5

 

Piper

The second the hotel room door closes, Cannon’s kissing my neck. What I thought was ruined suddenly comes to life. I take two steps backward until my back is pressed against the wall. His tongue laps at a little bead of sweat the air-conditioning is trying to chase away. He likes the room freezing cold and says it keeps the humidity from destroying his hair.

When I first met Cannon, his hair used to hang just above his eyebrows. When he was working out, the strands would nearly poke him in the eye. Sometime during the last few years, he started keeping the sides shaved and the top long enough to blow-dry into the perfect wave, swept away from his face. I asked him if it was the beginning of an early midlife crisis. He said he finally started giving a shit.

Is that what we’re having? An early midlife crisis?

“Piper? Did you hear me?” He bends at the waist to look me in the eyes.

“What?”

“You sure you’re okay? I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m fine,” I lie.

“You’re not,” he tells me, like he knows me better than I know myself. He probably does because, lately, my thoughts have been my own worst enemy. He cups my jaw in his palm and whispers, “I don’t like telling you no, Piper.”

“Then, why did you?”

I want to understand. His reasoning has to go beyond the fact that we were in public. Because, had I begged him to touch me in the privacy of our own bedroom, Cannon probably would have touched me until I came apart beneath him. At least, I don’t think he would have made excuses, but these days, he’s been changing so much, and I haven’t been able to figure out why.

“We were on the beach, babe.” He runs his hand through that styled hair of his. His expression is pained, maybe even a little confused, when he adds, “And…I don’t know…you’ve never wanted something like that before. It wasn’t like you.”

“What am I like, Cannon? I always want you, and I felt how much you wanted me, too.” I hate how he makes me feel like wanting him is wrong. That we’re beyond trying new things just because we’ve always had the same cookie-cutter sex.

After a little peck on my lips, he doesn’t bother with trying to deny how turned on he was. For a few seconds, we’re back in the alcove, just him and me.

His eyes are focused on my mouth when he pries the beach bag out of my hand and sets it on the floor. The hair tie comes out of my hair, and he massages my scalp with his fingertips. My eyes close, and I rest my forehead against his chest, his skin still warm from the sun.

“Tell me what you need, Piper. I’m sorry. I do want you.”

“Touch me. Don’t stop touching me,” I tell him as a tear slides down my cheek.

He says nothing about the tear, just kisses it away as I cling to him.

“I’m sorry, Piper,” he says over and over.

But my tears aren’t because of the beach or the alcove. They’re coming from someplace darker. Someplace I’m afraid to shine a light on. Because, once I do, I don’t know if Cannon will still be kissing away my tears. I don’t know if he’ll be in my life at all. That thought alone has me gripping his shoulders so hard.

He picks me up and sets me on the bed. Looking down, he stares at my stomach and pauses. Right away, I know he’s mistaken my efforts this week. Wanting him has nothing to do with children. But I let him say it anyway because I need to hear this.

Finally, he says, “I don’t know if I’m ready yet, Piper. I want to be, but I’m not there yet.”

“We’re our own family, Cannon. I just need you,” I tell him.

I didn’t plan this trip to convince him that it was time to try to get pregnant. That’s an entirely different issue we’ve glossed over. And, if the time ever comes, we’ll discuss it again. But, right now, all I care about is us. Everything about Belize has been meant to bring us closer, to find our footing after months of coming and going left us feeling more like strangers than lovers. And, if we can’t find solid ground, then nothing will fix us.

Not a baby.

Not a break.

“I want you, Pipes.”

As I lift my hips, giving him the okay, he slides my bikini bottoms down my legs and unties the top from around my neck.

“Spread your legs for me, baby.”

One at a time, I lift each leg until my feet are flat on the mattress, my knees spread as wide as they’ll go. A low growl builds in his throat, and he can’t get his swim trunks off quickly enough. The second he springs free, he’s between my legs, guiding himself toward my warmth.

But the buildup is lost when he slides inside me with so much patience and tenderness that I ache for more friction. He stays buried to the hilt when I need him to move. God, do I need him to move.

“Please, Cannon.” I try rocking back and forth, but he holds me still, his breathing already shallow. “Please,” I say one more time.

“Don’t beg, Piper,” he says.

I want to ask him why, but I already know the answer. Sex with Cannon is nearly the same each time, a dance that’s become as predictable and routine as the rest of my life. Every kiss, every movement—it’s almost planned to perfection. Only it’s not perfect, not even close.

When he’s ready, he starts to move and grabs me by the hips, where his hands will stay. With my ass slightly off the bed, my hips tilted upward, and my thighs clenching his waist, he fucks me with a familiar rhythm, the same tempo I’ve memorized.

“Is this what you want, baby?”

I tell him, “Yes,” even though I want it harder and faster.

His pace barely changes as he chews on his lip and watches my chest bounce. My nipples are so hard that all he’d have to do is flick one, and I’d scream, but his hands rarely roam or explore.

“Keep your legs around me, understand?” he says.

I nod because I know this is how he wants me—on my back, gripping him. Other than a few kisses on my lips every few seconds, Belize sex remains as standard as Florida sex.

“You feel so good, Piper,” he says through gritted teeth.

He’s as hard as a rock inside me, and I know he’s close.

Three more pumps, and he’s on the edge, his entire body tensing as he kisses me hard on the mouth. I kiss back even harder, holding on, as he spills inside me.