Pretty Instinct

by S. E. Hall

  “Yay!!” She claps and bounces up and down. “I knew it! White hot chemistry. I could see it from out there. She’s beautiful but doesn’t know it, though, huh?”

  “Sommer, zip it. We’re here.” I frantically search the tombs, then out back, for them. Nowhere, nothing. The bus is no longer out back. They’re gone, leaving me here, marooned. Why the hell are people always doing that shit to me? I whip out my phone and call Lizzie—straight to voicemail, so I bang out a text, angry fingers on fire.

  Hot Hacker: Where r u & why’d you just leave me? Not very fucking cool.

  Usually I get an immediate response, but after staring at my phone like a hopeless loser for endless minutes, I decide to curb it for now. Gonna teach her a lesson first chance I get.

  With a guilty, exhausted sigh, I guide Sommer back to our parents…and yes, she’s still there too.

  “Ready to go?” Ruthie smiles (if snakes smile), sidling up to me and looping her arm through mine, definitely feeling my flinch. When I try to pull away, she just keeps that fake ass face unaltered and subtly digs her cat claws into the inside of my arm in warning.

  “Ready,” I mumble.

  “Fabulous. How about the sushi bar I saw about three doors down?” she suggests.

  All the Blackwells just agree for the sake of peace and shuffle in behind our fearful leader.

  ***

  Well, tonight’s show went swimmingly, but not the good version, nothing like a relaxing lounge in crisp, blue water on a hot summer day. No, I think it was more like paddling for your life in shark-infested tidal waves! Yeah, that kind of swimmingly.

  Of course, I should have figured on Ruthie showing up; she lives close, knows Sark, and, you know, stalks my Facebook I never touch, so why I was surprised, I know not.

  Why not shut down my Facebook, you ask? That’d be because I didn’t make it and don’t know the password.

  Sommerlyn and my mom gave her what for tonight, the likes of their rancorous venom I’ve never seen. My father remained silent, as did I. When three women bear their claws, you step the fuck back and cover your balls.

  I’m not a ruthless man…but Ruthie had it coming. Surely she didn’t think my family would appreciate her leaving me abandoned in the middle of nowhere without a phone to call for help? And yes, my sister spread the gospel to my mother…the other part of Ruthie’s treason. And trying to deprive that woman of grandchildren? Not wise, rabbit, not wise.

  But no, ever the exalted, faultless princess her father’s convinced her she is, Miss Ruthie showed up thinking I’d kept her dirty little secrets and would play nice in front of my family.

  That’s what you get for thinking.

  Bright side? Something tells me she won’t be back for tomorrow night’s show.

  But none of that matters. The only thing that does is the fact that I’ve just arrived back to an empty bus…a bus which I finally found, moved from behind the bar to the RV Park up the road by whom and for why, I don’t know. I was just grateful I finally found the hard to miss monstrosity. Until I found it empty. It’s after one and no one’s here, no note…

  Where. The. Fuck. Is. My. Siren?

  I call her again, perhaps the tenth time since the Ruthie sighting, and like all the other times, it goes straight to voicemail. I then try Rhett, which should speak volumes of my desperation, but he says he left right after the show, assuming she’d be with me. And Jarrett? Well, he’s so drunk all I could make out was a slurred “not with me.”

  Searching the bus again, I stoop to look under the table, beneath Conner’s bed, even pulling back the shower curtain…could she fit in one of the kitchen cabinets? She is pretty tiny. Nope, she’s not here. At. One. In. The. Morning! That’s when the big hand’s on the twelve and the little hand’s on the one, for those of us who still know how a clock works (technology often sending us backwards in full brain development). Moral of the story—it’s waaaay too late not to know where my woman is.

  She probably got a hotel room, so I pull up a list of the choices on my phone—five—and call a cab. Oh sweet, sweet Siren…Cannon’s coming for ya, and he’s not bringing kisses and candy.

  No, your man is mad as hell!

  I run to the cab as soon as it pulls up, and spout off the directions before I’ve even closed my door.

  I’m pissed, I’m scared, I’m—fuck! I feel helpless. What if she’s hurt? And like an answered prayer, my phone rings. Why the fuck is Sark calling me?

  “Hey, man, what’s up?” I try to shroud the sheer panic in my voice.

  “You tell me.” He chuckles. “I gotta close soon and get home to Cyndi, but your little pixie is forehead down on my bar.”

  “Lizzie?” I breathe out.

  “Yep, not exactly drunk, more like a whipped dog who gave up and found a place to fall.”

  “Sark, I need a huge favor, man.”

  “Name it. You helped me out five figures tonight.”

  “Meet me at the back door with your keys. I’ll lock it up, I swear.” I hear, but can’t even attempt to squash, the desperation in my voice.

  “You got it. Text me when you’re here. And lock it, fucker! I mean it!”

  ***

  After the handoff, Sark heads to his car and I lock us in, then slink quietly through the kitchen. Through the circle window in the door, I see her, chin resting on her folded arms, staring off into space, a full bottle of beer in front of her, not a single sip gone, from the looks of it. Hell, from the far-off, vapid aura she’s casting, I doubt she evens knows it’s there.

  I spot a staircase to my left and follow it up to VIP and down the other side, stopping only to program a track to play later, ‘til I’m approaching her from behind. Oh, she’s not a bit drunk; when I’m still five feet away, her head pops up and her spine goes stiff. Her breathing picks up in speed and velocity, shirt actually rippling with it. She’s acutely alert, and aware that I’m in the room.

  Before she can turn her head, I advance, trapping her in with my hands braced atop the bar on either side of her and my chest pressing into her back with authority. “No nibble for you, my love. What I need is an explanation,” I growl, restraining as much anger as I can.

  “Lemme guess, after family dinner, you all loaded into the Griswold family truckster to go home, you fucked Ruthie against the back bumper, then helped her in and with her seatbelt,” she sneers, spewing jealous, ridiculous malice. “Please, enlighten me on the plans for Thanksgiving.”

  I lean as close to her ear as possible and hiss, “You open that smart mouth again, and I’ll damn sure keep it better occupied…with my dick shoved in it.”

  “What?” she gasps, but not before she shivers. “Fuck you, Cannon.” She tries to turn her head, but I use my chin to nudge it back in place.

  “Don’t turn that head. You shut up and listen, very carefully.” I’m not exactly trying to scare her, but damn, am I boiling on the inside. My voice is adamant and sinister, the restrained fury evident. “I’ve never been so worried or scared in my life. Something could’ve happened to you. Putting yourself in danger just to punish me is immature and selfish!” I slam a hand on the bar. “Now tell me, what’d you think you were doing?”

  “Not playing house with my ex!” she screams, voice quivering, fighting off tears like the tough little nut she is. “I can sit at a bar if I want! I wasn’t hurting anyone,” her bravado loses some oomph, insecure sadness peeking through, “just hurting.”

  “What’d I ask you to do? Have a little faith in me? Was that just too damn much?”

  “What? I’m not in the mood for mind games, Cannon, say what you gotta say,” she snips unconvincingly, because for the first time ever, I hear hopelessness in her voice.

  “I didn’t know Ruthie was coming; neither did my family. She crashed their table, which was a bad move. My sister and mother tongue-lashed her up one side and down the other. I tried to find you to explain before I left with them, to take the scene elsewhere, but you’d already tucked tail and ru
n.”

  “I was helping load the bus,” she pathetically makes the excuse.

  “Cause you didn’t think three grown men could handle it without you? Or was it the totally unreasonable assumption that I wouldn’t want to introduce you to my family?” I pull her up under her arms, leaving her facing away from me. She comes pliantly at least.

  “With Ruthie there?” she scoffs.

  “Especially with Ruthie there. Sooner she knows my end-all finally found me, the better.” I take her hands and pull them up, laying them flat on the bar, then gently kick her ankles apart, prepping her stance to bear the brunt of what’s clawing its way out of me.

  “Jealousy is only flattering if it comes from someplace good,” I mock her one time words to me, “not from lack of trust.”

  Finally, the music I’d set starts to play around us, my man, Anthony Hamilton, “Do You Feel Me.” Ideal lyrics, asking her all I need to know for sure.

  I slide my hands up her legs, and, reaching her hips, I make quick work offing her skirt. That delectable ass, curved and firm, almost tempts me to go feral on her instantly, but I maintain. “When you need me most, you’ll find me right by your side, not slinking off in doubt, leaving you to bear hurts or fight battles without me.” I leisurely side her thong down her legs, stomping a foot down in the center to remove it completely.

  “When I feel threatened, I’ll fight that much harder for you.” I shred her t-shirt, pulling it apart, right down the middle, with one rip.

  “When a man tries to snake his way in, I’ll dip you in front of him and show him exactly how your man makes you wet with one kiss.” Thumb and forefinger pinch in, bra’s loose, and I push it down her arms. “Any questions?”

  She shakes her head, but not as fast as her legs are shaking beneath her. The musk of her arousal glistens just inside her thighs and the sweet scent fills my senses.

  “Turn around.”

  Timidly, bottom lip clenched in her teeth, she spins to face me, but her eyes stay down.

  “Look at me,” I grind out starkly, guising my want, her perky breasts and taut nipples calling to me. “Why’d you run and leave me to fend for myself? I thought we were a team. I thought you loved me?”

  “I do.” She flinches, then adjusts her defensive shriek to a more docile tone. “I do love you, Cannon. But I saw her with your family, smiling, so sure she’d won. I was scared. I thought maybe your parents wanted to help settle things between you. She’s very glamorous; long, shiny hair, perfect make-up, and were those pearls she had on?” She laughs softly, shaking her head for herself only, stirring up doubts in her mind. “I’m a mess. No way would a mother want her son with me over Pollyanna.” Ashamed, unguarded and self-doubting, she wraps her arms around her waist and drops her chin to her chest. “Why am I naked?”

  “Because,” I flip open one button of my fly, “the only time you’re truly with me,” second button, “is when I’m inside you. So I’m going to fuck you ‘til you’re back to certain,” number three, “and remind you,” four, “we. Are. We.”

  All five buttons now agape, I push my jeans below my hips and pull my cock out. “Not you, me, sometimes us, not quite sure—WE. If someone gets in our way,” now I step flush against her and pick her up, hands gripped on her sweet ass, “you stay right beside me until we’ve defeated them, together. Understand?”

  “Yeah,” she whispers, a lost light slowly beginning to re-emerge in her brown jewels.

  “Now, I realize you went crazy tonight, but you think you can manage to guide my dick home?” I wink at her.

  She nods anxiously, reaching between us and wrapping her precious little hand around my throbbing cock.

  Guiding it to her center, with just the tip in, I manage to speak. “Lean both hands back on the bar and hold the fuck on, Siren.”

  Then, in one purposeful thrust of my hips, I seat myself fully in her snug, warm heaven. “Whose dick’s in you?”

  “Yours,” she groans, head tilted back.

  “Name,” I bark, pulling almost all the way out.

  “Cannon’s.”

  “Goddamn right.” I plunge back in with a savage moan. “Whose pussy is this?”

  “Cannon’s, yours,” she whimpers now, grinding against me.

  “Do I love you?”

  “Y-yes,” her pants choke her up.

  “Do you,” I gyrate my pelvis in a lazy circle, looking for my target, “love me?”

  “Yessss,” she wails—found it.

  I sink in and out, seeking the same destination with a swirling rub every time ‘til I feel her pussy start to clamp and quiver around me, sparking the warning fire in my balls. “Never doubt me or us again. You hear me?”

  “Yes, God, yes, I hear you. I promise.” She lifts her head and locks molten eyes on me. “Now make me come.”

  “Always.” I pucker my lips, which she leans into, kissing me with the fervor and passion of a siren about to explode. “Fingers, baby, play with my pussy for me.”

  I feel her maneuver a hand between us, so I tilt her only just, driving into the deepest part of her. Sweat beads on my forehead and my knees quake; I close my eyes, relishing in every single pulse of her tight sex around me.

  “Fuck me, Lizzie, love you, inside you, nothing close,” I babble incoherently, the relentlessly flexing and contracting of her tight heat around me telling me she can’t hold out much longer. “Now, baby, come with me.”

  “Ammmm!” she cries, tightening her legs around my waist painfully, pulling the shit out of my hair as she tries to swallow my tongue.

  I unload shot after shot into her luscious, tiny body, marking her as all mine.

  We’re frozen, a sweaty mess of tangled limbs and heavy breathes. I drop my forehead between her boobs and gather myself, the scent of sated, well-fucked, all-mine Lizzie damn near enough to set me off on her again. “Love you,” I murmur, kissing her slickened breastbone.

  She pets my hair methodically and giggles softly. “Love you more. But you gotta move, I’m pretty sure my back is broken. Andddd,” she giggles, a breathy, magical sound, “don’t be surprised if you get a call from Sark. Pretty sure that’s a camera in the corner there.”

  Chapter 27

  No Ruthie in the crowd tonight, which is almost too bad—I could go for another “we’re a team” fuckin!

  His parents and sister are back, third table to my left, and no matter how hard I try to keep my gaze elsewhere, I’ll be damned if I haven’t looked at them 100 times squared. What they must think…not only is her past um, colorful, she’s a staring freak and in a band with two guys. Okay, three guys. One of whom is their son. And she’s most likely fucking him. Or maybe all of them.

  Yeah, I’m every mother-in-law’s dream.

  Almost during the closing bars of “Cloaked,” our original, Cannon’s on his mic. “How’s everybody doing tonight?” he rasps, laughing while he waits for the pandemonium to die down. “Yeah, me too. Sark, the owner of this shack, is an old buddy of mine and it’s an honor to grace his stage. Sark, where ya at, brother?” He shields his eyes from the stage lights, searching. “There he is, the handsome gent behind the bar. He happened to tell me,” he cups his mouth, as though telling a secret, “two dollar select shots ‘til the next song ends!”

  I hoot brashly when Sark flips him off, then turns, face white as a ghost, to the sudden swarm at the bar. Cannon was mindful enough in his jeer to specify “select” shots, so hopefully no one expects a two dollar shot of expensive stuff, not that I have any idea what would qualify.

  “I’m also pretty damn happy that my parents, you can call them Moms and Dad, and my beautiful little sister, you can call her never, are in the crowd again tonight! Wave hi, familia!” he embarrasses them…or nah, since Sommerlyn stands up and curtsies, blowing random kisses to the crowd. “And last, but as far from least as possible, which would be foremost,” he jests with the crowd, “is the fact that I share this stage and every single day, with my gorgeous, talented as she is
kind, girlfriend, Lizzie.” He turns to face me, the love and respect glimmering in his eyes stealing the breath from me. “Now, my Siren loves her Beatles, and I Iove her, so hear me out.”

  Ah, clever segue, my sweet Cannon, for my toes are already curled, rewards being mapped out in my head before the first word of “If I Fell in Love” slides sexily from between his luscious lips. Not to be contained, I join in for help me understand and if I gave my heart, then again at would love to love you.

  Rhett joins in with a soft, mellow beat and I glance back skeptically, afraid of what I’ll find. Needless—all I get is an air kiss and a quick thumbs up from an endearing friend, happy for the other.

  I’m a blubbering mess when he finishes, so Jarrett, like a champ, closes the show and I scurry off stage. The heat is right there behind me, filling the air with a heady weight of protection and adoration. I’d know he was in the room if I was in a coma. My nipples perk, my knees shake, and my breathing accelerates…my body attuned…like it’s other half is near.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, back still to him, mostly to hide my hasty wiping of my sniffling nose.

  “Always my pleasure, love.” He glides up closer, wrapping his monstrous arms around my waist. “Need my nibble.” He doesn’t move my hair this time, rather just maneuvers his face under it and nips at my neck, licking the spot after. “Let’s go introduce you to the Blackwell clan.”

  “Huh?” I squeak, tensing.

  “You heard me. I figure you wanna walk to them, but I’m okay with throwing you over my shoulder. Your call, baby.”

  I can hear his smirk. Throw me over your shoulder, my ass.

  “Walk,” I acquiesce grumpily. “Do they know?” I twirl around, nervous moisture pooling in my mouth, tongue threatening to swell beyond capable speech.

  “Know what? That I love you? Yes. That you’re amazing and selfless? Yes. That you sometimes poot in your sleep? No.” He grins a devilish, ornery goad.

  “I. Do. Not. Poot. And even if I did, how hateful of you to mention it! You hump your mattress in your dreams.” I cross my arms and prepare for battle.