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I thought I’d imagined Cannon’s reaction to waking up with me. Don’t guys wake up hard? Morning wood? I don’t know, and it’s not like Roman was the type to be patient and educate me.
I wrap my hand around him. Hard and hot, and restrained power radiates through him.
A long, ragged groan leaves him. “Fuck, Penelope.” He folds his hand around me and pumps. I move with him.
I brush my gaze over his chest, the way his torso’s curved from how he’s sitting. My ass is nestled on his thighs, and his knees have a bend. This isn’t an intimate position, but it’s just us in this bathroom.
What if I take him into my mouth? My intuition says he’ll run faster than he did when he caught me before I hit the floor.
I let him take the lead. The pace is fast and furious. He pulses and twitches under my hand and swells impossibly thick and I want to feel more of him. With my other hand I cup his balls and give them a small squeeze.
His gaze pierces mine. Those yellow flecks I’ve become obsessed with blaze, and I can’t look away. I don’t want to.
Then he tosses his head back and bites off a roar. Warm jets squirt over my hand, and I almost let out a triumphant yell.
I tried to give a hand job to a college guy when I was still in high school, and the guy used it as a chance to denigrate me and my abilities. Something about how I was too used to the wimpy men I danced with. After that, I swore off anyone not in the dancing world. I chose men who were safe and didn’t want more than a pal—until Roman.
Cannon’s eyes are hooded, and his chest is heaving. He’s orgasmed but still hard under my hands. His grip loosens enough that I can slip my hand free.
“I’ll, um, clean up.” I scramble off his lap, but not without giving him a face full of my ass. I quickly wash my hands off. I choke back embarrassment. How do we go back to our normal after this? If he pretends like this never happened, it’ll gut me. I don’t want to mean nothing to another man.
A wall of heat rises behind me. He doesn’t move to my side. Instead, he rinses his hands around me, caging me in. He’s leaning enough that his erection isn’t touching me. Or has it flagged? Maybe I don’t have the allure I hoped.
Or Cannon’s used to experienced women who don’t need his help to give him a hand job. Isn’t that like Sex 101? Maybe he’s worried I’m going to ask for kissing help next? Maybe he thinks I practice on my pillow like when I was thirteen. Humiliation threatens to tear up my eyes.
Then he strokes his hand up my belly to cup a breast. “What’s that expression for?” he growls in my ear.
I arch into his calloused fingertips. “I was…” I’ve been bold with him in a way I haven’t been with anyone else. I refuse to let it end now. “I’m worried I’m too naive for you. That it’s a turnoff.”
He spins me around. My gaze drops to the massive erection. His skin is glistening and probably a little sticky. “Does that look like I’m turned off?” He crowds closer and my ass hits the corner of the counter. “When’s the last time a man’s tasted you?”
An anticipatory shiver courses over my skin, but I try to answer clinically. “Probably before I got married. After that he didn’t…” Cannon can figure out the rest. Roman got what he needed when he married me, and that was most likely my father’s account.
I can finally admit it. Knowing and admitting are two different beasts. Roman’s a fucking user, and I got used.
“What an asshole.”
I nod in agreement, like I’ve forgotten we’re both naked and I just jacked him off. But he drops to his knees. That intense gaze is zeroed in on me. His voice is rough when he says, “Open those long legs for me, Penelope.”
My legs move before I register what he said.
Unlike me, he’s not hesitant. He’s not feeling anything out or marveling over my body. He’s got one of my legs draped over his shoulder, and he opens me like a present and feasts.
Intimate but scandalous. Natural, but new for me. I buck and cry out before I remember that I’m at my mother’s.
“Cannon,” I hiss but I’m grinding against his face. The instant bliss. There’s no need for foreplay, which we technically had? I don’t know and I don’t care. I only care that he knows exactly what he’s doing.
God, it’s never been this good. I’m way beyond relaxed. I’m liquid fire. My body is an inferno that’s ready to explode into space.
He doesn’t use more than his tongue, but with a simple flick, I’m over the edge. The blast is powerful. Pure, unfiltered pleasure makes my body jerk. My heel digs into his shoulder. My other foot lifts off the floor as I climax.
I strain to keep quiet, sinking my teeth into the tender flesh of my lower lip. I manage not to shout as squeaks and moans leave me. When I finally sag against him, he doesn’t let up until I’m boneless. How can one spot be so sensitive? I’ve never experienced this. The power. The intensity. Nothing like this happened with Roman.
He rises like the predator he is, still caging me against the sink. His face is covered with me. “Finish what you need to do and get into bed. I’ll shower and be right there.”
Then he’s gone and I’m left wondering what the hell just happened. Not the earth-shattering orgasm, but his abrupt departure.
Fatigue swamps me, and I don’t have the energy to question anything anymore. I do as he says, and as soon as I get between the sheets dressed in a T-shirt and old shorts, I immediately fall asleep.
