Pretty Instinct (34 page)

“Don’t move,” I croon, soaking up every bit of him.

I’m ruined. No one will ever look this good, an intricately laid plane of cut lines and dents, just the right amount of hair in just the right places, golden skin with slightly darker nipples and a long, thick, turgid cock that seems to reach for me. And I know behind him is the broadest, most sculpted back and taut, risen ass in the history of mankind.

He’s perfect; perfect for me, anyway. And when he looks at me, loving reverence in his dark brown, smoky eyes, I’d do anything to keep that gaze on me forever.

“All right, you may proceed.” I giggle, repositioning longways on the bed.

“You feeling adventurous, baby?” he asks, timbre and whiskey-brown jewels smoldering.

“Maybe,” I drawl.

“Stand up.” He gives me his hand, then takes the spot I had on the bed. “Lie down on me backwards, head at my feet.”

“W-we’re not gonna—”

“Oh yes, we fucking are. Been craving a taste of you, and my cock really wants to meet your mouth.”

I awkwardly and as unsexily as possible, get positioned, which he has to assist with, until a huge boner is twitching at me in 3D.

“Cannon, I’ve, uh, never—”

“Good,” he snarls possessively. “That’s the dick you’ll suck for the rest of your life. Get friendly. You can’t do it wrong, Siren, promise.”

As I’m still staring, running measurements, analytics, and trying to remember what I learned about the esophagus in Anatomy, he clutches my hips, tugging me backward, and takes one long, silky lick of my dripping center.
Holy fucking shit.

“Hmmm,” he hums, the vibrations of that single sound making my entire body shiver in delight.

Without mind or planning, I take him in my mouth, testing out his taste and texture with my curious little tongue. Then I start at the bottom, playing with his balls in my hand, and lick all the way up, my tongue stiffened to a point.

He grunts from behind me, digging his fingers harder into my hips, and starts spearing his tongue in and out of me, mixed with a harsh suck in between each poke. No part of my pussy goes un-worshipped; he soothes his tongue up each lip, in between every crease, and uses his teeth to pull at my clit…I guess I should get busy cause right now I’m just selfishly fucking his face with no idea where his dick even is.

“Sorry,” I moan, then fumble around until I’ve got a strong, clamping hold on his length. I take in the head, sucking, teasing the hole with my tongue, then I take a little more in my mouth. I practice open-mouth smooching-like sucks up the back side, swirling my tongue in no particular pattern on the down slide. He tastes salty and he smells divine, musky and manly, but he’s far too big to ever feel completely tended to by my mouth, so I key into his sounds, noting what feels best, ‘cause special tricks will have to get it with this big boy.

As he works me further, I go all carnal cat like, shoving as much as I can of him in until I feel him bump the back of my throat and I swallow instinctively.

“Ahh, God, Lizzie, fuck yes. Like that,” he howls.

Okay, he likes the deep swallow. Noted.

“Play with my balls too, baby. Press down and rub the spot right behind them.”

Man, lots of steps to remember.

But pretty soon it’s coming naturally. With my right hand, I master ball-rolling with my index finger pressing his spot, while my left squeezes around the part that
is not
fitting in my mouth, sucking until my cheeks hollow, my tongue a constant tornado on the part that can. And when I get him in deep, I swallow.

Definitely his favorite move.

He’s close. I can tell because he’s ten times harder and leaking on my tongue, his clasp on my hips bruising. Also, he sounds like a springtime animal in rut back there.

“Fuck my face baby,
hard
. Wiggle that sweet ass for me any way you like it.” He shoves maybe two (maybe more) fingers in me, stroking, not reaching “my spot,” but close, and widens his mouth to cover all of me, then licks all areas around his fingers, and bites my clit.

Game over!

My vaginal walls flex ruthlessly around his fingers over and over as hot jets of his cum coat my mouth and throat. Not sure what to—ah, fuck it—I swallow it all, popping off and licking the perimeter of my mouth to make sure I got it all. Then I collapse, forehead to balls.
Sublime.

“Tell me the part again about not knowing how to suck a dick?” He chuckles/grumbles pretty much to my ass.

“First time’s a charm?”

“Never read up on it? Asked your friends, Google, nothing? Just. Like. That?” he teases, or really asks, not sure.

“I promise, never will I google ‘How to give a Blowjob.’ You have my word.” I rise to my knees and again, ungracefully, pivot to face him, settling into his neck, my cheek and hand on his chest.

“Now that I have you all creamy and cooperative, let’s talk about living arrangements.”

“Hold that thought.” I scramble out of bed and dig through the pockets of his jeans. “Roll over.”

“What are you—”

“Just roll over.” I dance giddily in place until he does as I say and turns onto his stomach. “Don’t move, but flex your ass.”

Oh Lord, he complies, making my mouth water. I take the quarter I’d scrounged up and—sure enough—right back in my hand.

Let the record show you
can
bounce a quarter off my man’s ass.

He laughs into his pillow. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Yes, you can, that’s exactly something I would do.” I crawl up him and straddle his back, massaging his shoulders. “I love your booty.”

He rolls over beneath me and grins up at me, eyes brighter than the sun through the window. “And I love you. And your booty also.” He winks. “So we have eight days until Conner’s home. Let’s go get my car and drive to Richmond. Population 36,000—”

“You already gave me the stats, Mr. Salesman.” I snicker.

“Schools test in top 10% in the state, lots of nature and a historic district, average price of house $150K.” He just keeps right on going, adding a few new facts, really wanting to sell me on Richmond.

“That was quite the pitch,” I tickle his sides, “
again.
You should apply at the City Welcome Center. I’d buy.”

“No,” he reaches up and taps my chin, “I’ll buy. But you pick it out.”

I gulp loudly, parched and panicking, hastily making to dismount him.

“Nu uh, better twitch that nose, Witchy. It’s only way you’re escaping this conversation,” he taunts. “In for me,” his eyes flare, brooking no argument, “now out for you.” He runs both hands up and down my thighs in satiny caress. “Better or you need another?”

“Better,” I mumble, his happy trail my focal point.

“I’m almost twenty-eight years old, Lizzie. I want a house. I want to re-paint the fence and change light bulbs and decorate nurseries and host Thanksgiving and hide Easter eggs.”

“What about the band?”

He traces a circle around my navel. “You tell me.”

“I was actually already thinking.” I bear down on my bottom lip, searching out my nerve. Saying it aloud makes it real. “Conner could use some stability and he seems to like spending time with Richard and his new family. There’s kids, and living fish,” I titter, swiping away a lone tear.

Oh, you didn’t get the memo? Bus fish=all floaters, flushed to the ocean in the sky.

“And my uncle’s back can’t take much more. And Jarrett, if he’s actually serious, for once, about a girl, he needs to see it through. And Rhett—”

“Baby,” he jostles me, “breathe. Our life, figuring it out…it’s not a sprint, it’s a marathon. Okay, now you were saying?”

“Rhett. The only thing missing between Rhett and I was smushy love. I found it and he needs to as well. Which he may not do if I’m around.”

He strains not to laugh, which produces a sneeze through only your nose type thing. “Smushy love?”

I impishly slap his abs, all eight packs of them. “You know, romantic, not friend love. You and me love.”

“Come ‘ere to me,” he beckons, crooking his finger, and I lean down over him, hands braced on either side of his head while he tangles his in my hair and pivots my head. “What’s smushy love taste like? Show me.”

I kiss him softly at first, each corner of his mouth, then roll my eyes and get up. “I will be at the curb, getting in a cab, in ten minutes. Hope to see you there, Scary Sex Drive.”

I jump away from his reaching hands and run, locking the bathroom door behind me.

Once in the cab, Cannon assures me that the drive is about forty minutes. Now, I’m no mathematician, but I still slept in a Holiday Inn last night…so no way can that be right
and
be a halfway point.

“Forty minutes to Richmond?” I ask for clarification.

“No, to Lawrence, where I lived. We gotta grab my car.”

Keep breathing.

“Is your car at your parents’ house?” The hopeful optimism in my voice is a farce, but worth a try all the same.

He sighs, so of course I shudder, braced before I even asked. “Love, my car’s at the house I lived in with Ruthie. I need to get it.” He shrugs. “It’s mine and we’re here.”

“So we’re going, me and you, to the house you shared with your ex-fiancé, to gather your things? And you planned on telling me this
when
?” Now my voice is raised and unattractively nasal.

“Lizzie,”
don’t you condescend me, mister,
“where’d you
think
my car was?”

“I don’t know, your parents’ maybe? Cannon, I don’t want to do this.” Shaking my head adamantly, I let go of his hand and scoot across the seat.

“I’ve got the keys with me. We’ll hop in and drive off. She won’t know we’re there, if she’s even home.” He slides across the vinyl, refusing to allow space between us.

“I’m not going in and dividing assets.” I mock gag.

“Not a thing there I want or need, except my car.” He forcibly raises my hand and kisses each knuckle, then my palm. “Five minutes and we’re home free.”

Still not happy and about thirty minutes left to burn, I ask some simmering questions. “If you lived together and were engaged, why’s it only her house?”

He laughs, head tossed back. “Wait until you see it. I couldn’t afford her lifestyle, so Daddy bought her a show castle.”

“But you have money to buy yourself a house in Richmond?” I perk a curious brow.

“No, but I’ve got flawless credit and a good down payment saved, plus a degree with five years of experience under my belt. I can take care of us comfortably.” He lays an arm around my shoulders and leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “I
want
to take care of us.”

“I have money, Cannon. I don’t
need
taken care of. I
need
a partner, 50/50. The troubles are ours, the good times are ours, and chores are most definitely
ours
.”

“That sounds like,” he gazes off, to where or at what I’m lost, but he’s back soon, “everything I’ve ever wanted. Imma need a nibble for that one,” he grunts, taking his fill in the crook of my neck.

The cab driver shifts loudly in his seat at my squeal, so I push Cannon off.

“So does this mean you’ll live with me? I mean, somewhere other than a tour bus?” He smirks, knowing it’s his power card, most valid argument.

The truth is, we have cohabitated, a hell of a lot closer than in a house, for quite a while, with not one fight. No, our one disagreement was in public, and ended very well, if I do say so myself.

So myself.

“We’ll see. A house seems premature, a big investment to split unmarried,” I naysay, despite the mental reasoning I only just finished.

“If you just proposed, my little Siren, the answer is yes!” He dive bombs me, crushing his arms around me, smothering my face and neck in kisses.

“You’re scaring people in public again.” I giggle. “Heel. And
no
, I was not proposing, I was thinking apartment, maybe a condo?”

He falls dramatically across my lap, looking up.
Please don’t let me have any boogers in my nose.
“Hey, how’d you get that?” He touches the scar under my chin.

“It’s a pretty gnarly story, think you can stomach it?” I tease, my smile devious.

“Try me.”

“I fell down our stairs, running late for school, and went splat on the floor…and my pencil. Jabbed it straight up and through.”

“Damn,” he shudders, “ouch. I bet you—”

“Mom’s in Heaven now, Bubs, watching over us.”

“But she was careful on the stairs. Not me.”

“Lizzie? Come back to me, love, breathe. Lizzie, it’s Cannon, look at me, gorgeous. “

I blink, then blink again, my heart’s pumping blood deafening in my ears.

“Lizzie? Where are you?” He’s sitting up, shaking me by the shoulders, but his voice sounds like it’s in a bottle.

“C-call my dad. He’s in my phone, under ‘Die Dick.’ Call him! Call him!” I scream, the cab stopping so abruptly my head flies into the seat in front of me.

“Hey, motherfucker! What the fuck are you doing? Lizzie, right here,” he yanks his shirt over his head and off, “hold this tight on your nose, head back, pinch it hard.” I can hear Cannon’s frantic, loud threats of physical violence to the cabbie, while I blindly, with one hand, dig out my phone. Maneuvering it to where I can actually see it, I pull up my father’s contact.

“Here, babe, I got it.” Cannon takes the phone from me. “Lean back and apply pressure.”

After several minutes of the cab driver grumbling in Idon’tknowwhatyou’resayingnese, Cannon speaks. “Mr. Carmichael, hello, sir. I’m sor—no, she’s fine. Well, the cab driver busted her nose. No, no, she flew into the back of the seat when he slammed on—I don’t know, hold on.”

He moves the phone from his mouth and leans forward. “What’s your cab number?” he snarls at the driver, then talks into the phone again. “Huh, yeah it’s a Yellow Cab. Hey, you, driver, what’s your fucking cab number?” The man, now an ashen color, hands back a card. “Ha!” Cannon rings out, “it’s 5810666. Go figure. Don’t worry; I’ll kick his ass in about ten minutes. No, no, I don’t agree, I think he needs a good gowlering. A gowler? A hit, like ‘fuck, I didn’t see that coming.’ Hang on.”