Callie’s blue-green eyes cloud my vision. My hand no longer seems to belong to me. My spine tingles as pleasure ripples down it in waves.
“Mmm. How does that sound? I’ll fuck you long and hard, make you come again and again until your body can’t take anymore. Wring every ounce of pleasure you have. I’ll watch my cum drip down your gorgeous thighs, then lick it up until my tongue touches that sensitive clit, and you fall apart all over again.”
My abs contract as I struggle to hold onto my release. It’s no use. I imagine the way Callie would cry out my name, and I come undone, spilling cum across my chest and stomach as the forceful orgasm tears through me.
When I come down from the high, I’m a panting mess behind the mask, but the craving is far from sated. After I catch my breath, I stop the recording and clean myself up. The cold shower does nothing to quell the fire still burning in my veins. Callie is under my skin, and it’s going to take a lot more than that to get her out.
Chapter 3
Dammit, Janet
? Somethin’ Bout You - Mickey Guyton
Callie
This has beenthe week from hell, and just when I think I’ve hit rock bottom, someone hands me a shovel.
My vibrator stopped vibing before I could finish, there’s a run in my last decent pair of stockings, the coffee maker in the break room took a shit, and there’s another apartment rejection waiting in my email.
Not even my daily words of affirmation in the full-length mirror at the gym have helped. I’m starting to think the whole manifestation thing is bullshit.
“Wish I could manifest a hot cowboy right about now,” I murmur.
I’m hiding in the quiet alcove at the back of the library as I thumb through the latest cowboy romance. It’s not my typical genre of choice, but it’s satisfying a craving I’ve had for the better part of a week.
For no reason in particular.
The grumpy cowboy is about to go down on his best friend’s little sister as a pair of boots steps into my peripheral vision.
“Doing some research, Callie baby?”
My cheeks heat as I lock eyes with none other than Jaxon Hayes. He’s wearing that sly grin and looking every bit the cocky cowboy I know him to be.
Jaxon’s gaze zeroes in on the little pink star covering the pimple equivalent to Mount Everest that popped up on my forehead this morning. A fresh wave of embarrassment washes over me. I doubt it’s possible to become one with the furniture, but it doesn’t stop me from trying.
When that doesn’t work, I pull my side bangs over to cover the sticker and plaster on a smile. “Can I help you with something?”
He slides his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Might be a long shot, but I’m looking for books about bourbon and bourbon distillation.”
“Adult non-fiction,” I say dismissively.
Jaxon doesn’t take the hint, lingering while I flip to the next page.
“Right.” He does a half turn one way, then the other, pointing with both hands. “That’s…”
I let out a resigned sigh, close my book, and stand. No wonder men can’t find the clit—they can scarcely navigate through a library with signage posted everywhere. “It’s in the six hundreds. Follow me.”
Jaxon trails so close behind me, I can feel the tiny hairs on my neck standing on end. “You know, you could’ve asked Janet when you walked in.”
“Janet? Is that the grey-haired lady who’s passed out behind the desk?”
I glance toward the entry to find Janet in the midst of her mid-afternoon nap, with her glasses falling off her nose and her mouth hanging open.
I roll my eyes. “Not again.”
“I noticed she does that a lot. Is she ok?”
“She’s fine. She just refuses to retire.” Spinning to face Jaxon, I slip my glasses to the tip of my nose and put on my best southern accent. “People in hell want ice water, but that don’t mean they get it.”
