Cannon (Carolina Reapers 5)

1

Cannon

Sunlight streamed through the massive windows of the hotel suite, revealing the Vegas skyline in all its morning-after glory. I blinked, but the motion felt slow, heavy even, and nothing about me was ever slow. I’d made myself a damn good career out of being fast. My entire body felt sluggish, as though I’d had way too much to drink last night, which didn’t make sense. Vegas meant I was here for a game, and a game meant there was no way I’d been drinking.

Something about that didn’t quite fit the situation, but I couldn’t pin my groggy little finger on it.

What the hell had I done last night?

I rolled over, turning my back on the window and the morning it promised and found the most exquisite woman I’d ever seen lying beside me.

Persephone VanDoren.

I was dreaming.

That explained…everything. The corners of my lips tugged upward, and I relaxed into the buttery soft sheets. I propped myself up on my elbow and almost congratulated myself on having the perfect fucking dream, but I was too busy studying her in a way I never could in real life.

The woman was gorgeous with a flawless, oval face, thick lashes that rested in crescent moons on her porcelain skin, and the most kissable, bow-shaped mouth on the entire fucking planet. The covers rested just above her breasts, and she slept with her left hand cradled under her pillow and her right only a few inches away from mine. Her long, blonde hair fanned out around her like a luminous halo, and I rubbed a few strands of the silk between my thumb and forefinger, savoring just how soft it felt. Funny, I’d always thought it was all that same pale, color, but it wasn’t. Various shades of blonde, from nearly white to honey-gold ran across my skin. The contrast against the heavy, colorful tattoos of my forearm nearly made me groan.

I was covered in tattoos from the nape of my neck to my toes, and her skin was as virgin as the day she’d come into the world—at least what I’d seen of it.

My blood heated, pulsing through my veins in an all-too-familiar rush that swelled my cock. I knew exactly how this dream would end—it wasn’t like it was the first time I’d had it, and yet I couldn’t keep myself from reaching for the covers.

I drew them down her frame and growled in appreciation. Of course, she wasn’t naked—she never was. My imagination would never let me fill in that particular blank. Instead, this time she was covered with a white, spaghetti-strapped silk slip that dipped low at her neckline, then hugged every fucking curve the woman had until it ended high on her thighs. Damn, those thighs looked so creamy and soft, and while they would never part for me in real life, well, this was a dream. Who the fuck cared about the real world?

I slid one arm beneath her, cradling her light frame, and rolled her to her back as I rose above her. Her lips parted, and she murmured as she shifted underneath me.

Her. Thighs. Fucking. Parted.

I put one of my own between them. God, she was so small, so delicate. So breakable next to my six-foot-five bulk. How far would this dream go?

Keeping her cradled beneath me, I filled my free hand with the curve of her hip and squeezed lightly, then moaned my appreciation for that curve against the soft skin of her neck. She smelled like apple blossoms, sunshine, and everything good and right in the world—everything I’d never have. Fuck, she’d never felt this real before. My cock pulsed against her thigh in agreement.

She shifted again, letting loose a small, breathy sigh as she arched her neck, giving me full access. I kissed her gently just beneath her jawline like I’d fantasized every time she stuck that chin of hers in the air at me. She was such a contradiction in the real world. Easy-going and stubborn as hell, kind and sweet, then salty and harsh, delicate in one breath and a force of nature in the next—she was all of it.

The one thing she never was? Mine.

The only place I’d be good enough for Persephone and the only place she’d be safe with me was here—in my dreams.

She whimpered, as if coming awake, but when I moved to lift my head, she tangled her fingers in my hair and kept me right where I was.

I took the hint and put my mouth against her throat in an open-mouthed kiss. How could she taste so fucking good? I groaned and swept my tongue over her skin, then sucked lightly at the patch.

She shifted her thigh, lifting her knee so she rubbed against my hip.

“Cannon,” she moaned, her fingers tightening in my hair.

Fuck. Need, hot and insistent, raced down my spine. I pressed against her center with my thigh, and the heat I found there set every cell in my body on fire.