Scandalous/ A Jordan Knight FanFic (18+)✔️

04

**Warning Mature Content Ahead**

Mia

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?

"Mia? 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, Mia."

"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, Mia. 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, Mia," 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.