Page 59 of Backed By You
The sight of her on her knees, taking me into her mouth, nearly undoes me. I keep one hand braced against the wall, the other tangling in her wet hair. She works me with her tongue, swirling around the head before she sucks me deeper, hollowing her cheeks with each slow, torturous pull.
When she looks up at me, holding my gaze as she takes me to the back of her throat, I have to grit my teeth to maintain control. Her hands aren’t idle either—one grips the base of my shaft, working in tandem with her mouth, while the other cups and gently squeezes my balls, adding a layer of sensation that makes my thighs tense and a moan rip from my throat.
“Fuuuck,” I groan as she takes me deeper. The hot water streams down my back while her mouth creates a different kind of heat altogether.
She pulls back slightly. “That’s the idea,” she says, breathless, verging on a moan of her own. “I want you to fuck me, Beau. Hard and fast.”
The raw need in her voice tells me all I need to know. I haul her up and off the floor, pinning her against the wall. Her legswrap around my waist and I canfeelhow wet she is against my stomach—her pussy dragging against me.
“Like this?” I ask, lowering her into position, lining the head of my cock at her entrance.
“Yes,” she gasps. “Please.”
I push into her in one smooth thrust and waste no time in pulling out, only to slam back into her. The angle is perfect, allowing me to go deep while supporting her weight against the wall. Her nails dig into my shoulders as I grip her hips. I set a pounding rhythm that’s exactly what she asked for: hard and fast.
“God, yes,” she moans, her head falling back against the tile.
The wet slap of our bodies coming together echoes around us. I drive into her, my grip on her thighs tight enough to leave marks. The thought sends a possessive pulse through my cock. “Look at me,” I demand, needing to see her eyes.
She does, her gaze locking with mine as I thrust into her. The connection is electric, intimate. She starts to tighten around me, her breath becoming erratic. “Beau,” she whimpers, her thighs trembling, her walls pulsing.
“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve always got you.”
She cries out, her body clenching around mine as her orgasm hits. The feel of her coating my cock pushes me over the edge, and I follow her, burying my face in her neck as my release tears through me.God, so fucking good.
For a moment, we stay locked together, until I finally ease her down, making sure she’s steady before reaching for the hotel-provided soap, one hand never leaving the curve of her hip.
Wild dogs couldn’t tear me away from her.
She looks up at me, her expression dazed and soft. I pull her close, water streaming over us. We’re silent as we wash each other slowly, taking our time. When we finally step out of the shower, it’s nearing dinner and I’m starving.
Say what you will about sushi and the price of it, the shit isn’t filling in the slightest.
I expect Callie to want to go out on the town, maybe catch dinner at another fancy restaurant, but she doesn’t. And given what I know about her, I kick myself for not knowing better. We opt to order room service and she giggles incessantly at my massive order of steak and several sides we plan to share.
When it arrives, we lie in bed in our underwear and watch the first short horror film she ever made,Blood Camp: S’mores and Slaughter, on her laptop.
“You weren’t kidding about the blood,” I say around a mouthful of perfectly cooked ribeye. The screen shows a teenage counselor getting decapitated with what looks like fishing line, blood spraying in an improbable arc. “Is that corn syrup?”
“Corn syrup, food coloring, and chocolate sauce,” she confirms, stealing a roasted potato from my plate. “My special recipe. We shot this senior year on a budget of exactly seventy-five dollars.”
I’m impressed. “It looks professional.”
“Thank you,” she says, beaming with pride. “I was lucky enough to find actors willing to work for pizza and Pop Rocks.”
As the movie plays, I study her more than the screen. She’s relaxed in a way I haven’t seen since the first night we spent together talking on her couch. Curled beside me in nothing but panties and my T-shirt, her hair still damp from our shower, this is the Callie I know—the one who’d rather watch horror movies in bed than parade around at fancy events and restaurants. I’m starting to see the conflict of interest here with her career.
She loves what she does.
But she doesn’t love everything that comes with it.
“Did you act in any of your films?” I ask as the credits roll, showing a surprisingly short list of names for the twenty-three-minute movie.
She wrinkles her nose. “A few. I was usually behind the camera, but sometimes we’d run out of actors or someone would bail, and I’d have to step in.”
“I want to see those,” I say, setting my empty plate on the nightstand.
Her cheeks flush. “Oh, god no. They’re embarrassing.”
