Cannon (A Step Brother Romance #3)

"So you had to what, let them know you marked me as yours?"

Hendrix pulls me against him, his arm sliding around my lower back, and his hardness presses into me, sending a surge of heat through my body. "You are mine, Addy. It's a fact. But when I mark you as mine, you'll fucking know it."

"You want me so you can have bragging rights," I say, but I don't move away, either.

"Any man who wouldn't want to brag about being with you is messed up in the head," he says. "But I don't intend to say anything to anyone." He moves a wet tendril of hair away from my forehead. His hand follows the tendril as he tucks it behind my ear, and then, as if he's unable to control himself, he grabs my hair just like he did in the hallway, yanking my head back. Then he brings his mouth down on mine.

My resistance fades away, and I feel myself melting into him, into the kiss, as his tongue finds mine. And I don't feel the rain anymore. I only feel Hendrix. His hands sliding along my arms, his lips pressing against mine, his tongue finding my tongue, tentative for a second and then hungry.

His hand is under the fabric of my shirt, and then his palm is on my breast, and my nipple hardens against my bra. I want to feel his hands on my skin, and the thought makes me moan.

It seems like forever that I'm lost in the kiss, until I pull away, gasping for a breath. My lower lip feels swollen, bruised from his kiss, and I run my tongue along it, tasting blood.

Hendrix reaches up and presses his thumb on my lip. "I'm sorry," he says.

"It's okay. It's just a little blood."

He tilts my chin up and looks at me. "Not that. For before," he says. "For the graduation party."

"You said I had cellulite on my ass."

Hendrix grins, and he moves his hand from my face, running both of his hands down my body and over my ass. "Have I told you how hot I think cellulite is?"

"Funny."

"I was a stupid kid, Addy," he says. "And I didn't want my asshole friends to get near you."

"Because you wanted me."

"Because I wanted you more than I could fucking breathe, Addy."

"I thought you hated me."

"I hated that I couldn't have you."

"Why didn't you ever...?"

"Because you were my stepsister. And you were a year younger than me," he says. "And I was..."

"A jackass."

"That part hasn't changed, Addy-girl."

"We should -- go back in, Hendrix." I'm standing here, pressed up against his hardness, the throbbing between my legs insistent, but I'm telling him we should go inside.

"You're right," he says, tracing his thumb along my lip. My lips part, and I touch my tongue against his skin, tasting salt. "I should definitely not do what I want to do to you right now."

"Wh-what do you want to do?" My voice cracks, and I can barely get the question out. I shouldn't be asking this question. I shouldn't be standing here, with Hendrix's thumb on my lips. I shouldn't kiss that thumb, the way I do now. I shouldn't watch his expression change to one of unbridled lust and listen to the way he groans, the slow rumble of desire under his breath.

I shouldn't do any of those things. Hendrix touching me is dangerous. This isn't a game, not with my career at stake. Not with everything I've worked for at risk. I know that; I tell myself that; yet I don't move. Every cell in my body is on edge, waiting for him.

"I want to taste you," he says. "I want to pull those pants of yours down, and I want to kneel right here in the rain and put my tongue inside you. I want to feel you come on my face, Addy. I want to plunge my cock inside you and feel you come around me." Hendrix's hand is on my back, pulling me to him, and I can feel his erection hard against my leg. If his words didn't tell me he wanted me, that would make it perfectly clear.

"I --" I start, but his hand is fumbling with the button on my jeans. "Shit, Hendrix."

He slides his hand down the front of my pants, underneath my panties, and I grip his biceps as heat runs through my body at his touch. "You are so fucking wet," he says.

I can't speak, can't make anything more than a strangled cry as he touches me, his callused fingers rough against my clit. Desire runs through me like electricity, and every part of me feels like it's on fire. "I want you," I say. I speak the words. Out loud. Finally. "I want you."

Hendrix lets out a growl under his breath, primal in its intensity, and I think he's going to rip my clothes off right here outside in the pouring rain, and I don't care. I want him more than I've ever wanted anyone. In five years, nothing about that has changed. That desire has only gotten stronger.

Lightning cracks, illuminating everything with bright white light for a moment. "We should go back, before we get struck by lightning," I say, and when Hendrix slides his fingers from between my legs, I'm crushed by disappointment.