse approach. But seconds after the fright set in, it was as quickly replaced with assurance…I knew only death would keep Cannon from finding me, and immediately.

  Safe.

  Even with masochistic Marlboro Man hovering over me, I felt an overwhelming sense of safety. The douchebag would be lucky if it was only Cannon that found me and not the rest of my cavalry.

  I hated needing to be rescued (I’d always thought myself smarter than this whole damsel in distress shit), it turned me on, crazily so. As “tough” as I try to be, independent, self-sufficient, I am woman hear me roar, the thought of a strong, powerful, domineering man swooping in to claim and save me…well, judge me after you’ve experienced it for yourself.

  Speaking of my beautiful barbarian, what is he up to out there? Those big feet of his clomping back and forth frantically, the clanging noises… I can’t help but shiver in anticipation, pretty sure he’s “setting the mood” while I enjoy my luxurious bubble bath.

  I could have saved him a lot of trouble had he asked—no frills are needed, I’m beyond ready. No more lurking pitifully in angry shadows for me. I will move forward, into the sunlight, where Cannon waits, hand extended to capture mine.

  I’ve been so worried about becoming “dependent” on him I cut off my nose to spite my face. Everyone depends on something, even if it’s their hell-bent independence…the idealistic view of themselves they cling to; dependence by definition.

  My anger, insecurities, snarky armor—those are mine, my go to safety nets I allow to define who I am and justify my hesitance to ever take a risk. But infinitely, the crutch I lean on the most is Conner. It’s laughable, really. I’m so much more dependent on him than he could ever be on me. Sometimes I’m not even sure he depends on me or if I’m just the person he’s most comfortable with. Bubs is gonna do whatever he’s got planned regardless of what I’m doing. But me…I have no idea who I am when I’m not worrying about him, clueless as to where he ends and I begin.

  So I’m kidding myself, I’m already dependent…just perhaps not on the right things. I’m still Bethy/Sister and Conner will always come first, but I’m gonna start watering the other parts of me too and see if they can’t blossom.

  And by water, I mean have sex with Cannon Powell Blackwell.

  ***

  Silently, I observe his efforts about the room before speaking with soft conviction. “I don’t need candles or music, Cannon. I only need you.”

  With a satisfied smirk on his face and tender honor in his eyes, he spins to face me. My heart starts thrumming in my chest as he prowls across the room to take my cheeks in his hand. “And I will only ever need you,” he says softly, “but I wanted to help you relax tonight. I know it’s a lot for you to—”

  “It’s not my first time.” Damn there I go, talk first, think later. “I mean, it will be special because it’s with you.” I lean up on my tiptoes to kiss him, met with stiff lips set in a grim line. Sighing, obviously failing at my attempt of smooth recovery with no one to blame but myself, I drop back to flat feet and address the elephant that just barged in the room with us. “Why are you upset? You’re not a virgin and I’m not mad.�
��

  “I meant help you relax because you’re stressed out about Conner leaving. I was trying to be sensitive,” he grumbles, a primitive edge resounding. “But thank you for the insight. It gives me a whole new realm of concerns.”

  I move to embrace him, this conversation feeling like one best had when touching, but he balks, stepping back, worry lines straining his forehead.

  “This isn’t what I thought tonight would be about.” His stare is firm, the conviction within eliminating any doubt of his words. “But now it is, so here goes.” Heady exhale. “You’ve never had a boyfriend or a protective older brother and no secret rendezvous; you flinched if I so much as brushed elbows with you the first two weeks. I’m just trying to figure out how I misjudged all that in my head. I admit, I would’ve bet my life on you being a virgin, so I don’t like the two possible conclusions plaguing my mind right now.”

  I narrow my eyes shrewdly and prop my hands on my hips. “Which are?”

  “Were,” his Adam’s apple bobs quickly, “were you a-assaulted?”

  “No.” My defensiveness instantly vanishes and I wrap my arms around his waist; this time he accepts. “Nothing like that.”

  “Rhett.” It’s not a question, and that’s not my Cannon’s voice. I squeeze his waist tighter and nod into his chest. “How long?” His menacing growl makes me flinch.

  “Only once,” I whisper.

  “How long ago?”

  “Years.” I calculate mentally. “Almost seven. Seven years ago, one time, after my mom. I just…he was consoling me and…”

  “That all? Just him, just once?”

  “Yeah.” I tilt my head, needing his eyes to tell me what this frightening new tone of his means. And now I see…it means he’s jealous and can’t stand the thought of it. “Cannon, don’t be mad. It was two kids, friends, hurting. Hugging and comforting turned into curiosity, that’s all.”

  He expels a long, tedious breath and runs a hand over his face. “Of course I’m not mad, that’d be asinine. I’m uncomfortable. If I was leery of your relationship with him before, the looks he gives you, his comments…now I’m, well, I’m justified.”

  So not how I saw this night going.

  “No doubt, I love Rhett, always will. And he the same. But not love, not in a way that should bother you. In fact, he and I had a conversation clarifying the difference.”

  He shifts away from me, and for a fleeting second, my arms long to tug him back, but I force them not to. If he wants to have this conversation, we’ll both think more clearly if we’re not touching. Now he paces, scrubbing his hands manically through his hair, huffing and puffing like he’s fully dilated. If it wasn’t so funny, it’d be hot.

  Scratch that, it’s still hot.

  “You ‘bout done?” I tease him, perched now on the end of the bed, leaning back on my hands, brow cocked in challenge.

  “Not quite. I’m gonna take a walk.” He grabs his boots and heads toward the door. “I don’t wanna say things I don’t mean.”

  “You go make your spreadsheet,” I tease. “I’ll be waiting right here. But I want you to keep a couple things in mind.” He turns back to face me, silent, receptive. “You slept with your ex-fiancé a lot more recently than seven years ago, and until just now, I’d forgotten…but I know she’s blowing up your phone. I grabbed it by mistake, I swear, and literally forgot about it until right now. But, you were gonna marry her, and she’s still in your life. Seems more like something to worry over, wouldn’t you say?”

  Ah, my stoic, strong Cannon. Again, my eye’s far too trained by the life that’s been mine to not pick up on the split-second wince and pupil dilation, but he forces that chiseled jaw of his to just as swiftly lose the tick and square the broad set of shoulders I know would carry me all their days. It’s one thing I respect of him most—when he says he won’t get caught up in the moment and say something he doesn’t mean—that, he means.

  We both know my own question was rhetorical, and once I see he refuses to counter-engage, I continue. “Jealousy is only macho and flattering if it comes from a good place, not if it’s really just a lack of trust. I’m not asking you to trust Rhett, but I’m demanding you trust me. You have mine, and giving the same is the only way you’ll keep it.” Letting that soak in, I rise and take a walk of my own, toward the bathroom, the only option of escape, then say over my shoulder, “See ya when you get back.”

  ***

  Just finished brushing my teeth, I turn off the water at the same time I hear the door shut.

  He’s back; gone fifteen minutes at most.

  Even still facing the door, he knows I’m behind him—the moment I turned the corner, he froze, spine straighter, muscles flexing visibly through his t-shirt—but he says nothing, waiting.

  Slow motion at its finest, he turns around, the ravenous, masculine hunger in his eyes blatant. “If you break a mirror, they say ‘seven years bad luck.’ A background check or tax audit both go back seven years. And did you know there’s a movie called Seven Year Itch? That doesn’t sound fun.”

  Um… “Okay?” I sputter, a bit lost.

  “It is okay,” he prowls toward me, “very okay.” His right hand slides up my arm, cupping the base of my neck as his left slinks around my waist and pulls me flush against him. “Seven years is universally the ‘do over’ point, gone, vanquished, never happened. And,” he kisses the end of my nose, “seven is a lucky number.”

  “I am so confused right now,” I breathe, tilting my face up in invitation of more nose kisses.

  He chuckles in understanding, smooching my nose once more. “I don’t like the whole thing because it’s him. When I look at him, which is inconveniently every damn day… Well, anyway,” he smiles, not hiding the lingering discontent, “it doesn’t count, so never mind.”

  Cannon’s analytical, logical, highly intelligent, and doesn’t believe in luck. This is obviously his quirky little way of accepting the fact that yes, the man across the table was my first…so whatever, I’ll go with it. Not to mention, that’s impressive research in fifteen minutes. God bless Google.

  “Doesn’t count,” I coo, going to my tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck and nip at his chin. “Now show me what does.”

  He holds strong, my honorable gentleman, waiting for me to make my exact intentions perfectly clear. And while my pulsating parts are screaming at me to jump him, my heart is telling me to savor each second, each flash of control slipping in his eyes, to show him that the journey to get me here was worth the wait.

  Refusing to break from his wanton stare, I will my hands to stop trembling and slowly untie the belt on my robe. Licking my suddenly parched lips, I pull open the sides, offering my still damp, overheated body up for display. With one roll of my shoulders, the robe falls to the floor behind me and I stand unabashedly bared.

  “Lizzie,” he growls, “tell me what you want, gorgeous girl. May be the only time I let it happen this way, but tonight, you call all the shots.”

  Sucking a deep, fortifying breath in for him, I blow it out for me and answer in a husky, aroused whisper, “I want to see you too.”

  His eyes flick from my face to my body, then back again, his labored exhale tickling, goosebumps rising on my skin. In an explicitly sexy move, he reaches back and pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. I love his chest, tan with a light splattering of dark hair, outlines of muscle and those dents at his hips that make angels weep. He reaches for my hand and places it at the waist of his jeans, rubbing his thumb on the underside of my wrist.

  “You want it, you take it out,” he rumbles, pulling his hand away to leave me totally in charge.

  My tongue pokes out, stiff in concentration as I work open the five buttons and pull the jeans down over his hips. He helps me get them off and steps out of them, leaving him before me in only black boxer briefs…the ones we bought together.

  A whimper defies my valiant efforts to not do so and I then divest him of the briefs too, again him helping me
until they’re kicked away. I feast, more accurately blatantly gawk, at the naked specimen of man, close enough I can reach out and touch him. He far surpasses my wildest of dreams, virile, large and foreboding in the most sensual of ways. And his dick? Magnificent. Long, thick, and hard, protruding up and out, all one color, with minimal hair surrounding it. His thighs are wide and solid, and before I can stop myself, I stroll around him in a lazy circle, gulping loudly at his high, tight ass. Oh yeah…he’s the epitome of what a guy should look like.

  Coming back around to stand in front of him, with nervous, anxious eyes, I tell him what’s in my heart, actual words, knowing body language will soon take over. “I want you, Cannon, because I love you. And I love you because I never want to feel any other way than the way I feel when I’m with you. If I’m scared or sad, no arms but yours will do. When I fall asleep, the thought of you, your quirks, laugh, kindness, and companionship ensure my sweet dreams. I want you inside me because that’s when I’ll truly be whole. I don’t want to be strong by myself anymore. I want to be stronger, because I have you.”

  Barely having collected my breath, I’m hoisted in the air, powerful hands gripping my thighs, directing my legs around his waist. His erection nestles perfectly against my slick center as he attacks my mouth and moves us toward the bed. Together, he lays us down and kisses along my neck, across my collarbone, then pulls back to gaze at me.

  “You have a way.” He chuckles, shaking his dipped head. “Good thing you write the words, my love, ‘cause I can’t explain it, what you do to me.” He rests his forehead between my breasts, kissing between every few words. “It’s like this pull, a force bigger than me. I couldn’t fight it if I tried.”