Page 28 of Accidentally Hitched (Unintentionally Yours #1)

Amanda

I watch as Callum starts to play.

Some of the chords come easily to him, others are out of practice, and I can tell it bothers him.

“It’s been too long,” he tells me and– what is that? Emotion?– on his face? Shyness? I didn’t think he was capable of that. But it disappears just as quickly as it had shown.

“It’s never too long. Once you know how, you carry it forever. Like riding a bike.”

“I don’t think this is like that,” Callum argues.

“Sure, it is.”

“The last time I rode a bike I think I went over the handlebars into a bush.”

I laugh and he stares at me, a smile tipping his lips. I blush.

“Okay so it’s not like riding a bike. Bikes get trickier as we get older. But music never leaves a person. It might be locked away but as soon as you open the door, it comes out the same as it always was.”

With that, Callum starts to strum again but with a little more ease this time. After a few chords, he looks up at me with only his eyes, his hands still holding the slow rhythm of what sounds like a Bob Dylan song.

“Question,” he nods up at me.

“Okay. But only if I can ask one too.”

“Fair enough. Shoot.”

I shake my head. “Nope. You first.”

“What are you doing in here?”

“You mean the studio? I didn't know I wasn’t allowed to hang around.”

“I mean the booth. Were you planning on recording something?”

“No. I just wanted to hear how it would sound in a real studio.”

“Ah,” he looks back down at his hands during a bar chord. “So, Hardin isn’t real. Got it.”

“Of course, Hardin is real. But the BlueJay is…shut up. You know what I mean.”

Callum chuckles and I smile before going on.

“I came in here because working with January sparked something in me. It pulled me back into the deep water of what music is all about. What it’s always meant in my soul.

I was never accepted for it in its real form.

In its true nature. So much like every other aspect of my perfect daughter and older sister roll, I had to mask it as something else.

But in here, I’m alone. Or, I was alone,” I smile, and he looks up at me and his lips tip again. I keep talking.

“I was always a good kid. A good student. Never got bad grades or got into any trouble. But when my work was done, I let music fill my head. I’d jot down words in my journal, changing them out until they turned into lyrics, stitching them together until those lyrics grew into songs.

Then I’d take those heart strings to the guitar strings and see what I could make out of them. ”

“It’s about your sister isn’t it?” Callum cuts in. “That song you were playing. The sun and the moon.”

“It is. I guess I’ve always felt like I am in the shadows and she’s just lighting up the world.”

“The thing about the sun though is that we don’t need much of it to see the way.

More than a little burns us. We need shades and shelter, and no one wants to stand around in that.

But the moon…people chase the moon, Amanda.

The moon never burns anyone yet it’s just as bright.

I feel like when the sun goes to sleep that’s when I can really think.

Really feel. Contemplate life. The sun is too much and the world in the morning is too crowded.

But the moon? Silver and blue, hanging in the dark night sky like a Christmas ornament at the top of the tree…

that’s what summons my soul to seize the day. That’s my kind of sunrise.”

“Carpe Noctem,” I say, and he stops to look at me, though his fingers are still on the strings.

“I’m sorry?” he asks.

“Carpe Noctem. It means, seize the night.”

A smile creeps across his lips and my heart strums in my chest. My nerves prickle with the beginning sparks of a fire.

“Your turn,” he says.

“Why is Bob Dylan your go to?”

His brow furrows as if he finds the question offensive. “It’s not.”

“You haven’t held a guitar in years. At least not with the intention of playing it. And the first thing your fingers think to strum out is the chorus of The Times They Are A Changin .”

He opens his mouth to say something then closes it. Then opens it again.

“My father loves exactly two things in this world. Success that leads to money and Bob Dylan. It’s the only thing he’s ever listened to, at least from what I can remember.

And I grew up on it. He used to sit on the porch playing along with it on his old Martin and I’d sit there with a bottle of root beer watching him.

Watching his hands. One day he noticed and told me to give it a try.

After a summer of nights doing that after dinner, I was able to play just about every Dylan song out there.

I know how to play more now obviously. But that artist, that song, is where it started. ”

“Can you play the harmonica too?” I ask and he cracks a smile.

“Sadly no. And I still suck at some chord changes.”

“Show me,” I say.

“I’m going to butcher it,” he warns.

“Give it a try,” I mimic the words, and he gives me a look before picking up the guitar again. Most of it flows but his fingers do stumble a bit.

“Move your ring finger down, and pop your wrist,” I tell him, getting up on my knees to show him. I’m right in front of him, looking down at him and he is staring at the guitar in frustration.

“Pop my wrist out?” he asks, and I maneuver his hands on the neck. “I don’t think my fingers bend that way.”

“Nobody’s do. It’s why guitar players are so odd.”

We both laugh and he tries again with slightly more success. Then he looks up at me. I am still on my knees and the air between us smells like cinnamon and cedar and piano keys and cables, and that musky scent that comes from the inside of guitar cases.

He sets the guitar aside and our smiles fade. But the intensity between us does not.

I bring my hand slowly up to his face, running my fingertips through his hair, dragging them down the back of his head until I feel the hairs on the nape of his neck prickle at the touch. A low groan escapes his throat as I lower my head until my lips reach his.

Slowly, his lips part and mine follow, gently at first and then more eagerly.

His warm tongue traces along my bottom lip before making its way into my mouth.

I lean into him, and his hands rest on my hips, finding their way up and underneath the fabric of my Smiths t-shirt.

I am wearing ripped black jeans and honestly, I wish I was wearing a dress.

Something with easier access. But the obstacle of thick, tight denim doesn’t stop him from raking his hand down my front, pressing his thumb firmly into my clit.

My jeans are also obviously not waterproof, which becomes apparent very quickly.

“Fuck…” he lets out. “You’re soaked.”

“You’re teasing me,” I breathe into his mouth, nipping and tugging at his lip, wanting to pull him apart piece by piece so I can devour him whole.

“That’s not teasing,” he says, his eyes the color of the sky when the sun is gone. “This is teasing.”

Callum pulls me into his lap, and I am straddling him. My jeans and his slacks are no match for the hard, girth of his cock that is pressed against the length of me like a rock. I rock on my knees, rolling and my hips to create friction.

“You know,” he says, his fingers sliding into the waistband of my pants, toying with the button. “We could lose these…”

“I can’t take my pants off! We’re in a recording studio!”

“A private recording studio. Alone.”

“There’s cameras in here!”

Callum’s mouth slides into a smirk on one side and he gets up, walking over to the control panel.

“Cameras with an off switch,” he says. Then he locks the door before walking back over to me.

As he lowers to his knees, he frees himself from his pants.

His dick, hard and ready, already dripping in anticipation is inches from my face.

A bead of clear, hot precum slides down the length of his cock and I follow it with my eyes. When more begins to swell at the tip, I sit up, refusing to watch the sweet, salty nectar go to waste.

I take his girth in my hand, pumping it twice to produce a fresh, hot stream and cover the head with my mouth.

“Fuck!” Callum cries out, falling back onto his knees. I get on all fours and crouch like a cat in front of him, my ass in the air and his dick halfway down my throat. Up and down, I suck and lick, taking him in further and further, gagging a little but not letting up.

I have never been so turned on. Never been so hungry. Never wanted to suck a man dry more than I do right now.

“Jesus Christ, you could end a man with that mouth, baby girl.”

“Guess I’m no savior then, am I?” I wink up at him.

“No. You’re an angel. And I’m falling.”

As I continue to suck, swirling him around in my mouth enough that drool is seeping down my chin, he presses his hips upward, forcing himself deeper.

“Can you take it, baby? Can you handle all of me?”

With that, I pick up the pace plunging down further and further with each gulp. Callum’s groin tenses and I can feel the heat rising inside of him, building up for the release. But just before it does, he grabs me by my high ponytail and yanks my head from him.

“No, no, little missy. You are not going to finish me like that.”

“Didn’t it feel good?” I ask, half breathy and half sass.

“Don’t kid yourself. You could have shot me to the moon with that fucking mouth of yours. But I want you,” he grabs me and pulls me to my feet. Then he yanks my pants down and tugs them to the floor. I step out of my shoes and kick them aside.

“I want to be deep,”

He pulls my panties off as well,

“Deep…”

Lifts my shirt over my head,

“Inside your wet,”

He picks me up by my thighs and walks over to the soundproof padded wall,

“Tight,”

He thrusts himself into my slit,

“Pussy.”

“Fuck,” I let out, my head falling back against the wall.

“Fuck is right, baby. I’m going to fuck you within an inch of your life for teasing me like that. Now hang on.”

The funny thing about the sun and the moon is that while they are opposites, they are in sync.

Moving with each other so that the earth is always drenched in one light or another.

Heat or ice. And that’s exactly what I feel right now as Callum dips in and out of me.

His hands are on my hips, pulling them upward so that I become fuller and fuller with each thrust.

In. Out. Hot. Cold. Over and over until I can feel the anticipation building in my thighs, deep inside beneath my clit, warmer and warmer until it burns and I’ve never needed anything more.

“Oh Callum,” I whimper.

“Yes, baby girl?” he grunts.

“I need…” I trail off, arching my back, biting my lip between my teeth hard enough to taste copper.

“Yes? Tell me what you need.”

“I need you to make me come.”

“How bad do you want it?” he asks.

“Bad. So bad.” I gasp as he drives himself deeper inside of me.

“How hard do you want it?”

I groan. “Callum, please,” I beg before opening my eyes and locking them on him. “Just fuck me.”

Callum’s lips spread into a satisfied smirk, and he grinds further, harder, faster. Both of us moan, beads of sweat running down our faces, every inch of us hot with the hormones seeping from the want we have for each other. The need. The lust.

“Don’t…stop…” I tell him as I get closer and closer until finally, my body shatters into ripples of orgasm. “Oh, my God!” I cry out, not caring if we are alone, if we are on camera, if anyone can hear us.

“Fuck yes!” Callum makes it obvious that he doesn’t care about any of that either. “Jesus fucking Christ…”

He collapses onto his knees, panting to catch his breath and I smile, closing my legs. I cover my face with my hands.

“Are you okay?” Callum asks.

I smile and move my hands. Then I prop myself up on my elbows. “Hell yeah, I’m okay.”