Page 56 of Cannon
I looked over at his hands and saw that they were bruised and cracked.
“It looks like you’ve already killed someone.”
“Yeah, and what’s another?” he slyly replied, with a glare in his eyes that looked both menacing and sensual.
And then I felt the rush of wetness between my thighs. I wanted him. And no amount of deep breathing or Patron was going to calm down my nervous system. He was the elixir I needed.
Chapter 22
Queen
I leaned forward and kissed him, my body moving before my mind could catch up. But instead of kissing me back, Cannon’s hand shot up, wrapping around my throat with just enough pressure to stop me. His eyes darkened as he held me there, suspended between his body and the wall.
“Nah,” he said, his voice a dangerous rumble. “You don’t get to decide when this happens.”
My pulse throbbed against his palm. “What the fuck do you mean I don’t get to decide? It’s my mouth.”
A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. “And it’s my dick you want in it. So we play by my rules.”
Heat flooded my body, anger and arousal mixing into something explosive. I should’ve slapped him, fired him, kicked his ass out of my office. Instead, I felt my panties dampen as his grip tightened just enough to make my breath catch.
“Let go of me,” I whispered, but there was no conviction behind it.
“You don’t want that,” he replied, his thumb stroking the side of my neck. “What you want is for me to bend you over that desk and fuck you till you can’t remember why you were upset. Till you can’t remember your own name.”
Fuck. He was right.
“But first,” he continued, leaning close enough that his lips brushed my ear, “I want to hear you beg for it.”
“I don’t beg,” I spat, even as my body betrayed me, pressing closer to his.
“You will.” The certainty in his voice made my knees weak. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me for everything.”
His free hand slid up my thigh, pushing my dress higher until his fingers brushed against the lace of my panties. I gasped, trying to shift my hips to guide his hand where I needed it most, but his grip on my throat kept me pinned.
“Already wet for me,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the damp fabric. “Tell me what you want, Queen.”
I pressed my lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
“Have it your way,” he said, suddenly releasing me and stepping back. The loss of his touch was like a physical pain.
“Where are you going?” I asked, hating how desperate I sounded.
“Nowhere.” He settled into my office chair, spreading his legs wide, the bulge in his pants impossible to miss. “But you ain’t getting shit until you ask for it. Nicely.”
I stood there, my chest heaving, my body on fire. This motherfucker really expected me to beg? Me? Queen Marie Davenport?
“Fuck you,” I said, but even I could hear the lack of conviction in my voice.
He just smiled, those ocean-blue eyes burning into mine. “That’s the idea. But you gotta say please.”
I took a step toward him, then another, until I stood between his spread legs. Power shifted like quicksand beneath us. Hemight be sitting, but he was the one in control, and we both knew it.
“Touch me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“That’s not asking nicely,” he replied, his hands resting casually on the armrests. “Try again.”
My pride warred with the throbbing between my legs. Five years without a man’s touch, and now my body was screaming for this one.
