Cannon Read online

  "I'm not opening the door unless you want me to, Addy," he says.   "But at least be fucking honest.   Tell me. "

  He's safely on the other side of the door.   I should be pleased about that.   I should be happy that he's staying on the other side of the door.

  The problem is that on the other side of the door isn't where I want him.   I want him here with his hands on me, his fingers between my legs.

  "There's nothing to tell, Hendrix. "  My voice cracks.   There's nothing to tell, yet my body is on high alert, just like it was before, goose bumps dotting my arms and heat between my legs.   Damn it, why does Hendrix have this kind of effect on me?

  "Do you know what you're doing to me, Addy?"  His voice is hoarse, muted through the door, but it's like he's right beside me, whispering in my ear.   The same way he whispered to me in the hallway, half under his breath.

  I want his breath in my ear, but I'm afraid to speak.   I'm afraid to say yes.

  I'm afraid of what I'm doing to him.

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  I'm afraid of what he's doing to me.

  "I don't know," I say.   The words barely come out.   Can he tell that I've slipped my hand underneath my shirt, that I'm running my palm over my breast?  My nipples harden to my touch, and I inhale sharply.

  "Do you know what you've always done to me?" he asks.

  My breath catches in my throat.   What I've always done to him?  My jaw clenches tightly as the memory of that night flashes in my mind, the things Hendrix said about me when he thought I wasn't there.   No.   Hendrix is full of shit.   He was a player in high school, and he's a player now.   Nothing is different.   "No, Hendrix. "  I choke out the words.   "Go away. "

  SIX YEARS AGO

  I sit on the balcony of the hotel room overlooking the beach, listening to the waves crash against the shore and jonesing for a smoke.   I quit a month ago, but it's times like this that I really miss it.   Times like this, when I'm sitting in a hotel room balcony, looking at the empty room and knowing that Addison is in the room next door.   She's probably asleep now.

  Shit, I wonder if she sleeps naked.   No, that's not Addison.   She probably sleeps in a little cotton t-shirt that barely covers that perfect ass of hers.   Or what I imagine is her perfect ass.   I've never seen it outside of that swimsuit she wears.

  Fuck.   Now I have a raging hard-on.

  I need to stop thinking about Addy.   I don't know what the hell I was thinking, blurting out "road trip" like that, like I'm some geeky guy who's falling all over himself to talk to her. She's a star.   She's out of my league.   She definitely doesn't look at me the way I look at her.

  Oh, and she's my fucking sister, for shit's sake.   Stepsister.   But I've been living with her for a year now.   We're basically siblings.

  It's fucked up.

  I swear to God, I've never been as big of a whore as I've been this year, trying to fuck thoughts of Addy right out of my head.   I've brought a parade of girls through my room, one after the other, none of them right.

  Too blonde.   Not blonde enough.   One breathed too loudly. Too short.   Too tall.   Too damn irritating.

  I know I'm an asshole.

  An asshole who's too fucking obsessed with his stepsister.

  That makes me an even bigger asshole, I think.

  Hanging around Addy is just so fucking easy.   When I'm not feeling guilty and fighting my attraction for her, it's practically effortless.   She's the easiest person I've ever talked to.   Hell, I've talked more to her than anyone in my whole damn life.   On the drive to Hilton Head, we talked non-stop, for almost eight hours.   No weird or awkward silences.   We talked about music and bands and life and our asshole parents and the future.

  The problem is that it's too easy and comfortable.   I can't get comfortable with Addison.   Hell, I can't get that comfortable with anyone.   Too comfortable is dangerous.   Relying on people is dangerous.

  That's the thing I know about life.   When you love people, they leave you.   I learned that lesson with my mother.   Never let anyone get close – that's a lesson I taught myself.   That's what my mother's death taught me.

  I have to get away from Addy.   Out of sight, out of mind.   It's the only way.   I break out my emergency smoke and the lighter.

  By the time I finish smoking the cigarette, I've made a decision.

  PRESENT DAY

  Damn it, damn it, damn it.   I push the door to my room, and it slams shut loudly, louder than I intended.   Shit.   Now Addison will think I'm angry at her, that I'm some dickhead who's throwing a temper tantrum because I wanted to fuck her and she didn't want to let me in her bedroom, when that's not it at all.

  I'm fucking infuriated with myself.   I'm infuriated with myself for standing there, one hand on her bedroom door and the other hand wrapped around my cock, stroking myself while I pictured her with her fingers inside her panties.   The minute I heard her call my name, I could tell what she was doing, my name on her lips in the throes of orgasm.   I wanted her to touch herself again, to bring herself to orgasm again while I was there.   I wanted her let me in so I could finish what I started out there in the hallway.

  My dick is still as hard as a fucking rock, and I lean with my back against the bedroom door, running my hand down the length of my cock.   I close my eyes, picturing Addison in front of me.   I imagine my hands in her hair, traveling over her breasts, cupping her curvy ass.

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  I picture Addison on her knees in front of me, looking up at me.

  Addison, with her sweet lips wrapped around my cock.

  The image of Addy taking me in, Addy sucking me dry, pushes me over the edge with a vengeance.

  It's her face I see when I come.

  And it's her name I groan, not even bothering to try to stay silent.   I hope she hears me.   I hope she knows I just came, thinking about her.

  It's two hours before Addison comes out of her room.   I guess I should be impressed that she came out at all, honestly.   I sort of figured she'd hide away in there all day, give me some bullshit excuse about how she was feeling sick.   But she didn't.

  I guess she has more balls than I thought she did.

  She sits down at the counter in the kitchen without looking at me, and I pour a cup of coffee, sliding it toward her.   "Thanks," she says.

  "Did you go back to sleep?"  I ask, sipping my coffee.   Well, this is about as awkward as I expected it to be.

  "Hendrix, we should talk about what happened," she starts.   But she doesn't look at me, clearly embarrassed.

  "Should we?" I ask.   "Because nothing happened. "

  "Out in the hallway," she says.   "And then. . . what you heard.   And what I heard. "

  Oh good, she heard me, I think.   But I shrug nonchalantly.   "It was a momentary lapse in judgment," I say.

  "That's it. "  She looks up at me, her eyes wary.   "You were going to. . . kiss me. "

  I turn to grab the printout of her schedule and put it in front of her on the counter, intending to change the subject.   "I was horny, and you were wearing. . . that shirt.   And those panties. "

  "You saw my panties?" she asks.

  "Shit, Addy. "  I shake my head, laughing.   "You're something.   Let's just write it off, all right?  Nothing happened. "

  "That's it," she says, her voice wary.   "You were just horny.   I was just horny. "

  No, that's not fucking it, I think.   That's what I want to say.   That's not it at all.   But I don't.   "That's it," I lie.   I force a shrug, and a casualness I definitely don't feel.   "You know me, sweet cheeks.   Have I ever been able to pass up a hot chick?"

  "You think I'm a hot chick?" she asks, her cheeks flushing.

  Damn it.   I clench my jaw.   "You're Addy," I say.   "Not a hot ch