by Norris, Kris
She ran one hand along his arm. “Christ, you’re built like a damn tank. Is that why they call you Cannon? Because of your size?”
“Mostly because I hit twice as hard. Punch my way through anything.”
“Mmm, I like the sound of that. Which brings me to the point where I don’t think we’ll be doing much sleeping. At least, not initially.” She lowered her hand—squeezed him through the denim.
His nostrils flared as his eyes closed slightly. “Jericho.”
“I love the way you say my name. Say it, again.”
“Jericho.” He chuckled at the shiver that wove down her spine. “The last time I indulged you, your ribs were twice as bad the next morning. And don’t even try to tell me they aren’t hurting, now. I saw you wince back at the bar.”
Did the guy see everything?
He exhaled. “I think—”
“That’s the problem. You think too much. Trust me, any bit of discomfort I might feel later will be more than worth it.” She reached for his face—brushed her thumb along his chin. “You wouldn’t make a lady beg, would you?”
His jaw clenched, twitching the muscle next to his left eye. “You’re determined to fight dirty, aren’t you? No…” He placed a finger over her lips. “Don’t answer that. I already know what you’re going to say. So, how about a compromise? We’ll sleep for a couple of hours, and if you still want to make love once you wake up, then I’ll make all those fantasies inside your head come true.”
She laughed. “You act as if there’s going to be a time I won’t want to make love to you. Not going to happen, but if you need to rest, first…”
He kissed her. His lips molding to hers, one hand lifting to sink into her hair—hold her head. His fingers flexed against her scalp, tightened around some strands, then tipped her head back as he tugged her against him with his other hand. Deepened the kiss.
She moaned into his mouth. He tasted like heat and man—a hint of soda from the bar. She tried to wrap her fingers around his shoulders, but he was too large. Too much muscle for her to do more than dig the tips in slightly.
Cannon grunted, lifting his mouth, breathing, then kissing her, again. Harder. More desperate. Each advance and retreat lengthened, until she wasn’t sure how long they’d sat in his truck, locked in a never-ending embrace.
Good. She didn’t want it to end. Didn’t want him to let her go—lose the feel of his arms banded around her. His heat seeping through her clothes—warming her skin. It felt right. Felt safe. As long as he was holding her, nothing could harm her. He was impenetrable. A massive wall of flesh and bone and muscles. Of heat and desire and, damn it, love. Because that’s what she felt for him. Love.
It was there in the way she was willing to pass out from the lack of oxygen rather than worry about taking a breath. How her heart thundered in her chest, matching his frantic rhythm. How the rest of the world faded. Just disappeared. Nothing left but his mouth on hers, his body shielding her.
Harsh breaths. His. Hers. They mixed until the windshield started to fog. The night air cooling her skin. Cannon finally eased back but didn’t move more than an inch away.
He nuzzled her cheek and neck, his fingers fisting around her hair. “Shit, sweetheart. All it takes is a look. A smile. A kiss, and I’m lost. Forget what I was doing. My mission. My training. My damn sanity. I just focus on you. What you’re feeling, if you’re safe. How I can put another smile on your face.”
She grinned, brushing a kiss across his jaw. “So, you’re saying I turn you into a loose cannon?”
“Very funny. Except…” He pulled back enough she could look him in the eyes. “It’s true. Knowing there were men actively gunning for you… It made me reckless.”
“Like challenging all those men on your own?” She scoffed at his narrowed eyes. “We both know you should have taken Rigs with you. Or Midnight. Both. I was safe with Colt. The man’s as paranoid as you are. As damn protective, too. You were the one in danger.”
He stared at her, gazes locked. Mouth pursed tight, before he sighed. “Can’t help it. Already had to cope with nearly losing you, once. That…”
“Do you think it would be any easier for me to lose you? That I don’t feel the same? Having to sit there, knowing what you were facing, alone. Damn near lost my mind.”
He chuckled. “We’re quite the pair. Just…give me some time. I’ll see what I can do to lose this junkyard dog mentality where you’re concerned. Try to ease up on my protectiveness. And, before you remind me you’re a federal marshal, it’s not because I doubt your skill. It’s built in. Etched in my DNA. I know how it sounds, but whenever something or someone challenges you, all I can think is—fuck that, she’s mine.”
Damn, how could she argue with that? With him wanting to protect her, not because he thought she was weak or couldn’t handle herself, but because he cared. He hadn’t said he loved her, either, but that’s what he meant. What he was trying to convey without putting it out in the open. Making it real. Concrete.
She shook her head. “That’s incredibly Neanderthal. And perfectly romantic. Fine. I’ll give you some adjusting time. But don’t make me have to kick your ass to prove myself.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Now, I think we need to renegotiate our next steps. Because if I don’t get a taste of your skin soon…” He tucked his keys in his pocket then opened the door. “Stay right there.”
“But…” She frowned as he jumped out of the truck, scanning the area before making his way to her side. She gasped as he opened the door then lifted her into his arms, slamming the door shut behind them then heading for the main entrance to his office.
“Um, Cannon? This is your office.”
“Yup.”
“Aren’t we heading to the loft?”
“Sure are. But my loft. Not Ice’s. Spent the last month upgrading a part of the upstairs. Thought it made sense to combine the two spaces. I have a pretty extensive security system. Would have brought you here before, but we needed to go somewhere no one suspected. Where they wouldn’t track you down. And, since your office knew about me, it made sense to stay at Ice’s. Now that the main threat is over, I figure we can let Ice and Harlequin have some alone time. The others, too. Except Colt. He’s crashing in the spare room. And Six will be here in the morning.”
“Six?”
“You’ll see. Just, relax. You’re in good hands.”
He winked at her, the overly confident bastard, then headed inside. He hadn’t been joking about the security measures. Alarm systems. Fingerprint readers. What she swore was a damn retinal scan. All sorts of boxes and codes, but Cannon managed to handle them all without putting her down.
Then, he was climbing the steps—opening another door, with yet another code box. By the time they were inside his apartment, her pulse was thrumming, a needy ache throbbing between her thighs. She’d never been carried—not like this. Not as an adult. Feeling his muscles move, knowing he wasn’t even breathing hard, that he was primed and ready to take her—it registered in the same part of her brain that had swooned when he’d said she was his. That ancient section of her DNA that relished an alpha male in full rut.
That was insanely in love with Rick Sloan.
Cannon walked through the apartment. Lights off. Nothing to guide him but either memory or the kind of night vision she only achieved with googles, taking them directly to his bedroom. She’d only noticed one other door—most likely a washroom—the rest of the area was open. She couldn’t tell what kind of furniture he had or if he’d done any decorating, but she got a good view of the bed. Big. What looked like a thick duvet and full pillows.
He placed her on her feet at the foot, his hands falling to rest on her hips. He gave her a sloppy half-smile. “What’s with the look?
“What look?”
“The one suggests you’re not too sure if agreeing to come up here was a good idea?”
She swatted him in the chest, biting back a moan when her hand just bounced off. “I’m
just surprised. I didn’t picture your bedroom being this…”
“Neat?”
“Comfy looking. I mean, you spent fifteen years in the service.”
He laughed. Rich. Deep. The kind that made her melt inside. “What did you think I’d want to sleep on? A cot?”
“Or a mattress on the floor. Maybe just the floor.”
Cannon made a point of scanning the room before staring down at her, and damn, the look on his face. It meant more than the answer because he was the answer. To all the questions rattling around in her head. Whether she ever discovered the truth behind Ty Brown’s escape. If she could truly go back to the office after everything that had happened. If she’d ever trust another partner other than the man standing in front of her, fingers lightly digging into her flesh. His gaze fixed on her.
He lifted one hand—tucked some hair behind her ear. “Honestly, if I hadn’t met you that night in the bar. If you hadn’t asked me to join you for coffee. If I hadn’t hoped that one day, I’d carry you through that door—I might be sleeping in a bag on the floor. But that night changed everything.”
He traced his thumb along her jaw line. “You changed everything. No way I could have ever asked you here and not had you comfortable. You…”
He leaned down until his forehead was resting on hers. Close. Intimate. Just the two of them, their increased breath sounding around them.
Jericho wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his chin until he met her gaze. “For the record, I would have stayed even if it had been a sleeping bag on the floor because I’m here for you. To be with you. And you’re worth any sacrifice.”
She laughed at his wide eyes then nodded toward the bed. “But I’m really glad there’s a bed because we’re going to be spending a lot of time rolling around on it. Starting now.”
Chapter Nineteen
He was worth any sacrifice?
Had she really said that?
Cannon stared into Jericho’s eyes and damn near died. Right there. At the foot of his bed, his woman pressed against him, her arms around his neck—his fingers gripping her hips. If it wasn’t for his painful hard-on—the way his damn heart was thrashing inside his chest. The clammy feel of his skin—he would have sworn he was dreaming. Still lying in Ice’s spare room with Jericho in his arms, wishing he could be right where he was. Home. With her.
He hadn’t had a home in, what? Ever? He’d grown up poor to a single mom. Had worked whatever job he could find to help with bills. That’s why he’d joined the Army. To escape. Alleviate the burden on his mother to care for another human being. His thoughts, not hers. She’d always made sure he knew she loved him. Was proud of him. That he was wanted. That she’d gladly go without if it meant he’d have enough. But he’d seen the hardship. Experienced it. Known that she’d be better off without him. That he could send some of his pay home to her without having to live on the streets.
But despite everything—her obvious love—he’d never really felt as if he’d been living in a home. A dwelling, sure. A roof with four walls. But that feeling of coming through the door and being at peace? Like stepping into a private oasis? He’d never had that…
Until just now when he’d crossed the threshold with Jericho in his arms.
He needed to tell her he loved her. Pray she felt the same. But, while he didn’t enjoy being patient, he could be, when called upon. And, if she needed more time to get to where he was—if everything she’d experienced over the past couple of weeks was too much for her to process. Was clouding her judgement—he’d wait. As long as it took because she was worth it. Worth the risk of getting hurt.
Jericho went to her toes, palming his face with both hands as she lightly touched her lips to his. “Rick.”
That was it. A breathy sighed version of his name, and he was lost. Closed that fraction of distance—consumed her lips. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a full scale attack. A maneuver designed to break any of her remaining walls. The ones she’d erected after losing her dad so young.
Cannon had learned a bit about her past. Growing up in the shadow of her father’s ghost. His sacrifice. Hastings had told Cannon a few details about the mission—how Mason Hastings had died. Heroically. Saving the lives of three other men. Cannon didn’t need to know the rest. That was enough to confirm his thoughts—that Jericho’s need to prove herself stemmed from a sense of duty. As if she had to be worthy of living.
She didn’t. That’s not how it worked. Men like him, like her father, her uncle—they didn’t want others to acknowledge their sacrifice. It was for the men they served with. So their families could continue living in relative safety. Cliché as it was, it was for freedom.
But Jericho hadn’t gotten that memo. It hadn’t made it over her damn walls. But it didn’t matter. Cannon could scale walls. Jump right over the fuckers, and if that failed, he’d simply blast right through. He hadn’t been joking. That’s why his buddies had nicknamed him Cannon. Because he just busted his way through anything that defied a softer approach. Anything that stood in his way of accomplishing his mission.
And Jericho was his new mission. His lifelong one. Whether she knew it, yet, or not didn’t matter. He’d find a way to tell her when the time was right. Like after he’d kept his promise—made all her fantasies come true.
He didn’t know what they were. Hell, they’d only shared one night together. Sure, they’d made love a number of times. In the bed, the shower. Hadn’t he taken her against a door? All the ways he’d envisioned. So, now, it was her turn. Whatever she wanted. He’d find a way to make it happen.
Jericho gasped in a breath when he finally released her. “Christ. I might not make it to the bed before I come if you kiss me like that, again.”
“Oh, sweetheart. Never issue a challenge to a Delta Force soldier.”
“It wasn’t—”
Like hell, it wasn’t. And, it wasn’t one he could leave unchecked. Which meant cutting her off with another kiss. One that made the first one appear tame. That left her writhing in his arms as he swept his hands down her body. A few swipes and twists, and he had her weapon tucked on the side table, her jacket and shirt off. Her bra hanging by one wrist. A quick breath, a crouch and a strategic lift, and her pants and underwear were gone. History. Forgotten somewhere on the floor behind him.
He didn’t care where. Didn’t care if they ever found them, again. Just another reason to keep her naked and in his bed for the foreseeable future. He was sure he could somehow get Colt or Six to leave some food at the door. Bribe them. Cannon would owe them, but he didn’t care. Not if it meant staying there with Jericho.
In his new home. What he hoped would become their home.
Hell, he liked the sound of that. Loved it, in fact. Just like he loved the brush of her smooth skin beneath his hands. The way it beaded as he skimmed his fingertips over her sensitive areas—the back of her knees. Her hips. Along her ribs. The soft curve of her breast. The pulse point on her neck.
It was like drawing a map of what turned her on the most. What made her sigh, pant, claw at his back. Cannon didn’t just want her aroused. He wanted her desperate. Clinging to her control with the same hair trigger he was.
When he slipped a finger between her folds—dipped inside her then rubbed the tip around her clit—she exploded. Drenched his hand as she rode it through her orgasm, falling limp in his arms after damn near taking him over with her.
He’d held on. Barely. And only by clenching every muscle. Thinking through a few complicated strategies he’d faced in the Teams. He just hoped he’d last more than a few strokes once he got inside her. Had all that warm, wet release sliding across his dick.
Shit, he had to stop thinking about that. About what it was like to be inside her, because it was the best damn feeling he’d ever had. Hot. Tight. So fucking wet.
Jericho clung to him, finally managing to make eye contract. “How did you…” She panted through a small tremor. “I’ve never…”
Good. He wanted to be a
ll the firsts he could manage. The first man to get her off like that. To go bareback. To gain her love. Then, all the rest that followed.
He smiled, lifting her in his arms then taking her down on the bed. “God, I love watching you come. Let’s do it, again.”
There was just one problem. He wasn’t naked—yet. And getting that way involved letting her go. Actually lifting his hands from her skin. That soft, smooth flesh beneath his palms. Exactly what he didn’t want to do.
But, just when he thought he’d finally convinced his fingers to let go, she did it for him. Yanked his shirt over his head. Sure he had to release her for a second, but not nearly as long as if he’d had to remove his own shirt. And his pants? Gone. He’d felt a tug on his waist, then they were off his hips—falling onto the floor. Thank god he’d disarmed all but one pistol before getting in his truck. And that he’d had the sense to place it and her Beretta and holster on the side table before stripping her down. At least, he thought he’d done that. He couldn’t quite remember what had happened between her saying his name, then her coming in his arms. But they were both there. A quick glance confirmed each weapon was within reach should he need it.
He wouldn’t need it. Colt was bound to be in the spare room, by now. The man would stand watch until Six arrived closer to sunrise. Cannon could afford to let his guard down a bit. Could trust his brothers to have his back.
Which meant he could focus on Jericho. On increasing the pink flush of her skin as he moved over her—slid home. On making her chant his name as he started up a steady rhythm. In, pause, then out. Each thrust gained strength, each retreat slightly shorter until his hips didn’t stop moving. Until he was pounding her into the mattress. Making the headboard bang against the wall.
She had her fingers digging into his back. Scratching his skin. Urging him to go harder as her legs squeezed his hips, her heels pressing into the small of his back. She levered up. Met each stroke. Then, she was coming, again. Shouting his name, trying to pull him closer. He kept going. Drew it out until the fire in his sac exploded. Had him emptying into her in long, steady pulses.