by Ginger Scott
The trip here was easier in Cannon’s truck, and I haven’t seen or heard a single vehicle in the area all morning, and we’ve been here an hour. While the young adventurer in my heart does like the idea of wandering around the woods to explore, the seventeen-year-old who has been holding on to Cannon’s tight arms and broad chest wants to explore other things, maybe under a little extra cover of some wintered branches.
Cannon helps me out of my harness before kicking the straps away from his own legs. We climb down from the middle platform, jumping the last few feet onto the hard ground still dotted with blotches of ice and snow.
I can see my breath, but at this very moment, I am not cold. Not in the least.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing his hand in mine and heading straight ahead through the thickest cluster of trees.
“Are you trying to get us lost?”
“Yes!” I reply.
He laughs as he tags along behind me, my pace rushed because all I can think about is how I’m going to feel when his hands are on me. I keep glancing backward, testing to see whether I can still spot the poles, the lines over the gulch, and Cannon’s truck. I decide we’re far enough when we get a quarter mile out and I spin on my heels, letting my body collide with his.
“Whoa!” He laughs, the fog from his mouth intermingling with mine.
I practically climb onto him, holding his sweatshirt in clutched fists while pulling him tight against me. Every first move is mine, the kiss hard and swift. My hands cover his and guide them under my three layers of shirts, up my sides and against my bare skin, letting go just below my breasts. My own hands roam across the ripples and valleys of his chest and sides, teasing the V that travels from his stomach into his joggers. Emboldened and heated to my core, I dip my hands lower, finding him hard and eager for my touch.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes out the moment my hand wraps fully around his erection.
I smile against his lips, loving the way I make them quiver. I love being in charge. I also am ready for him to take over.
“Just exploring the woods, huh?” Devilish laughter gurgles from his lips as he dips his chin and holds my gaze. His eyes are as hard as he is. His hood has slid from his head, and his mussy hair is soft and calling to me. I stroke him to encourage him and let him know I want this. I do it again, and he reacts, his fingers digging in more against my back, dropping lower until they slide under my waistband and grip my ass.
I let go of him and move my arms over his shoulders, my hands sliding into his thick hair just as he lifts me up; I wrap my legs around his body. In three steps, he has my back against a tree, and we are kissing so hard my lips feel raw from the friction and the cold. I don’t care if I can’t speak for a week. I need this, need him.
Now.
I tug at the bottom of his sweatshirt. In one fluid movement, I drop back to my feet and he lets go to free his arms and toss his shirts to the ground. His hard chest is smooth like a marble sculpture under my touch, his skin hot.
His eyes meet mine as his hands gather my sweatshirt and the two long-sleeved tees I have layered underneath. I nod and lift my chin, giving permission, and he pulls the clothing up and over my head, taking my knit cap off with it. My hair falls around my bare shoulders, strands blowing across my face in the slight breeze. Light spills through the thick branches, dead leaves still plastered to the ground from the melted and dried snow. There’s a hint of wood burning in the air, a scent from someone’s cabin perhaps. The thought of being caught out here with him excites me.
Cannon pulls me to him, kissing me and letting his teeth drag against my lower lip as his thumbs slide the straps of my bra down my shoulders. I wore the only pretty undergarment I own just so he could see me in it. I unclasp the hooks at my back and let the garment fall to the ground with the rest of our clothing as he pushes his head against mine so he can take in my bare breasts. The freezing air tightens my nipples into hard buds that ache for his touch. I arch instinctively as his hand glides up my spine, lifting my tits to encourage his mouth to taste them. He takes the hint, suckling one into a raw peak, his tongue swirling around the tip while I moan and lift one of my legs to hook around his hip.
In a swift, smooth movement, Cannon lifts me against him again, supporting my legs while I steady myself with my arms around his neck. His tongue draws lines like a map around my neck and jaw as he circles us so we’re positioned to fall on our pile of clothes on the ground. He lowers to one knee before breaking our kiss and resting me on my back atop our sweatshirts. I pant wildly as he stands, straddling me, his erection so strained that it peeks out of the top of his boxers and pants.
“I have condoms,” I admit, biting my lip and reaching into the back pocket of my jeans. I pull out two and hold them up.
Cannon takes the packets in his hand and holds my stare with a crooked smile.
“You’re the one who brought condoms. Goddamn,” he says, shaking his head with a breathy laugh.
I shrug, shivering and wanting his warmth on top of me stat.
“I’m a modern woman. What can I say?”
Truth is, I have an honest relationship with my mom, and she knows I have been sexually active. I got the talk in sixth grade, even though I was a virgin until I was sixteen. Condoms are things that are just purchased along with the rest of my feminine stuff.
My body clenches as Cannon slides his pants down his hips and his very large penis springs free. While he tears the packet open and rolls on the condom, I unbutton and unzip my jeans, lifting my hips to prepare myself for sliding them down my legs. Cannon stops me before I can, parting my legs and dropping to his knees. He covers my hands with his and stares at my bare stomach with his mouth hung open, hungry.
“Please let me do this. It’s part of the fantasy I have lived for the last two nights.”
“Only two?” I tease.
He smirks and briefly meets my gaze.
“Fine, three,” he jokes.
I bite at my lip, mostly because I’m nervous and want to look sexy. I’m not afraid of the act; I’m afraid of the change that follows sex. I more than like Cannon, and he has the power to crush me if he wants to. All of the hazing and teasing in the world wouldn’t compare to a broken heart from him.
As if he can hear my thoughts and worries, he bends down and draws my lips up with a soft kiss, whispering against them as he lifts my hips and drags my jeans and panties down my thighs.
“So, so beautiful,” he says.
My eyelids flutter closed, the rush of cold mixing with my hot core as he says that tiny phrase over and over until I feel him push my pants completely free from my body. We’re out here in nothing but thick socks, and it’s oddly hot as fuck. Sitting back between my legs, Cannon brings my knees up, then runs his hand along my thighs until his thumbs press into my swollen center, sliding over the slick skin and sending shockwaves through my body that force me to rock uncontrollable with his touch.
“Oh, my God,” I cry out, already feeling the threat of an orgasm.
I arch my back but open my eyes, wanting to see his face when he enters me. I feel his tip slide against my skin and both our mouths open in awe, our breaths held until he slowly pushes in, eyes locked on mine to make sure I’m okay, that I’m all in.
I stretch to fit him, the burn of his size subsiding into silk as he rocks into me. I cling to his back, my nails digging into his skin, leaving scratches along the hard surface of his thick muscles. We find our rhythm, his gentle movements growing faster and more urgent as he bends his head down, the tips of his hair tickling against my cheeks. I raise my chin until our lips meet, and we nibble at each other between pants and half-breaths.
My chest beads with moisture and I swear steam rises from our bodies. I lift my knees to hug him against me, wrapping my legs around him to hold him to me tight while he pushes into my very core, hitting places inside that threaten to break wide open with pleasure every time his hot skin passes against mine.
I let my arms fall above
my head while he cradles me between his forearms and holds up his body weight to gaze into my eyes. The ground beneath my head is damp from the recent snow, and my hair sticks to sharp twigs poking out of the ground. But my body is protected, Cannon quick to shield my skin with his hands as we move together. He swells inside me when my own body climbs, and I encourage him by biting his earlobe, gently at first, then suckling it as his breathing becomes more feral, more urgent. Each rock of his hips gets hard, and his right hand sweeps behind my back to hold me up and protect me from the sharp ground as he slides me back an inch at a time with each pummel.
My own orgasm peaks and I grip him tightly, crying into his ear with a single word—please! It’s enough to push him over the edge with me, and he pulses in me while my insides squeeze and shudder with pleasure.
He holds me close through every shiver, the nerves rolling from my shoulders down my chest and stomach and into my toes. I want to flatten our bodies together, to hold him here against me forever, to never let him leave the places where he is inside of me. And when the word slips out, I don’t even care or feel vulnerable because it’s mine to say when I feel like it, and I feel like it now.
“I love you,” I breathe out, the sudden confession not jarring him visibly as his breathing slows to normal and he holds me close, rolling so I’m on top and his body takes the weight and the bluntness of the ground.
The chill hits my skin, but the harshness is erotic for now, my body still feeling satiated and teeming with excitement from what we did, where we are, and how I feel right this very moment. I lift my head enough to look him in the eyes and he tucks his chin into his chest as his gaze sweeps around my face, his hand pulling a leaf from my tangled hair as he laughs. The quake in his chest is like a warm fire on a winter day.
His fingers comb through my hair a few more times until the strands are smooth enough for him to curl around his fingers. His eyes follow the movement as my hair slips through his fingers like golden ribbons and he brings one curl to the tip of his nose, drawing in the scent as if he’s trying to etch it into his memory. His focus slips from his own hands to my eyes as the strand slides free and falls back to the ground beside my face. His eyes soften and I tremble lightly, the breeze breaking through our lust and finally cutting into my skin. Sensing I’m cold, Cannon draws my arms into his protection, tucking most of my body within his before peppering my shoulder with kisses.
“There is not a single thing I don’t love about you, Hollis. Not one single thing.”
He rests his head flat against my chest, listening to my heart, maybe waiting for it to react. I’m glad he’s there, because he can make sure I’m still alive. I’m pretty sure my heart stopped with his words. Stopped, then exploded. I will walk this world as a ghost from here on out, one who feels as though she can do anything. Reborn a little stronger, moving from warrior to queen. If I can own Cannon Jennings’s heart, then there is nothing I can’t claim. And I want it all.
21
Cannon
Tryouts are closed to parents, but that hasn’t stopped my uncle from setting up in the parking lot. Everyone sees him. He’s the only truck sitting so close to the field. From the outfield, I spot him holding binoculars to his eyes as we run by for our cool down. I bet he’s proud and glowing right now. Zack had a decent day. He still wasn’t as solid as Hollis behind the plate, though.
A week ago I might have let my uncle’s presence change my mind from what I pledged to do today. But being with Hollis is a feeling I won’t trade for all the family loyalty in the world, especially when I don’t believe in the ideas my cousin and uncle preach.
Zack and I haven’t spoken since Friday night at the bowling alley. He was conveniently gone for the weekend, probably spending the night at Jay’s house. We both needed our space. It also let my parents arrive and get settled into the room I’ve been sleeping in while I slept alone in Zack’s. I doubt I will be welcome in there after today, but I talked things out with my dad, and we agreed that a few days on the floor in their room was worth it while my parents nailed down a rental.
My dad went through the same emotions I did when I told him everything. We both believe that Uncle Joel would draw the line at what my cousin did, but while my dad wanted me to sit down and tell my uncle everything last night when we talked, I convinced him it would be better to give the power to Hollis. This is her story to control, and I will echo and preach her gospel all damn day, but only when she says so.
Giving things a little nudge, however, might be called for. I had a teacher in junior high who used this technique with us. She called it flushing out the bad seeds, which, upon reflection, was probably a harsh way to categorize thirteen-year-olds. But we had some real assholes in my school, including the Hayworth twins who ditched their last hour to steal bikes, then put them up for sale online the same day. She flushed them out by sitting everyone down and showing a slideshow of used bikes for sale, all posted within the last month. They needed a little extra heat, so she called the number posted on one of the ads. Lo and behold, Kale Hayworth’s phone lit up like a restaurant buzzer. Their mini chop shop ended real fast.
I’m not going to put the screws on like Mrs. Reed did back then. But I am going to set up a community standard that won’t tolerate the kinds of things Zack and Jay and Roland did on Friday. When that standard goes up, I have a feeling they’ll out themselves.
“Alright, everyone, circle up!” Coach Taylor and his assistants stand around the mound while the sixty or so of us out here for tryouts all take a knee. I should probably listen harder than I am, but I can’t stop mentally rehearsing everything I plan to say.
“We saw some good stuff out there today. Keep in mind, tomorrow is scrimmage day. You’ll be broken up into six squads, and we’ll be using all three fields. You’ll get a text with your team tonight, and that’s your only notification. You’re all young adults now, so no excuses if you bring the wrong color shirt, don’t have your cleats, forget your glove.”
There’s a murmur of laughter among us because we’ve all done at least one of those.
“Your moms and dads are not the ones trying out. You are. Which brings me to point number two. Please remind your parents, no matter who they are, that our tryouts are closed.” Coach Taylor folds his arms around his clipboard and holds it to his chest, scanning the crowd but pausing pointedly on my cousin. Even his sunglasses can’t mask that he’s calling out my Uncle Joel.
“If anyone would like personal feedback about their performances today, please see me or any of the assistant coaches. Our ultimate goal is for you to achieve growth. We want to help you get better because we all can. Except me. I’m the best coach of all time.” His joke gets bigger laughs this time. I’m mostly amused by the way his daughter rolls her eyes.
“Anything else?” He leans forward and looks down the line at his coaches, and I prepare myself. I get my hand in position to raise it high and clear my throat quietly so my words come out loud and clear.
“Gentlemen, any questions?”
I maybe should wait a beat before jetting my hand up in case anyone else has something to say, but it’s too late now. My arm is already in the air.
“Jennings, shoot,” Coach Taylor says.
I get to my feet and remind myself not to look at anyone in particular, especially not Hollis. I’m sure both she and my cousin are on high alert, though. Only one of them should be.
“I don’t actually have a question, but more something I want to say, as a senior trying out this year, and as a new member of this school.” My voice breaks a little and my heart pounds behind my ribs. I can throw fastballs in front of a crowd but I’m absolutely screwed when it comes to speaking in front of people. It’s freaking cold out here, yet sweat is dripping down my spine.
“Go on.” Coach shifts his posture, settling in with eager ears. Here goes nothing.
“Right, okay. Well, I’m a bit of a baseball nerd, I guess. My dad is always sending me these blog links to read about
baseball psychology and team dynamics and all of that, and recently he sent me this story about character. It got me thinking about how important that is, maybe even more than skill, when it comes to a team’s chemistry.” I look down at some of the guys kneeling near me. Most of the faces are looking at me, and I’m relieved I haven’t lost people yet.
“The article was about this team in Texas that had a serious problem with hazing.” I haven’t looked at Zack once, yet I know just from saying that word out loud—hazing—that his eyes are on me. I can feel the heat from them, and I welcome it.
“It got so bad that the rumors about players being pulled into bathrooms and pink bellied or held down and sprayed with water turned students off from playing any sport at that school, period. Colleges heard the stories and revoked scholarships. Finally, some of the star pitchers were expelled from the school because, and I’m quoting the reporter who spoke to law enforcement, ‘Whether you call it hazing or not, at its core, the act is assault.’ Basically, what the story says is it doesn’t matter why it’s done or when it’s done or who you do it to. If you physically or mentally harm someone intentionally, you are an assailant. At that moment, you cease to be a ballplayer and you become a criminal.”
I glance around the crowd and catch one or two yawns, but for the most part, eyes are wide and mouths shut.
“I heard something the other day that I didn’t like. It made me feel ashamed to be here. And maybe it’s only a rumor, but that’s how things started at this other school too—with rumors. I decided I’d stand up today and pledge to act honorably, respectfully, and with character. I’d like to invite the rest of you to do the same. And not like in some ceremony or whatever, but maybe after Coach dismisses us. Let’s shake on it. I’ll promise you individually, and you do the same.”