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CHAPTER8
Cannon
I can’t believeI gave in. Not only did I give in, but I slept harder than I have in years. Is it because I’m right here if anything goes down? I don’t have my gun or even a knife. Just my bare hands and a blanket.
Is it because she migrated across the mattress under her duvet like a heat-seeking missile until her round ass was pressed into my side all night? All I have to do is turn to my side and we’d be spooning. Then what? My persistent erection will miraculously go away?
I don’t know what to do about my dick…or about her.
She was worried about me last night. She was worried I’d get hurt, and maybe I would, but dwelling on the possibility doesn’t get the job done. Shit has gone south during missions before and I’m still here.
Then she was upset at the thought I might get a crick in my neck or some shit if I slept on the tiny-ass couch in the corner. I didn’t point out that we were both going to be sore after getting rear-ended. The tightness around my neck and shoulders has already made itself known, but my dick is being more obnoxious.
She was worried about me.
No one worried about me. My father abandoned me. My mother used me. My fellow soldiers cared as much as we all did about each other. It wasn’t concern over me specifically. We all wanted to get back safely. I’m buddies with Elsa, but our relationship doesn’t go deep enough. Jacobi and Kase know I do what I do, and that’s about it.
I clasp my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling. If I get out of bed, I might wake her. I keep the blanket bunched over my erection for when she does wake up. I don’t hold out hope that it’s going away soon.
She lets out a little moan.
Fuck. What was an annoying hard-on turns painful, demanding. It worsens as she wiggles that fine ass. She stretches, and I’m grateful she’s buried under the duvet. I can’t take my eyes off her legs as it is.
She falls still. I hope she’s gone back to sleep, but she groans. “Why does my neck hurt so bad?”
“Whiplash, swan.”
Another moan, and goddammit, she needs to quit doing that. I bunch the blanket higher—the movement is agony. I need a release, but it’s not coming anytime soon.
She rolls to a sitting position, pushing the covers back. The duvet lands on top of me and that suits me fine. The more concealment, the better.
Rubbing her neck, she twists her head gingerly side to side. “I should’ve expected this.”
She’s hard on herself. A common trait in a dancer at her level.
“Everyone reacts differently,” I say.
She looks over her shoulder, her gaze dipping to my bare chest. “Aren’t you sore?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re tough.” She says it like it’s another trait she’s lacking.
“I’ve been in worse accidents.” I push through the blankets to sit on my knees behind her. She stiffens but doesn’t move. Ignoring my throbbing dick, I press my thumbs on either side of her cervical vertebrae.
Instantly, I know I made a mistake. Warm skin. A pliant woman under my hands. Penelope doesn’t let just anyone touch her. When she’s dancing with a partner, it’s professional only. Occasionally she shares a friendly hug.
I’m not hugging her, but this hits me on a dangerously intimate level.
“You’re so cryptic,” she murmurs and tips her head forward. “You’ve slept in worse. You’ve experienced worse. You’ve had an interesting life.”
She doesn’t know the half of it. I rub small circles up and down her neck, using my fingers to lightly massage her shoulders. She wants to groan. Her body hitches, but she suppresses it, saving us both.
I shouldn’t be touching her. I shouldn’t be in fucking bed with her. I shouldn’t be waking up to her like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
She’s married, for fuck’s sake.
My traitorous mind reminds me about the divorce, which happens to be the fucking reason I’m here.
