Forever You're Mine (MINE #4)(19)

“The little things you do.”

I knew better than to answer this burning desire between us, sparks that had been there from the beginning, so tempting and bright. But I was blinded by it all when I leaned down, forcing her back to the cushion of the couch.

Pressing my palms on either side of her head, I leaned in close. “Take a ride with me.”

“Where?” she asked.

“Anywhere.”

What was I doing? Playing with fire-that’s what. And there wasn’t a question about it…both of us were going to get burned.

We ended up parked off a dead end road. Cora had downed several more beers while I only sipped on my third. She was tipsy but far from drunk. I’d seen her drunk more than once and it took a hell of a lot more than a six pack of beer to get her there.

She kept asking me if she could shoot my gun. I repeatedly told her no, but she’d started to beg. Alcohol and weapons were never a good combination, but I was a fool for the way her bottom lip poked out in a pout and my poor dick just couldn’t take it anymore. So I pulled off and found a secluded spot to set up a makeshift target which consisted of a few empty beer cans. Once I had my .357 loaded, I asked if she was ready.

“I’ve never shot a gun before.” She informed me with a mischievous smile.

“Never?”

She shook her head.

“So I get to pop your cherry?”

“Oh yeah,” she laughed and I swear if laughs were made of clouds, I would have plopped down on it and floated away.





Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.

~Maya Angelou





My blood tingled, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or the close proximity of Cannon’s body to mine. I’d never felt anything like this before. Of course, in the beginning, Dent gave me butterflies and that feeling of flying that can only be attributed to love, but nothing like this. Absolutely nothing compared to the way Cannon made me feel when he had his arms around me like this, touching me in places his hands could never reach.

Our stance was less than romantic, with my feet planted firmly apart, arms raised, I held the gun tight between the palms of my hands. Cannon’s solid front was pressed to my back and he didn’t even try to be gentlemanly about it. I could feel every ridged part of him, his gentle strength wrapped tightly around me.

After a whole lot of begging, he pulled over and found a secluded spot at the end of a deserted road. Now he was expertly guiding my fingers, properly positioning them to hold the heavy piece of metal without hurting myself, or anyone else. “You sure you’re ok?” he asked against my cheek and I thought for sure I would pass out. I nodded, unable to speak. “Ok, you see this? When you’re ready to pull the trigger, when you’re comfortable, drop the hammer back and squeeze.”

I nodded and attempted to calm my racing heart. I wasn’t sure if firing a gun was what excited me the most, or Cannon and his hard body wrapped around me like some kind of protective shield. My thumb danced across the cool steel before I pulled the hammer back. Cannon’s hands fell to my hips, his firm fingers holding me in place.

Adrenaline spiked to an unfathomable high as I fired my first shot, sending the can flying through the air.

I wasn’t prepared for the powerful recoil. Had Cannon not had a hold of me, I would have surely landed on my ass. “Holy shit!” I breathed.

“Felt good didn’t it?”

I felt the shot everywhere. From the tips of my toes, to the hair follicles on my head, to the nerves between my legs and let’s not forget about the two flaming spots on my hips where his hands were still planted.

Who knew firing a gun could be such a damn turn-on?

“Can I shoot it again?” His face was so close, his lips curling into a smile I wanted to kiss clean off his face. Took every ounce of control I had not to lean into him. He’d said he wanted to kiss me again and Lord knows I wanted to kiss him too, but now I knew those lips not only tasted of freedom, they were also lined with potential heartache.

“One more time,” he said, before taking a step back and thankfully making the decision for me. I didn’t want him to let me go, but I kept that burning need to myself and nodded instead.

I thought less about what Cannon was doing to my body and more about firing off another shot. I focused on my target, lining my sight with the B on the Bud Light can. Once I had a good hold on a solid stance, I squeezed.

Boom!

The can went flying and the ringing in my ears worsened. “Damn, this thing is loud.”

“Yeah, probably not the best gun to use for target practice.”

Once we were both in the truck I asked, “Who taught you how to shoot?”

“My Dad.”

“How old were you?”

“I was five the first time he took me huntin’.”

“Your father handed you a gun at five years old?”

He smiled as if savoring a memory. “Yep. I didn’t kill my first buck ’til I was seven though. Dad still has it mounted on the wall.”

His smile faded at the mention of his father. There were certain things Cannon didn’t talk about and one was his family. I knew he was from Alabama and he had family there, but in the time that I’d known him, anytime we broached the subject, he’d steer it in another direction. I knew very little about who Cannon Jacobs was prior to moving here.