Fuck. I’m sorry.
“Cannon, no one ever came. No one let me out.” She lifts her head to swipe a few fingers under her eyes. “I-I feel like I’m still inside that hellhole. I woke up sweating with tears streaming from the corners of my eyes into my hair.” Her chest expands as she draws in a deep breath. “It wasawful.”
Because I haven’t a clue what else to do, I wrap an arm around her and gather her as tightly to my side as I can. With my free hand, I type as quickly as I can with one thumb.
How can I help?
She glances at my phone. “I’m scared to close my eyes and wake up like that again. I just thought… maybe if I was near you, I’d be okay.” She lets out an anxious sigh and places her hand cautiously on my leg as she leans into me.
I let that sink in. And I know I shouldn’t fucking ask. But I have to know.
Why not Kingston? Or Archer?
I show her my question and blow out a hard breath. I have to know what she sees in me—because I don’t feel worthy of her. I want her, sure. But she deserves more, someone who doesn’t have the complications I’d bring into her life. I don’t know that I would ever be able to give her what she needs.
But I sure as fuck want to try. Because Elliot? There’s no other path I see. I’m already bound to her, though I’m unsure if she has any idea.
And that’s why I need to hear it from her. I want her so fucking bad. But as much as that possessive beast inside me says fuck it, show her she’s yours, I want her to be just as into me as I am her.
“You really don’t know?” She blinks, her long lashes fanning down as she does. “You make me feel safe.” She turns to face me, taking a moment to study my features. “I think you’d burn down the world to protect me.”
I nod, a hint of a smile on my lips, then I hold a finger up, suddenly needing to express myself to her. Opening the Spotify app, I pull up the perfect song in the middle of the playlist I’ve made since returning to Kingston U. Every single one has something to do with her. It’s now or never. I want to share some of this with her.
I turn around and crawl onto the center of the mattress and gesture for her to join me. She looks at me with big eyes but climbs on hands and knees to me, lies down at my side, and rests her cheek on my chest. I hit play.
We lie there quietly for several moments, listening to the Goo Goo Dolls. “Iris” is an older song, but it always hits me right in the feels. Most people don’t understand me. And that song says so many of the things that I wish I could express.
When the instrumental portion of the song begins, she shifts upward so she can see my face and places her hand on my bare chest, over my heart. Several moments go by where all she does is nibble on her lip. But then her eyes lock with mine. “I know who you are.”
I can’t quite figure out why she looks so torn up for having said it, but it’s all I need to hear. She gives a startled gasp as I roll with her, putting her flat on her back underneath me, my hips fitted at the juncture of her thighs.
“Cannon.” My name on her lips. It’s everything.
Fuck nightmares. Fuck sleep.
I take both of her wrists in one hand and hold them over her head, and her lips part in surprise. I’m like an animal, carnal need pouring through my system. I want to take. Possess. Claim. Make her mine.
But I also want to feel her body tremble for me like she does for no one else.
Slowly licking into her mouth, I groan as her entire body strains upward in response to my kiss. I move with her, all her softness and heat and willingness to be here, in this moment with me, shooting straight to my brain like the most potent drug.
I’ve wanted to be close to her again so badly since that sexy-as-hell escapade with the guys earlier this week. I hadn’t gotten nearly enough of her; it’d only been enough to whet my appetite. Then several days passed where we hadn’t connected—I’d go to class or the gym, and by the time I got home, she was sleeping. And that was okay. Rest is as important for concussion recovery as the food she eats.
But now, here she is. In my bed. And I won’t waste a single moment of it.
She gives a frustrated whimper, her wrists tugging against my hands as if she wants them free, but I don’t let go. I like the way her breasts press against my chest when I have her wrists pinned above her head.
I want to touch her and taste her. Everywhere.Fuck.But more than anything I want my dick inside her, need that connection, need to claim every bit of her. I nuzzle the side of her neck, grunting a bit as I thrust slowly, but determinedly between her legs. My cock is so fucking hard, it leaks pre-cum, and the front of my boxer briefs dampen with it.
I want to peel the sleep shorts and underwear from her and plunge my cock so deep inside her body that we are one… but I force myself to wait, instead letting my lips coast along her soft, fragrant skin.Jesus.She’s like no one else.
“Please. I want to touch you.” Her request falls desperately from her lips, her eyes pleading with mine in the dark of the room while the music finishes and rolls into another song I’d chosen just for her, this one new enough that she may never have heard it before. But I’ve been listening to it every single damn night. “Night Drive” by Henry. It’s soft and sexy and all about the angst of wanting someone so bad you’d die for them. For tonight, I want her to be only mine. No brothers. No sharing. Just the two of us.
Fire burns through my veins, a raging, violent thing of her making. I’m at her command. She does this to me. Only her.
I release her wrists before pulling the neckline of her tank top down to free both breasts. Elliot’s hands end up in my hair, and on a groan, I take her nipple into my mouth. I suck and lick, loving the way it pebbles as I adore it. I keep that up until she’s writhing beneath me before I switch to the other breast, giving it the same treatment. Her fingers thread into my hair, holding me where she wants me.
I continue to slowly, achingly, thrust against the heat of her pussy. It’s driving me half mad, but I don’t fucking care. My heart races as I work my way up to her throat once more, making a mental map with my lips and trying to catalog every bit of skin I touch. I inhale, and it only makes the wild stampede in my chest more frantic. Elliot’s perfect: from the way she smells, to the sounds she makes, to each and every one of her eager movements.
