Page 12 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Mechanic

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, breathing hard. “Give me a minute, Callie.”

Before I can protest, he lifts me off his lap and slides out of the truck. I watch, heart hammering, as he walks around to the back. The tailgate drops with a heavy metallic thunk. I hear the rustle of fabric—he’s spreading something out. A blanket.

He reappears at my door, opens it, and offers his hand. His eyes are dark, lids heavy. When I take his hand, he pulls me down and immediately backs me against the side of the truck, kissing me again. His palms roam under the hem of my shirt, rough and warm against my skin. We stumble together toward the open tailgate, mouths never parting for long.

He tugs my shirt up and over my head in one swift motion. Cool mountain air kisses my skin as he drops it somewhere behind us. My fingers fumble with the button of his jeans while he unfastens my shorts. I toe off my trail runners, kicking them aside, and he pushes my shorts down my legs. His hands hook into the waistband of my underwear next, sliding them down slowly, reverently. Once they’re off, he grips my waist and lifts me onto the tailgate like I weigh nothing.

Beck kneels between my spread thighs, eyes locked on mine. One thick finger traces my entrance, then slides inside me. I gasp at the sudden fullness.

“Fuck, Callie,” he groans, voice rough. “You’re so wet.”

I close my eyes, cheeks burning. I’ve never felt anything like this—the slow pump of his finger, the way my body clenches around him, the overwhelming rush of sensation. It feels impossibly good, but I know I haven’t seen anything yet.

He leans in. His breath ghosts over me first, then the wet heat of his tongue touches my clit. I jerk, a sharp cry escaping me. He licks again, firmer, circling, sucking gently, and my back arches hard off the blanket. My hands fly to his hair, holding on as pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside me. It builds fast, almost too fast, until it snaps.

I come with a broken cry that echoes across the empty mountain, thighs trembling around his head. He doesn’t stop until the last shudder rolls through me.

When he stands, I’m still catching my breath. He kicks off his work boots, shoves his jeans and underwear down, and climbs up onto the truck bed with me. We scoot back together onto the blanket.

I help him peel off his T-shirt, then wrap my hand around his cock—hot, thick, velvet-smooth. I stroke him experimentally while pressing open-mouthed kisses across his chest.

He moans, hips twitching into my grip.

I slow my hand, suddenly nervous. “Beck…I have to tell you something. But I don’t want to stop.”

He stills, watching me.

“I’m a virgin.”

He freezes completely. For a terrible second, I think I’ve ruined everything. Then he exhales shakily.

“Callie…your first time shouldn’t be in the back of a truck. It should be special.”

I reach up and cup his face. “I can’t imagine anything more special than this. Under the stars. With you.”

He searches my eyes, then curses softly and kisses me again—deep, slow, full of something that feels a lot like surrender. I nudge his shoulders until he rolls onto his back. Straddling him, I keep stroking his cock, even though my movements feel clumsy and unsure. The way his eyes flutter closed and his breath grows ragged tells me he doesn’t mind.

I rise up on my knees, position him at my entrance, and sink down slowly. It burns—sharp and stretching—but I breathe through it, pushing until he’s inside me. He groans my name, hands gripping my hips.

He reaches between us and finds my clit again, stroking in tight, steady circles. The initial sting fades quickly into a deep, rolling pleasure that makes my breath hitch with every roll of my hips. I’m so full of him, it feels overwhelming in the best way—every slide and drag hitting places I didn’t know existed.

Beck looks devastating beneath me. The last of the sunset traces the hard lines of his chest and shoulders, his muscles taut and gleaming with a light sheen of sweat. His jaw is clenched, eyes heavy-lidded and locked on me like he’s memorizing every second. The sight of him like this—strong, undone, completely mine in this moment—makes my heart stutter.

His gaze drops to my breasts, still cupped in my bra, dark hunger written all over his face. “Take it off. Let me see those pretty tits while you ride me.”

The rough command sends a fresh pulse of heat straight to my core. My hands tremble as I reach back, unhook the clasp, and toss the bra aside.

The mountain breeze hits my bare skin immediately, teasing and sharp, making my nipples tighten into aching peaks. Goosebumps ripple across my chest, down my stomach, and along my sides. The contrast between the warm mountain air and the scorching heat where Beck is buried deep inside me makes me shiver and clench around his thick length.

I cup my breasts in both hands, thumbs brushing over my sensitive nipples, and start moving again—rolling my hips in a slow, experimental rhythm that quickly turns desperate. Every downward slide takes him impossibly deeper, the stretch and fullness so intense it borders on overwhelming. I can feel every ridge and vein of him dragging against my inner walls, stroking places that make my toes curl and my breath catch.

Beck’s thumb keeps working my clit in tight, slick circles, never faltering. “That’s it, baby,” he growls, voice low and filthy. “Fuck, you feel so good squeezing me like that. So tight and wet…made for this cock, aren’t you?”

His words hit me like sparks on dry tinder. I moan softly, riding him harder, the wet sounds of our bodies joining loud in the quiet mountain air. The breeze keeps licking across my exposed skin with every rise and fall—on my stomach, the curve of my ass, the swell of my breasts—heightening every sensation until I feel like I’m burning and freezing at the same time.

“Look at you,” he groans, eyes devouring me. “Tits bouncing while you take every inch. So fucking beautiful, Callie. Don’t stop…ride me just like that.”

A deep, throbbing pressure builds with every thrust, winding tighter with nowhere to go. The friction inside me, the relentless stroke of his thumb on my swollen clit, the filthy praise falling from his lips—it’s all too much. My thighs start to shake.