Page 42 of Backed By You
I stay with her through the aftershocks, gentling my touch as her breathing slowly steadies. When I finally move up her body, she pulls me down to her, kissing me deeply, tasting herself on my lips.
“Beau,” she starts, her eyes twinkling. She laughs.
I brush her hair from her forehead, smiling down at her. “You’re incredible.”
“Me?” Her hands skim over my shoulders. “I think you’re the incredible one.”
“Glad you think so.” I grin, slowly backing down her body for round two.
I wasn’t lying when I said the taste of her was addictive.
Her playful smile turns to a gasp as I push her thighs upward, pinning them to her chest. Her pussy and ass lift to meet my watering mouth. I need to feel her come against my tongue again.
I fuckingcraveit.
Something permanent shifts inside me.
And I make her come and come andcome…
Fifteen.
Callie
Iwakeupaloneand with a thrumming between my thighs that has me sighing.
Last night was…Wow.
Beau went down on me three—no,fourtimes before he finally let me take a break. I thought we’d have sex after, or he’d at least want something from me, but I fell asleep naked in his arms.
The jerklet mefall asleep!
Now, as I lie here in bed still naked and spent, I try to piece together what happened. Or why moredidn’thappen?
Whiskey dick is my first assumption. Of course, that leads me to wonder how drunk he really was. Did he regret kissing me back? I mean, I did make the first move. Is he upset by that? Heck, does he remember any of it? Oh, god. What if he woke up and has no idea what happened?
I sit up in bed, startled as I hold a sheet to my chest, covering myself.
Did I…take advantage of him?
He was drunk. I was sober.
He told me to go back to sleep. I pulled him closer.
I kissed him…
He asked what we were doing.
I reach for my phone and rapidly text my fear process to Shea for clarification before realizing it’s 9:07 AM. She’s an hour behind me in California. No way is she awake this early on a Sunday. I drop my phone on the bed and run my hands through my tangled hair. That’s when I notice Hulk isn’t in his bed. The soft padding where he usually sleeps is empty.
Low voices drift through the door—Beau’s deep rumble and another voice I don’t recognize. I strain to hear what they’re saying, but I can’t make it out.
I slip out of bed, biting my lip at the remaining dampness between my legs, a reminder of just howthoroughBeau was last night. I grab the first clothes I can find—my sleep shorts and Beau’s T-shirt—and yank them on. I tiptoe to the bedroom door and crack it open just enough to peek through. Beau stands at the front door, his back to me as he signs something on a clipboard. Hulk is sitting awkwardly beside him, his leg cocked at an angle. He looks better this morning, more alert. The delivery person pushes a giant box—so large it barely fits through the door—at Beau, who nods his thanks.
I stare at him. Confused and concerned about what he’s doing now. He’s shirtless, wearing only yesterday’s jeans that hang low on his hips. The muscles in his back flex as he maneuvers the enormous package inside, and I’m momentarily transfixed by the memory of those muscles moving above me, the way his skin felt under my fingertips.
The front door closes, and Beau turns toward the kitchen, pushing the box with him. That’s when I notice it—or rather, the absence of it—the old stove that’s been broken for weeks isgone.
Only a few dust bunnies remain as evidence that it was ever there.
