Page 61 of Cannon
“No Cannon tonight?”
Archer jerks his head no. “Focus on the game. We can talk about that later.” He gives me a pat on the shoulder, then walks over to the small bar at the side of the room. He’s in the process of pouring a few fingers of whiskey into a cut-crystal glass when Kingston enters the room, and everyone immediately falls silent.
I love the commanding presence he has. He was born to lead, and I find his dominant nature so fucking sexy—both in the bedroom and outside it. It’s why we all sit up and pay attention the moment he walks in. It’s something about his mannerisms, the authoritative tone to his voice, and the I-take-shit-from-no-one attitude that has me wanting to pant out, “Yes, sir.”
He tosses the game card onto the coffee table face down, finds me, and shoots a grin my way before he gets waylaid by Joel asking him a question. I’m too far away to hear what they’re saying, so I turn inward, doing my best to psych myself up for whatever nonsense tonight’s game will bring. It really could be just about anything from some sort of physical exertion to a complete mind fuck, so I take a seat on the huge couch—this time between Dane and Zeke—to settle in for whatever is thrown at us this time. I readily admit my stomach is lurching around in my abdomen like it’s being tossed at sea the closer we get to nine o’clock.
Dane turns his head, offering me a smile. “You’ll be okay.”
I let out an uneasy breath and nod. “I’m fine. Just anxious to get started, I think. Thank you, though.”
Zeke rolls his eyes and shoots Dane a look that I read asCome on, man.“Maybe keep the encouragement to our own initiate?”
Dane’s head rears back as his gaze jumps from me to Zeke. “You know, there’s no harm in being kind. Besides, how do you know I’m not saying that to fuck with her head?” He swings back to me with his hand up. “I’m not, but I’m just saying.”
I shrug, slapping a bright smile on my face for Zeke’s benefit. “It’s all part of the game, right?”
From the end of the sofa, Taggart murmurs, “Yep, that’s for fuckin’ sure.”
Not quite sure what he meant by that, I turn as my attention is dragged over to Kingston, who has his eyes pinned on Archer from across the room, even though Joel is still yapping at him.
If there was any question as to whether these two have gotten a chance to hash things out, there’s not anymore. That’d be a firmnofrom the way Archer grabs onto his suspenders like they’re a lifeline, tugging at them and sliding them through his closed grip. He’s completely distracted and caught up in his own head. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip before he bites down on it, his gray-hued gaze following Kingston’s every move. And, oh man, the sad look in his eyes is full of longing and uncertainty.
All at once, like a feral animal chasing down its prey, Kingston strides across the room, a low growl escaping his throat. He stops right in front of Archer, grabs the back of his neck, and tugs his face within inches of his. “Stop biting your lip, or I’ll bite it for you.”
Archer doesn’t get a chance to respond because Kingston’s mouth crashes over his, fusing them together in a kiss so hot it threatens to scorch everyone in the entire room. Kingston’s grip on Archer’s neck tightens, causing his lips to part. Kingston doesn’t hold back either, he swipes his tongue directly into Archer’s mouth. As he does this with a satisfied grunt, he reaches between them, palming Archer’s dick through his dress pants.
Whoa. As if the last time I saw them kiss wasn’t hot enough… Shit, my heart is slamming around in my chest, and my panties are distinctly dampened. My eyes dart between the two of them as they slowly part, though Kingston doesn’t allow Archer to back away. They simply stand there, staring into each other’s eyes.
“Stop fuckin’ worrying,” Kingston grits out.
At first no one says anything.
But then a few muttered words meet my ears. Things like “Holy fucking shit, what the hell?” and “Didn’t see that coming.” From the plush chair near the fireplace, Stuart hisses out, “Since when did this turn into a cockfest?”
Ignoring everyone, even though there are eyes popping out of people’s heads all over the room and a decent amount of grumbling as well, Kingston gives a small inclination of his head before he walks over and snatches the card up off the coffee table, holding it up for all to see and returning to Archer’s side. Shutting it all down, his voice booms out, “Ready for game three?” He glances around, and when no one says a peep, he continues, “Okay, here’s what the card says. Game three rules: Make your way around campus, gathering cards with clues and deciphering them as you go. You must be in possession of all cards upon your return. Don’t worry, you will know when it’s time to come back to Hawthorne Hall.”
“That’s it?” Bridger interrupts, his brows drawn sharply together.
“Initiate, did I tell you you could speak?” Kingston’s voice booms.
From beside him, Archer shakes his head, sliding the pad of his thumb over his lower lip. I wonder for a split second whether he’s still thinking about that kiss. I know I would be. But then he juts his chin in Bridger’s direction. “How about you let him finish before asking questions, dumb fuck.”
Good.The sad look on Archer’s face has left the building, and his confidence has come roaring back. I have to press my lips together to stop myself from laughing at the look on Bridger’s face. I sneak a peek at Taggart, who slowly shakes his head while looking at the floor in front of him. He knows how to keep his nose clean. Too bad Bridger doesn’t. Fuck, he’s dumb sometimes—just so unaware that he’s not the most important person in the room, it’s almost funny.
Kingston clears his throat before beginning again. “Continuing. In addition, each initiate will have to write down on paper”—he gestures toward the paper I’d noticed earlier—“how many shots they would like to take before they leave the house.”
My heart sinks, immediately understanding the catch to the game. I don’t have enough experience with alcohol to know what my tipping point will be. How many can I drink and still function versus when I’ll be a worthless, boneless mess?
“Our official start time is quarter to ten. For each shot you take, you’ll leave five minutes early. Take too few and you might get left in the dust. But take too many and risk being too drunk to endure and complete the task ahead.” He looks up, eyeing the three of us participating. “Just a personal note from me, but definitely think hard about your competitors and what their capacity for alcohol consumption might be.”
Archer holds up a hand to add something. “Bridger, don’t forget, you’re starting with a ten-minute disadvantage. That means you start at five to ten if you take no shots.”
He sputters. “The fuck?”
Archer cocks his head to the side. “Don’t tell us you forgot about what we said last week. You couldn’t play fair, so you have a disadvantage for this game. You’reluckywe told you what the disadvantage was before you bid.”
Bridger slowly shifts, his glare landing on me. His jaw works its way to one side as his eyes rake over me, then he lifts his hand, signaling another question.
