Cannon Read online

  And that's one of the things making me lose my mind here.   Not only am I surrounded by Addy during the day, I'm surrounded by her at night, too.   Even here in this room I can't get away from her.   I swear, the damn sheets on the bed smell like her perfume.

  It's making me edgy and irritable and. . . fucking hard as hell.

  I strip down to my boxers and drop my sweaty clothes into the hamper, gulping down more coffee and grimacing as the hot liquid hits the back my throat.   I need a shower after another eight-miler.

  What I really need is to get laid.

  What I really, really need is someone to get my mind off my stepsister.

  When I open the door, she's coming down the hallway from her room, dressed in a t-shirt.

  And nothing else.   Addison is wearing a grey t-shirt that barely comes down over her hips and makes me wonder if she has on panties at all.   She stops short, a foot away from me, and her face turns practically scarlet.   When she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, the t-shirt fabric gets pulled higher, until I can see the edge of her panties between her legs.   Pink.   She's wearing pink fucking panties and a t-shirt.

  If I thought my cock was going to explode before. . .

  I swear to God all the blood drains from my head and I just stand there, staring at her with my mouth hanging open like an idiot.

  "Oh," she says.   Her gaze travels down the length of my body, and I am suddenly really fucking aware of the fact that I'm standing here in boxer briefs and nothing else.   With a raging hard-on.   I'm face to face with the girl I've just sworn I needed to get out of my head, and my boner is broadcasting loud and clear just how absolutely not out of my head this girl is.   "I heard the door close and I thought you were out running. "

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  "I was," I say.   "Out running.   I'm done now. "

  "I was just -- coffee," she says.   "I mean.   Um.   I didn't expect you to be here, or. . . yeah.   No pants. "

  "Pants. "  I swallow hard, trying with every fiber of my being not to look down at her bare legs.   And definitely not to look down at the place where the t-shirt hangs, at the crease of her thigh.   And for shit's sake, not to glance down between her legs again to see if the pink fabric peeks out.

  "I mean, it's my house, so I don't usually have to. . . you know. . . " Her voice trails off.

  "Wear clothes. "  Once I speak the words, the image of Addison walking around her house naked flashes in my head, and my cock throbs.

  She has to think I'm a fucking pervert.   I am a fucking pervert.   The things I want to do to her. . .   I have to clench my fists at my side to keep myself from taking her by the wrists, pushing her against the nearest wall, pinning her arms above her head, and sliding my cock inside her.

  "Clothes," she says.   "You're not. . . and, I mean, there's that. . . " Her eyes drift down my body, and I know she's looking at my erection, and heaven help me, I should walk away from her now, but I can't.   I don't want to.

  "That," I repeat, even though I know exactly what she's talking about, what she's looking at.   "Say the word, sweet cheeks. "  I don't just mean that I want her to say the word cock, although hearing that word come out of Addison's mouth would be a high point in my fucking life.

  I want her to say the other word.   I want her to say yes.

  Heaven help me, I want her to say yes, even though she shouldn't.

  Addison pulls the corner of her lower lip between her teeth, and it makes me want to take her face in my hand, crush her mouth under my lips, and pull that lower lip between my teeth.   She looks at me, her eyes wide, pupils big, and I can hear her intake of breath, sharp.

  Without thinking, I reach up, meaning to tuck a stray piece of hair back behind her ear, the way she seems to be constantly doing, but I pause, unable to pull my hand back from her once I touch her.   Instead, I lace my fingers through her hair, grabbing a handful tightly at the nape of her neck, and pull her against me.   Addison lets out a small moan, barely audible, her face upturned toward me, full lips parted.   "No," she breathes, the word catching in her throat.

  "No?" I repeat the word, making sure I hear her correctly, but I don't let go of her hair.

  Addy lets out a whimper, and I note the expression on her face as she struggles internally with what she wants.   "Hendrix, I. . . "

  "I think the answer is yes, Addy," I whisper.   "I think every part of you desperately wants me to show you what you keep trying to steal glances at. "

  "I don't," she says, her protest barely audible.

  "I think you do," I say.   "I think you want to wrap those sweet lips of yours around it.   I think you want to know how it feels to come on me.   Say the word, Addy, and I'll show you. "

  She swallows hard, looks at me, deliberating.   Then she opens her mouth, and I swear that if she says yes, I'll rip her panties off and fuck her against this wall right now without a second thought, without giving two shits about what the hell the consequences are.   When she finally speaks, her voice is hoarse.   "No," she says, shaking her head.

  I hear the word but for a second it doesn't register, and then it does.   Shit.   Numbly, I let go of her hair, and she stumbles backward a step, shaking her head.

  SIX YEARS AGO

  "It's okay," I say.   Hendrix looks pissed off.   I'm standing in the driveway, my purse slung over my shoulder, holding my study guide for the driving test and my cell phone.   I've been waiting here for him, flipping my phone open over and over, opening it in sets of threes, nervous that I'm going to miss the test.   "I can just schedule it for another time.   I didn't mean to make you leave school early. "

  "What the hell are you apologizing for?"  Hendrix asks, his tone gruff.   "Get in my fucking car.   Now. "

  On the way to the department of motor vehicles, Hendrix grills me.   "Your mother was going to take you, wasn't she?  Didn't she make this some big parenting thing?  She wanted to be there for you or some bullshit?"

  "Yeah," I say.   "I'm sorry I had to ask you, Hendrix. "

  "I told you to stop with the damn apologies," he says.

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  "I tried Grace, but she didn't answer.   I think she's with her boyfriend. "

  "It's no big deal," he says.   "I was just going to fuck around after school with my friends anyway.   What the hell do I care?"

  I look at him and he shrugs and runs his fingers through his hair.   It's half-shaved, and he pierced his lip last week.   "Are you wearing eye liner?"

  "Shut the fuck up," he says.   "It's fashion. "

  I snort.   "Yeah, sure.   You want to borrow my mascara, too?"

  "Okay, smartass.   What do you know about fashion?"

  "Uh, I'm practically a movie star. "

  "You're a country singer," he says.   "You're not anywhere near movie star status.   And no, your music videos don't count.   At all. "

  "Whatever, dude," I say.

  "Dude?" he asks, slowing down at a stoplight.   "What are you, a surfer chick or something?"  He looks at me.   Yep, he's wearing eyeliner.   I knew it.   Whatever crowd of friends he's hanging around with think they're too cool for everyone and everything.   He brought them over before, and I didn't like them.   But really, eyeliner?

  "Shut up. "

  "Awesome comeback, dude," he says, squeezing my leg.   When he touches me, I feel a jolt of electricity run through my body, just like it does every time he accidentally brushes me, or puts his arm around my shoulder the way a brother would.   But Hendrix is my brother, and nothing more, I remind myself.

  I look away, out the window, distracting myself by tapping on the side of the passenger door with the tip of my finger while I count the telephone poles on the side of the road as we drive past them.

  Hendrix is silent for a few minutes.   "Are you worried about the tes