Page 49 of Cannon
Cannon lets loose a gruff noise that’s about as close to a laugh as he usually gets. His eyes dart to hers and his face breaks into a smile as he playfully palms her ass cheek.
This girl.She can handle some pretty tough shit. She’s taken what happened to her tonight, set it squarely aside, and is doing her damnedest to make sure the rest of us are okay. She’s supposed to be our responsibility, but instead, she’s trying to take care of us. I should have realized this is how she’d react. I’ve already seen firsthand how giving and generous her spirit can be. She allowed me to openly talk about my sister when I knew it had to have been incredibly difficult for her to listen to what I had to say. But she did. Our girl is a fucking diamond—beautiful to look at, but impossible to crush.
I nod and exhale slowly, heading for the front door. “I’ll be with him if you need anything.”
As I head up the stairs, my mind wanders again. If I ever find out who the assholes were that jumped Archer, I’ll have their nuts in a sling. Stupid motherfuckers. And Duke. Jesus, I thought we were over this bullshit, but apparently, he’s not done with me yet. Why he blames me for things that weren’t my fault, I will never know. As if I don’t carry enough guilt as it is.
I stop in my room, toe off my shoes, loosen my tie, and peel off the rest of my clothing before heading for my chest of drawers. I pull out a soft pair of dark-gray joggers and slip them on.
For a few moments, I stand in the middle of my room, running my hands through my hair, trying to think of what to say to Archer, but it doesn’t give me any insight. I assume I’ll know when I see him because that’s usually how it goes with us. I need to be able to look into his eyes and judge for myself where he’s at mentally. Blowing out a hard breath, I leave my room and cross the hall, immediately tapping on his door. “Archer,” I wait a beat before adding, “it’s me.”
Muffled from the other side of the room somewhere, I can hardly make out his response. “Yeah. Come on in.”
Nudging the door open, I shoulder my way in and scan the darkened room. I’d expected him to be at his computer, but he’s not. He’s in the plush chair over near the window, where he has a view of the back lawn and woods behind the house. I step around his discarded socks and shoes and walk past the dress shirt and tie draped over the desk chair.
He stands, still wearing his dress pants with suspender straps dangling. With a bob of his head, he gestures toward me with his whiskey tumbler. “Want a drink?”
I pluck the glass from his hand, eyeing him over the rim, and take a long swallow, then purposely set the tumbler aside before stepping closer. “Getting drunk isn’t the answer.”
“I meant do you want yourowndrink, asshole. And who says?” He arches a brow at me, pursing his lips. “Maybe my mouth won’t hurt so fuckin’ much if I have enough.”
“How much is enough?” With my eyes trained on his swollen lip, I pull mine between my teeth, then scrape my teeth over it as I let it go, attempting to impart a fraction of his pain on myself. The problem is his internal battle is more painful than any physical damage that was done.
He shakes his head, blatantly ignoring my question. “Why are you really here, K?” He draws in a deep breath, studying me with those steel-gray eyes of his that watch everything.
I take the flippant question for what it is. A shield. “I think that’s obvious. My friend is hurting, and I figured he’d hide up here all night to lick his wounds, fucking drinking himself to death because he can’t wrap his head around any of what happened.” I rub a hand over my cheek, still mostly smooth from the shave I had before we left for Bainbridge Hall.
“I’m fine. You can go.” He turns around to peer out the window and survey nothing but the dark—because he’s not taking in the scenery. He’s attempting to blow me off. He should fuckin’ know better by now.
“Archer.” I close my eyes in exasperation. “Why is it that you’ve told me over and over again that I can talk to you, lean on you, but while you share some stuff, you’re always holding the really tough things back? Why do you constantly torture yourself like that?” I walk over to stand behind him, a little off to the side, and stare out into the dark with him.
“I messed up tonight. I had my head all wrapped up in Elliot and, in doing so, I let us all down.”
“Fuck that,” I grunt. I place my hand on his shoulder, turning him toward me. I breathe steadily, watching him for clues as to what he needs from me. The feelings and thoughts he wants to bury deep, he hides behind his funny, smart exterior. It’s like a barricade he’s put around to protect himself from further hurt. I’m not dumb. He’s always said his family didn’t understand him, and he had to get out of there, though he was never specific about why. I assumed he was referring to his obvious-to-me inclination toward both genders. It’s possible he’s nervous for other people to find out. Does he think I don’t see him?
Because I do. I definitely do.
His gray eyes watch me, a visible swallow working its way down his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort. I step closer, my heart hammering, and raise my hand to brush the pad of my thumb over the bruise blooming on his cheek. “Fuckers,” I rasp, lowering my gaze to his lips.
“K,” he heaves out in warning, chest rising and falling fast. His tongue darts out to touch the split in his lip.
Fuck it.I clasp the back of his neck with one hand, and the heat radiating off his skin makes me dizzy. All I know is that when I got a good look at him outside, when I touched his face and felt the agitation pouring from him over what happened, I couldn’t stop myself from tugging him close to me. It should have weirded me the fuck out, but instead it was the most natural thing I’ve ever done. I don’t know how to explain it, but there it is.
I want him to talk to me about whatever he’s been feeling. I want him to admit to me what he wants. What I think maybe he’s always wanted. I wasn’t ready for him to express those feelings to me before. But nothing has been the same lately. Not a goddamn thing.
With a desperate sound falling from his lips, Archer leans in, taking my mouth in a kiss so feverish, it knocks me off guard. It’s different. Firm, supple lips. The brush of stubble against my chin. Big hands grasping at my hips and tugging me close. A masculine groan of pleasure as my lips part and his tongue finds mine.
Fuuuck.My mind tumbles and spins, flipping over on itself. Everything I thought this would be like flies straight out the window. My other hand slips up and rests on his chest, where the wild beating of his heart slams against my palm through warm, smooth skin.
My dick twitches to life as blood surges from my head downward, all coherent thoughts obliterated. Archer’s fingers dig into my flesh, and I tilt his head to suck gently on his lip. A coppery, metallic taste hits my tongue as I slide it slowly over the torn skin, and he moans as he clutches me to him and strokes into my mouth, strong and sure, and completely different and new.
“Oh.” That one short, gasped syllable has the two of us blasting apart, breath heaving as we stare at each other with storm-filled eyes of our own making.
I blink a few times before I come to my senses and turn my head to the source of the disruption. Elliot and Cannon stand in the doorway with their mouths hanging open, eyes darting back and forth between the two of us. It’s obvious she stumbled backward into him because he’s got an arm wrapped around her waist, and she’s leaning heavily on him, as if she’d been thrown off balance by what they walked in on.
Holy shit.My brain is a hazy, unsure place right now, incapable of speech.
“Ah. Fuck.” Cannon’s rough, scratchy voice hits me like a shotgun firing into my gut. He tilts his head to the side, brow furrowing as his gaze moves back and forth, taking in the entire scene before us. Archer’s discarded shirt, the tumbler of whiskey, and both of us absolutely breathless. There’s a curious heat there, something I hadn’t anticipated—like maybe he’s okay with what he’s witnessed.
