Cannon(42)

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 audible 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.

"No." I shake my head. "There's nothing here I want to see."





PRESENT DAY



I wake to sunlight streaming through the windows in the bedroom, and I close my eyes, drawing the covers up over my chest and nuzzling deeper inside their warmth. Then I realize that the reason I'm warm isn't the covers. It's Hendrix, his arms wrapped around my waist and his face nuzzled into the back of my neck.

Fear grips my chest as I lie there beside him, not moving. Shit. I slept with Hendrix.

My bodyguard.

My stepbrother.

Under my parents' roof.

The morality clause in my contract.

The thoughts come rushing into my head, shotgun-style, one right after the other, and with each thought, I have an increasing sense of panic. My heart thumps wildly in my chest, so loudly I can hear it in my ears.

Shit. What did I do?

What I just did with Hendrix flashes in my head too. Except those are images, like watching a movie reel.

Hendrix with his face buried between my legs.

Hendrix's cock in my mouth.

Hendrix thrusting inside me as he pins my hands above my head.

Heat runs through my body at the thought of what happened between us, and it makes me feel claustrophobic. Hendrix murmurs something in his sleep, and when he pulls me tighter against him, I break away from his arm and practically run for the bathroom. Splashing water on my face, I'm in full-on panic mode. I have to get Hendrix out of here before our parents catch us.

I stand at the sink, breathing deeply in and out and counting by sevens. Lucky number seven, I remind myself. I count until I reach seven hundred seventy seven, before I've calmed down enough to go back.

Hendrix is awake and he's sitting on the edge of the bed, with his jeans already on. "You jumped out of bed like a bat out of hell," he says softly. He looks at me accusingly, and I think I see disappointment in his eyes.

"I had to pee," I lie. I don’t know what to say. I didn't think through the morning-after scenario. There's not supposed to be an awkward morning-after situation, not with Hendrix. He's not supposed to be like some random hookup, the next day walk-of-shame-and-forget-it-ever-happened thing, but that's the way he looks at me right now. I think he's looking at me with regret in his eyes and I clench my jaw, trying to quell my disappointment. "You should get out of here before our parents or someone else catches you."