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“I do love you, Callan. With all my heart.” She pressed her mouth to mine.
I pulled back, and shooed Frank off her lap. The cat hissed, maybe snarled a little, but strolled haughtily away from the chair. It didn’t take much effort to get Catie to stand and switch places, so I was seated in the wingback chair. I urged Catie to straddle my lap, then held her firm against my chest. “I love you so much, Catie.”
I pulled her T-shirt over her head, tossed the fabric to the floor, then released the clasp on her bra. She shook her shoulders, letting the pink straps fall down her arms, and revealed her luscious tits.
“Gorgeous,” I murmured against her flesh.
She sighed, her fingers clutching the sides of my face as I licked the swell of her breasts and teased the nipples with my tongue and teeth.
“Be right back,” she whispered, then jumped off my lap.
Her fingers worked the zipper of her shorts, and she shimmied her hips to shake the denim, along with her boy shorts, off her hips.
I reached behind my head and whipped off my shirt, then kicked off my tennis shoes as I unzipped my jeans and pushed them over my hips and down my thighs.
Catie stepped over my legs, facing away from me, her sweet ass right in my grasp, and tugged my jeans and boxer-briefs off the ends of my legs. I leaned forward and kissed the right globe of her butt, then the left as I dipped my hand between her legs. She was wet and ready for me.
“Condom?” she asked breathlessly.
“In the nightstand.”
She scooted off my legs and hurried to the bedside table. She was back in a flash, and went to her knees next to the chair, the foil pouch already opened and discarded. Damn, her hand was scorching as she rolled the latex over my cock.
When she finished, she rose and started to climb on my lap, but I held her hip, then spun her around. She squeaked as I lifted her over my legs, my chest to her back.
Grasping her hips, I guided her onto my cock. Inch by sweet inch I lowered her, until my pubic bone was flush against her center. She grabbed my hands and pulled them around her torso, lowering one to her clit, and the other to her breast. She lifted her feet onto the edge of the chair cushion and angled forward. I damn near saw stars as the crown of my dick tapped against the top of her sheath. She set a fast rhythm and I complied, rocking up into her, fingering her clit, thumbing her nipple, and kissing between her shoulder blades. Every part of me that could touch her did.
We moved to a cadence directed by instinct. It didn’t take long for my little fireball to clench around me. And while she milked my cock and screamed my name, I jetted off inside her, groaning as my release blasted from the base of my balls right up my back.
Catie collapsed against my chest, her head thrown back and resting on my shoulder. I licked the long slender column of her neck, sweet and salty. We stayed that way for a long, silent moment. Would have stayed that way longer, but Frank’s purring from over by the closed door distracted me from the possibility of doing that all over again.
“We’re gonna need a quieter cat,” I muttered against her flushed skin.
She just laughed, bearing down where my dick was still encased in her soft, wet heat. I groaned as she lifted off me.
“I’ll let Frank out before I grab a shower. You can just sit there like a bump on a log, or join me in the shower.”
I waved a lazy hand in the direction of the shower. “Can’t move. I’ll catch up to you.”
Catie bent, pressed a kiss to my pec, and then strolled to the door to release the blue-eyed cat. I braced my feet on the ottoman, watched her disappear into the bathroom. By the time the water came on, I’d closed my eyes and was floating away on a cloud of contentment.
26
CATIE
Three Months Later
Istood by the head table, drawing long, slow breaths into my lungs to keep from collapsing from oxygen deprivation. The glittering crowd of people at the Theo Wilder Scholarship fund’s second annual fundraiser weren’t threatening, just all so…freaking fabulous. Everywhere I looked there were country music stars, producers, politicians and even several Hollywood icons.
Before we arrived at the venue, Callan reminded me that no matter how famous they were, or how many albums they’d sold, or songs that had been downloaded, they still farted, just like me and him. Then he’d laughed and let one rip, which made me laugh and eased some of my anxiousness.
I’ll admit it, as a mere graphic designer, I was starstruck.
As Callan Wilder’s Instagram Official girlfriend, thunderstruck didn’t really cover it.
Callan was glued to my side, chatting with some of his friends who’d bought tickets. His hand had landed on the small of my back as soon as we emerged from the limousine, and except for an occasional graze of my waist or ass, he had not moved it even an inch. The paparazzi had lined the red carpet Carrie had insisted on, but the University security officers that had been hired kept them well back of the ropes and stanchions.
While Callan laughed with his pals, I surveyed the scene. Oversize promotional pieces I’d designed had been scattered throughout the cavernous Commodore Ballroom Carrie had booked for the event. The overhead chandeliers cast glinting light over all the crystal, china, and silver on the many, many round tables. Carrie had arranged everything, only calling on me twice to tweak the location on the promo pieces as the demand for tickets was brisk, requiring her to book a bigger space. Finally, she shut down ticket sales.
