Cannon (A Step Brother Romance #3)

by Sabrina Paige

  "I think there's some in the bathroom," I say, numb. I don't care about nail polish. I can't think about anything except Hendrix.

  "Don't worry about Hendrix," she says, hopping up and disappearing into the bathroom. "Although, can you really see him being a Marine? That would be like me joining the military. They're going to shit their pants when they see him walk into boot camp with blue streaks in his hair." When she reappears, she has a bottle of blue polish. "Speaking of blue, at least you have something that's more useable than that pink crap. Do you think he'll come back all 'roided out and like, prison hot?"

  The thought of Hendrix getting "prison hot" makes me shiver, and I try not to think about what he might look like after being with the Marines. I've fantasized about Hendrix too many times to count already. Far too many times to be good for me. I need to put Hendrix out of my head.

  PRESENT DAY

  "Just a second," I call. The door opens before I can say anything else, and I reach frantically for the towel I tossed carelessly on my bed, getting tangled up in the pile of wet clothes on the floor at my feet. Looking up, I see Hendrix shutting the door behind him. I hiss at him through clenched teeth to get the hell out of my bedroom before someone catches him, but he just stands there, grinning at me. "Turn around."

  "What?" he whispers. "Your taste is still on my tongue, but you don't want me to see you naked?"

  "Don't say that." I scramble to get the towel wrapped around my body, mindful of the fact that Hendrix isn't doing what I tell him to do. Not only is he not listening to me, he's standing there shirtless, his chest still damp from the rain. Shirtless and sexy.

  "Don't say what?" he asks, his voice low. He crosses the space between us so quickly that I inhale sharply. "Naked? Or that your taste is still on my tongue? Would you rather I say that I was licking your pussy?"

  "Hendrix," I whisper. "You can't talk to me like that. Not here, in this house."

  "Or what?" He steps close to me and puts his mouth close to my ear, taking one finger and trailing it up my arm and over my shoulder, then across my collarbone. He slowly, lazily runs it up the side of my neck, and I'm left so on edge, so wanting, that I could cry again. "What are you afraid of, Addy?"

  "You," I whisper. It's the only word I can choke out, the only thing that escapes my lips. I don't say all of the other things going through my head, the things I want to say.

  I'm afraid that everything I've worked for will be destroyed.

  I'm afraid of falling for you all over again.

  I'm afraid you'll rip my heart to shreds, the way you did when you left.

  I'm afraid you'll break me.

  The look Hendrix gives me is practically feral. He makes a sound, deep in his throat, his hand on the back of my neck, and I think if he kisses me again, he'll destroy us both. But he just looks at me. "You're right," he says.

  "What?" All I can feel is the warmth from his hand on my neck, the heat that radiates from his palm down my body, pooling between my legs. I'm a raw nerve, a ball of need and desire, and as much as I want him to go, more of me wants him to stay. More of me wants him to pick me up and fuck me against the bedroom wall, right now.

  He groans, as if he can read the dirty thoughts that are running through my head, and pushes me against the wall. "Drop the towel," he says, his voice gruff and gravely.

  "What are you doing?" I choke out the words, my palm up to push him away, but instead I end up sliding my hand over his chest and down his rippled abdomen. I can see his hardness pressed against his jeans, and all I can think about is having him inside me.

  "I'm doing what I told you I was going to do before," he says.

  "Hendrix, right here is not the place. Our parents -- "

  "Are we both going to pretend you're not aching for me?" he asks. "That you're not soaking wet with the thought of having me inside you?" He reaches underneath the towel, between my legs, and touches me gently with the tip of his fingers, and his touch makes me practically melt.

  "I don't know if this is a good idea, Hendrix," I say, protesting, but weakly. My resolve isn't even weak. It's practically non-existent.

  He wraps his hands around my wrists and pins them to the wall above my head, then holds them there with one hand as he traces his finger gently over my lips. "This is not a good fucking idea, Addy," he whispers, his finger moving slowly down the front of my chest to my cleavage. "This is the worst fucking idea in the world."

  "This is the worst idea ever," I say. "We should be reasonable."

  "I've never been a reasonable man," he says, stepping back from me and surveying me. "Take off the towel."

  I draw in a sharp breath, but I do exactly that. I slip my finger under the edge of the towel, and it drops softly to the floor. I'm left standing there completely naked, with Hendrix's eyes on me. He surveys me for a moment, then steps forward, inches away from me, his mouth so close to mine as he teases me, his warm breath on my skin.

  He puts his palm on my stomach, exhaling heavily as he slides it up between my breasts, his eyes never leaving mine as he covers my breast with his palm, his thumb immediately on my nipple. When I moan, he whispers. "Careful, don't let the Wicked Bitch hear you. I have a feeling she wouldn't like this."

  The thought of our parents finding out makes my heart nearly stop. "Shit, Hendrix," I whisper.

  Hendrix smiles and drops my hands. "You can walk away at any time, sweet cheeks," he says.

  "No, that's not what I meant. I -- "

  He raises an eyebrow and sinks to the floor between my legs. "Open your legs for me, Addy."

  "Again?"

  But the way he says it, looking up at me like he is, makes me think I'd be stupid to do anything except that. He touches the tip of his tongue to my clit, and it sends a jolt of arousal ricocheting through my body, down to the tips of my fingers. I run my hands over his closely-cropped hair. "Oh my God, Hendrix."

  I can hear him inhale deeply, and the fact that he's between my legs, smelling me, while our parents are downstairs, is so ridiculously...inappropriate...that it makes me blush. "I'm going to take my time now that we're out of the rain, Addy. I've dreamt about putting my face between your legs," he says softly. "I've fantasized about my tongue on your clit, licking you, feeling you come on my face. Do you know how many times I've thought about it?"

  I can tell that my face must be scarlet, from the heat that rises to my cheeks. "Hendrix."

  "You're blushing," he whispers. He takes my clit in his mouth, gently at first, and then sucking so hard I have to grip his head, unable to stifle my cry. Then he pulls his head away and looks up at me. "You're going to have to be quiet, Addy, or I'm going to give you something to put in your mouth."

  No one has ever talked to me the way Hendrix is talking to me now. "Careful," I whisper. "I'm not sure that would keep me quiet."

  Hendrix makes a sound, primal in its intensity, and grips my ass cheeks tightly, pulling me down on his mouth with a ferocity that takes my breath away. His tongue is everywhere, licking me, probing me, and I feel my knees nearly buckle underneath me. When he pulls his face away, I'm clutching his head to stay upright. "You taste better than I could have imagined," he says.

  "You imagined what I tasted like?" The thought intensifies the throbbing between my legs.

  Hendrix doesn't take his eyes off my face as he slips his fingers inside me, and I moan softly. "I've jerked off to the thought of it a thousand times," he whispers. "I've come thinking about my tongue inside you."

  "Oh God." What he's doing with his fingers, his magic fingers, is almost too much. His touch is nearly unbearable.

  "Tell me you've come thinking about me fucking you, Addy," he says, his fingers stroking me, more insistently now, pressing against the oh-so-sensitive place inside me.

  "I thought about you, Hendrix," I gasp, barely getting the words out. "Even before you left."

  "Tell me," he says. "Tell me what you used to do thinking about me." His fingers continue to work their magic, but he cove
rs my clit with his mouth, rolling his tongue around it, sucking as he strokes me.

  "I...oh God..." I cling to his head, pressing him against me, trying to force my voice to remain no louder than a whisper, mindful of the fact that our parents are in the house, that if they discovered us, everything would be over. It would all be ruined. The fucked up thing is that I think the threat of discovery actually makes it more intense. "When we swam at night, I...oh shit...I'd come back here and touch myself thinking about you."

  Hendrix moans against my clit, and the vibration nearly sends me over the edge, just like it did outside in the rain. "Tell me, Addy."

  "I laid on the bed in this room, thinking about taking your cock in my mouth," I whisper. My breath is ragged, my words choppy and punctuated with my gasps. Hendrix's fingers keep stroking me, and I'm so close. He moans again, and the fact that Hendrix is so turned on pushes me over the edge. "I came thinking about you inside me, riding me. I came thinking about you coming inside me."

  "Fuck." I can hear him moan the word, his mouth filled with me, and I come hard, biting down on my lip so I don't scream, my hands clutching his head so tightly to me that I think he might not be able to breathe.

  I'm still coming, my muscles clenched tightly around his fingers, but he doesn't let me rest. When he slides his fingers from me, I practically cry out at the feeling of emptiness. But he turns me, guides me to sit on the ottoman beside my armchair. "Sit down," he growls.

  I mutely obey, focused more on the throbbing ache between my legs than anything else, until he strips off his clothes and stands in front of me naked, his huge cock inches from my face. "Holy shit," I breathe. The words escape my lips before I can even think.

  Hendrix raises his eyebrows. "Does it meet with your expectations?"

  "I'm not sure I can..." But I can't take my eyes off him, and I reach out, guiding him to my lips. I touch my tongue to the single drop of pre-cum that glistens on the tip, tasting its saltiness.

  Hendrix groans, gripping a handful of hair at the top of my head. "Wrap those sweet lips around my cock, Addy," he says. It's not a request; it's a command. And I comply, taking him in my mouth. I run my tongue down his length, as he murmurs his approval. "Shit, Addy, your mouth feels better than I could have imagined."

  Hearing him speak that spurs me on, and I moan as I suck him, cupping his heavy balls in one hand while I stroke the base of his cock with the other. Having him in my mouth, the way I've fantasized for years, makes me drunk with lust.

  When Hendrix pulls at my hair and tells me how he's jerked off to the thought of me sucking his cock, I swallow him deeper, spurred on by his words, until I think he's going to explode. He fucks my mouth, thrusts himself deeper past my lips, his grip on my hair tight until he's close.

  Then he pulls out of my mouth without warning. "Fuck, Addy," he says softly, his voice breaking, as he comes all over my breasts, one hand still gripping my hair. When he stops, he looks at me, his expression sheepish. "Shit. I don't know what came over me."

  "Well, I know what came all over me," I say, laughing.

  FOUR YEARS, ELEVEN MONTHS AGO

  "What the fuck is this?" Lawson grabs the photo from the underside of my rack and holds it away from his face. "Is this your girlfriend?"

  I snatch it out of his hand and shove him out of my way. "Don't touch shit that doesn’t belong to you, Lawson."

  "Fuck you too, man," he says, whistling. "You on the rag or what? You're more sensitive than a chick."

  "It's not his fucking girlfriend, you idiot," Andrews says. "It's Addison Stone."

  "Am I supposed to know who the hell that is?" Lawson asks.

  "She's a musician," Andrews says. "Haven't you ever seen that show, American Singer?"

  "No," Lawson says. "I was too busy fucking your mother to watch it."

  "Get out of here, you stupid assholes." I shove the photo back. "And shut up. I don't want to hear your voices."

  "You're a stalker, aren't you, Cole?" Andrews says, calling me by my last name. "I can tell."

  "What if I told you I was related to her?"

  Lawson laughs, the sound echoing through the room. "I'd say you're a fucking creep, then, keeping her photo in your rack so you can whack off to her at night."

  I shove him, hard, in the chest. "Don't say something like that again," I growl, and I'm close to hitting him, but I pull back, forcing myself to remain in control. I feign indifference, shrugging. "Like I'd whack off in a room full of you assholes, anyway."

  Lawson just laughs. "You're a crazy motherfucker, Cole," he says, slapping Andrews on the arm and shaking his head. "Like you know anyone famous."

  PRESENT DAY

  I don't fuck Addy right away. I take her to the shower, where I spend an hour with her, talking in the cocoon of the steamy room, my hands roaming every inch of her body, my mouth on her mouth, her tits, between her legs. She strokes me again with her hand, her voice a sultry purr as she makes me come by telling me what she wants. When we're finally done, her face is flushed from the heat of the water and orgasm, and I pick her up and carry her back to her room without bothering to get a towel.

  "Hendrix, I'm soaking wet," she protests. "And so are you."

  "Yeah, you are." I raise my eyebrows and give her my best leer, and she slaps me on the arm, so I toss her onto the bed.

  "We're going to ruin this bedding," she whispers, her palm moving across the surface of what is undoubtedly some ridiculously overpriced bedding made from imported silk.

  "They'll have to burn it when we're finished," I agree.

  "What if they realize?"

  A feeling of guilt washes over me at the thought of our parents finding out. At the thought of the public finding out. She has a morality clause in her contract, I remind myself. It could devastate her. You're being selfish. I turn away from her for a minute, swallowing hard. I could walk away. At this point, it hasn't gone too far.

  "Hendrix," Addy says softly, and I turn back to see her on the bed, her legs spread, looking at me seductively. She's biting the corner of her lip, her expression provocative, and her finger makes circles over her clit. "I don't want to think about anything anymore."

  "Addy, you don't know what you're…"

  "I want you to fuck me," she says. "I don't want to think about anything else. Just fuck me."

  Screw feeling guilty. I take a condom from my wallet and roll it onto my length, looking at Addy's face as she watches me. I'm rock hard because this girl makes me crazy. She's the fulfillment of every fantasy I've had since I was seventeen.

  I try to be gentle with her. I try to take my time, licking and sucking her breasts and nipples until she's arching up on the bed, her breath coming in short pants. But she pulls at me, tells me she wants me now. Begs me.

  Her pussy is slick when I put my fingers between her legs, yet I still hesitate, feeling the need to be careful with her, until she grips the base of my cock.

  "Please, Hendrix," she whispers, guiding me toward her entrance, and I rock into her slowly.

  When I press the tip of my cock inside her, it's all over. She's so fucking tight, so warm, so wet, that I can't think anymore. Shit, I can hardly breathe. She grips my ass cheeks, pulling me inside her and letting out a soft moan as I fill her up.

  Moving gently, I watch the expression on her face change until it's no longer anything except pleasure. Until she claws at my back and begs me. "Harder," she whispers. "Fuck me, Hendrix."

  "Always trying to take control," I say, as I pin her hands above her head, using them for leverage to fuck her harder, with short thrusts as I feel myself getting closer and closer, bringing her to the edge. I fuck her wordlessly, listening to her gasps in the still silence of the room until I'm sure she's close, her pussy swollen around me.

  "Fuck me, Hendrix," she whispers, bucking harder against me with everything she has, wrapping her legs around me.

  I try to mute my groan, but hearing her beg me is too much. I whisper to her, hoping my words aren't audi
ble outside the bedroom doors. "I love fucking you," I say. "I love the way your pussy feels, the way you grip my cock when you're so close to coming. Because I know you're close, Addy. I've thought about how you would feel coming on me for seven fucking years."

  And she comes.

  She comes, and it's everything I fucking thought it would be. Her orgasm triggers mine, her muscles milking me of every last drop, and I mute her scream with my mouth, swallowing her moans.

  Afterwards, neither of us speak. There's nothing left to say.

  And for the first time in years, I sleep.

  FOUR YEARS, ELEVEN MONTHS AGO

  "Addison! Over here! Will you sign my t-shirt? Oh my God, it's really her!" I catch snippets of the words from the crowd who line the back exit of the stadium. I wave and smile, surrounded by bodyguards but conscious of all the photos that are being taken. I'm wearing giant sunglasses that cover my red-rimmed eyes and the dark circles from last night. I wish I could say I was partying, but I wasn't. I was getting shit-housed and blaming myself for not saying what I should have said to Hendrix before he left.

  And now I might never see him again. The thought pops into my head, and it stops me in my tracks.

  "Ms. Stone," one of the bodyguards says, taking my arm. "Are you okay?"

  "Yes," I nod. "I'm just tired from the show."

  "Addison Stone, are you seeing anyone?" Someone yells, a reporter most likely, and I turn in the direction of the voice. The crowd cheers in response, and then I catch a glimpse of him.

  Hendrix, standing there in the middle of the crowd, giving me that same cocky grin he always has.

  When I blink, it's not him. It's just someone who vaguely resembles Hendrix.

  "Ms. Stone, are you okay?" the bodyguard asks. "We really should be getting you into the car."

  "Yes. Yes, I'm fine," I say numbly. "Of course. The car."

  "Did you want to stop to sign something for someone?" he asks.