Pretty Instinct

by S. E. Hall

  “Sometimes.” He shrugs, grabbing my hand and pulling me to the stairs that lead to the gallery. “And sometimes you poot.”

  Lightening the mood to keep me from hyperventilation was his tactic, I know. But now I’m even more self-conscious…I fart in my sleep?

  “Siren,” he peers back, “if you were walking any slower, you’d be going backward. Come on, sassy girl, you got this.”

  And with thirty-two more steps, not counted by me of course, we’re standing in front of his family.

  He squeezes my hand and pulls me closer in to his side. “Moms, Dad, Sommer. This is my Lizzie. Elizabeth Carmichael.”

  Of course, his mother’s the first to approach, but not with the handshake I’d dried my clammy sweat off for. No, she has me secured in a perfumed hug before I can blink, then pulls back, spreading my arms out, and looks me over. Remember that scene in Sixteen Candles, the “Oh, and Fred, she’s gotten her boobies!” one? It’s racing mortifyingly around in my mind until she takes a different route. Thank God.

  “You are the most precious thing I’ve ever seen! So beautiful and collected. And that voice? You have a wonderful gift, Elizabeth. I’m honored to meet you.”

  So much better than I’d expected. There might actually be one of my heartstrings wobbling a bit right now.

  Next is Sommerlyn, a supermodel blonde with glowing green eyes. “Hi, Lizzie, nice to meet you. I’m Cannon’s sister, Sommerlyn.” Niceties first, then she takes her hug. How fortunate Cannon has helped tremendously with my touching phobia or else this family of huggers would be freaking me out right now. “My brother is smitten,” she whispers in my ear. “He’s fabulous, you’ll be happy, I promise.”

  “Damn right, she will.” He chuckles and kisses the top of my head. Sommerlyn needs to work on her whispering, ‘cause you could cook meat well-done on my flaming cheeks right now.

  Then there’s his dad, who honestly, I already like. More than obvious where his son gets it, he’s very handsome and well kept, with a smile that instantly invites you in. “I’m Marshall Blackwell, it’s very nice to meet you.” He shakes my back to clammy, vaguely trembling hand. “Could we treat you kids to a late dinner?

  Respectfully, Cannon leaves the decision up to me by stealing a subtle glance and squeezing my hand.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask faintly.

  “I could eat.” He shrugs, giving me no hint on which way he’s leaning.

  “Lizzie,” Sommerlyn kinda whines, “please?”

  “All-All right,” I stammer and offer an uncertain smile. “Let me just check with the rest of the band.” This was the last show and we haven’t even really talked about anything… I’m practically running backstage, crashing open the door.

  Thankfully, they’re still there, waiting on Uncle Chimney to finish a smoke. Everyone looks up at me when I burst out.

  “Hey,” I speak to the ground, “what are the plans?”

  “We were just talking about that. Technically, we’re at the end of this leg, and pretty close to home.” Rhett laughs. “Well, home is figurative. Anyway, your uncle could rest up while we regroup.”

  “I’m going to see Nessy,” Jarrett says, his face lighting up.

  “Rhett, where will you go?” my question sounds worried, and accurately so. I never know what Rhett’s plans are, and I feel the tiniest bit guilty that he’s gotten bumped further down my priority list.

  “Dunno.” He shrugs. “But I’ve saved every dime I’ve made, plus the grandparents’ trust fund that my parents don’t know about. I was thinking of looking for an apartment for when we want to go home to an actual home.”

  I don’t mention I was thinking of doing the same. “So why don’t we do this? Jarrett goes to Vegas to see his honey—kudos on the monogamy, by the way.” I give him a high-five. “Rhett and I find places, and Bruce heads to the home he already has and rests up?”

  “You can drop me at the airport,” Jarrett tells Bruce as he bounces foot to foot, rubbing his hands together.

  “I’m straight. I’ll find a way to get there when I figure out where there is,” Rhett says. “And I assume you’re sticking with Cannon?”

  I nod and grin. “I am.”

  “Okay, sounds like we got it. Everyone can call or text, see where we’re at after the break,” Rhett says optimistically but glances over at me, his eyes telling me—he knows. “Hands in,” he offers first me, then the others, a poorly faked smile and we make a pile of mitts. “New path on three, one, two, three,” he chants and we all yell it and throw our hands up like the band of dorks we are.

  Jarrett hugs me first. “Be seeing ya soon, Liz. Call me if you need me, or when you’re ready to head out. Tell Con Man hey for me.”

  “Will do. Love you.” I kiss both his cheeks.

  “Back at ya, lil’ bit.” He smiles and flicks my ear.

  Next Rhett and I have our moment, which leaves us both crying, my tears far sloppier than his. “I’ll miss you,” I sputter into his shoulders.

  “Me too, Liz, me too. But you’re gonna be fine, I have no doubt. He’s a good one and he loves you. I trust him with the most precious thing in my life—you. Maybe I’ll go find someone that lights me up like that.” He kisses my forehead, one last lingering embrace. “Call me and be good.” He starts to walk away and stops, not immediately turning to face me, every breath an obvious effort through his shirt. Finally, when I’m seconds from rushing to him and embracing him in the hug of a lifetime, he turns to look over his shoulder. “Even if it’s not next Tuesday, I’ll always be seeing ya. I love you, Liz.”

  I nod shakily, biting my lip enough to hurt, the pain counteracting and keeping the tears at bay. “Always,” I mouth, and hold strong as he walks off, giving Bruce and me some time alone…or maybe himself.

  My uncle, kind but rough around the edges, gives me a knuckle rap on my cheek. “Go fly, baby girl. Just remember your way home. Let me know when you need me.”

  I nod, reaching to hug him fiercely. “I love you.”

  “Not half as much as I love you, angel. Go live. You know where to find me. And don’t you start feeling guilty,” his brow furls at me sternly, “those boys will be fine. Your turn, Elizabeth.”

  I watch as the bus fires up and pulls away, then stops, Jarrett jumping out and running back to me with Cannon’s duffel and guitar case, the actual instrument still inside the venue with him. “Phone’s in the bag. Anything else, I figured you could grab from your uncle; I wasn’t about to carry all of everyone’s crap out here,” he laughs. “Love you.” He kisses my cheek and disappears again.

  About that time, Rhett’s cab pulls up, he, himself unmoved from further down the sidewalk where he’d retreated. Once he’s committed to it, inside the cab and it moving, he turns, glimpsing back to find my eyes. “Wipe those tears, Liz. I’ll see you soon!” he calls through the open window with a reassuring smile.

  And then he’s gone.

  All I can do is stand there, dazed. It shouldn’t have been that cordial and effortless to part ways with three of the most important, day in day out, companions, friends, in my life. Maybe for them it was “Have a great summer, see ya when school starts,” but for me, there’s an air of finality gnawing at me, festering in my subconscious in the most sensible, but undoing, voice.

  I simply can’t remember the actual moment I last made a fresh start. Maybe because it was on the heels of misery and I’ve chosen to block it out…I don’t know. But this time, it’s different; exhilarating, exciting…but not less off-putting.

  “I could’ve sworn we’d decided against you standing in dark alleys alone,” Cannon says behind me.

  “They all just left; hasn’t been five minutes.”

  “Where’d they all go?” The ground coverage crackles beneath his steps closer to me.

  “Bruce and the bus went home. He needs a rest. Jarrett’s flying to Vanessa. And Rhett wasn’t sure.”

  “And what about Lizzie? What’s her plan?” he asks in a soft, seeki
ng voice, chin resting on my shoulder.

  Turning, I burrow into his chest and suck in his calming elixir. “I was hoping you had a plan.”

  One hand cradles my head, where he kisses, the other my waist. “Want me to plan it? Do you want me to ease your mind and take care of things while you lie back, all lovely, and relax?”

  I’m not sure what’s up with the Boss, Bitch, Defensive, and Always in Control Lizzies, but every single one of them just took a unanimous vote. “Yeah, that’d be wonderful. Just keep Conner in mind, prioritized.”

  “Of course.” He smiles, I know without looking. “Now let’s go eat with my family before they think we fled out the back door.”

  Chapter 28

  I know it’s silly and dangerous to get attached too early, but you haven’t met Cannon’s family.

  They’re amazing, kind, accepting, open-minded, and huggers…Lord, are they huggers.

  His father, I’m sorry, Marshall, (which he insists I call him) is just amazing. Not once all night did he criticize, scowl, raise his voice, or disappear. And it was him who suggested Rock-n-Bowl after our smorgasbord at IHop…where he had the Rooty Tooty meal. If he’s the leader of the family, I’m following!

  And Libby, his mom—she’s loving, nurturing, and absolutely enjoyable! At the bowling alley, they played “Cha-Cha Slide” and she was all up in that, spanking it! I may love her. By the end of the night, I was leaning into her hugs.

  Sommerlyn. Where do I start? First of all, she vocally, like six towns over can hear vocally, hates Ruthie. We were best friends immediately. And when she fawned over my hair and complexion, and called me adorable, repeatedly, I actually believed her.

  Cannon sat back and watched mostly, a content smile on his face, though we dragged him up to teach us how to Dougie, even though we already knew. And may I just say…Cannon Blackwell can gyrate his hips and call it whatever the hell dance he wants, any time he wants; it’s a wonderful sight.

  When we finally parted ways with his family, around four in the morning, I truly didn’t want to see them go and can’t quite wait to see them again.

  After Cannon and I trudge to our hotel room door, we crash in bed fully clothed, less shoes, and I personally fall asleep in a happily, delusional haze, drifting off to a tranquil place where I dream of family picnics and mother/sister/me day trips to the spa and lunch. It’s a dream, so never having been a “spa girl” doesn’t matter.

  His family makes me long for things I’ve never had, things I couldn’t have. I bet Christmas at their house is the bomb—at least, I hope so, since I’m invited!

  ***

  The next morning, in this case, morning meaning noon, I stretch and groan, my arm immediately finding empty space. No noise, no shower running, where is my man? My man…I like it.

  I roll out of bed, literally catching myself on one arm short of eating floor, and wander into the bathroom. I don’t wake up pretty, I rise a zombie killer. If my hair and big ass eye boogers don’t make one keel over in fright, my breath and dried drool trail will.

  Wasting no time, I brush my teeth twice, then jump in the shower. I’m halfway through the fancy hotel conditioner rinse when the draft of the open door hits me.

  “Morning, Siren.”

  “Morning, babe.” I’m all giddy from last night and I know he loves it when I call him that, so I humor him. “Where were you?”

  “Out getting every newspaper I could find. Not only to make sure Somm and my mother hadn’t published an engagement announcement,” he chuckles, “but so I could look for a place.”

  “Fun fact,” I smirk over at him using one of his favorite phrases, “newspapers are on the internet now. Will you hand me a towel?”

  “But do online newspapers have these handy dandy brochures with pictures and specs of the properties?” He spreads out several glossy booklets and fans himself with them. “Plus, what fun is it to circle rental options on a screen?”

  “He shoots, he scores. Touché. Well done.” I tap the end of his nose lovingly.

  “And he hasn’t scored yet,” he growls, scooping me up, landing me on my back, bouncing off the mattress in seconds, “but he will.”

  He comes down over me, wrestling away the towel and lavishing kisses over my face, throat, and collarbone, until he latches onto my right nipple, sucking and nipping until he has it an aching point. “Perfect, it loves me. See? Pointing straight at my mouth.” Then he moves to the left, giving the same sensuous treatment as I pant and writhe beneath him, tugging at his hair to keep him close.

  Abruptly, he stands, relieving himself of his gray t-shirt with one yank over his head, then a few so sexy moves to lose his jeans and briefs.

  “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 i
t’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.