If You Were Mine

by Melanie Harlow

  “Two down.” Theo straightened up and touched the back of one hand to his mouth while my entire body shivered with aftershocks. Or maybe it was anticipation—would he let me touch him now?

  I sat up and reached for his belt and he closed his hands over my wrists. “Not so fast, princess.”

  “What?” I asked breathlessly.

  “I haven’t heard you beg yet.”

  Eleven

  Theo

  * * *

  Jesus. That escalated quickly.

  I hadn’t meant for this to happen. I hadn’t meant to tell her the truth, hadn’t meant to kiss her, hadn’t meant to take her home and fuck her with my tongue next to the Christmas tree.

  But the road to hell is paved with good intentions. (And several strands of multi-colored lights.)

  And she was impossible to resist. When she’d admitted to feeling something real tonight, my walls had crumbled a little. I was used to women wanting my attention, but I wasn’t used to feeling this kind of chemistry with them. But Claire had this strange effect on me—she made me want to fuck her and protect her from guys like me at the same time. She made me want to break my rules. She made me wish I was someone else…someone worthy.

  I was an expert liar, and I didn’t often feel bad about it, but even I couldn’t bring myself to lie to Claire when she asked me to tell her she wasn’t crazy—even if it would have made things easier. Simpler. Cleaner.

  Too late now—things were about to get dirty as fuck.

  “Beg?” she asked a little nervously.

  “Uh huh.” I got to my feet and backed away from her. If she got her hands on me, there was a chance I’d say to hell with testing her limits and fuck her into next year like I wanted to.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Self-conscious now, she closed her thighs and tried to bring her dress down.

  Such a fucking good girl. She’d probably never uttered the filthy words I wanted to hear her say. But I had a feeling they were there in her head. Claire knew what she wanted—her hand on my dick in the car told me that—she just had to get over her fear. “Yes, you do.”

  “I don’t,” she said, sounding a little panicked. “I—”

  “Do you want something from me?” To help her out, I unbuckled my belt.

  She stared at my crotch. “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “You,” she said nervously.

  I undid my pants and slipped my hand inside. “Come on, Miss French. You can do better than that.” My dick was hard and hot in my palm, and I moved my fist up and down my shaft, enjoying the way her eyes popped.

  “I want to do that. What you’re doing.”

  Jesus. We were going to be here all night.

  “You want my cock in your hand?” I let my pants fall open a little, so she could see what she was missing. MacLeod men might be emotionally fucked and criminally irresponsible, but physically we were well-endowed and not particularly humble about it.

  “Yes.” Claire nodded with wide eyes and started to get up.

  “Stay there.” I stopped her with my other hand out. “Where else do you want it?”

  She licked her full lips and touched the bottom one with her fingertips. “Right here.”

  Oh, Jesus. I had to slow down with the hand or I was going to come all over myself. “Say it,” I said, a little louder. “All of it.”

  “I want…your cock in my hand.” She took a breath, her voice a little softer, but more intense. “I want your cock in my mouth.”

  “Good girl.” My dick thickened inside my fist, and I ached to slide it between those plump red lips. “Tell me more.”

  “I want your cock inside me.”

  She was getting braver, I could hear it. She liked the sound of the words, liked the feel of them in her mouth. That first taste of the forbidden was always so sweet—the flavor of her still lingered on my lips, and I licked them again. “Where?”

  “Where?” she repeated.

  “Show me.”

  She hesitated, but she sat on the edge of the couch and spread her knees, her dress still at her hips, her heels still on her feet. Slowly, she ran her hands down the tops of her thighs and let them rest on her knees, open to me completely.

  Fuckfuckfuck, this was even hotter than I’d imagined it. I stopped moving my hand, and my dick twitched threateningly within my fingers. But I pushed her some more. “Touch yourself where you want me, and say the words.”

  Would she do it? My heart clattered against my ribs as she weighed what she wanted against her self-consciousness. Come on. Don’t be scared.

  Then something shifted in her mind and in her body. She spread her legs wider. Sat up taller. Arched her back. Dared me with glittering eyes to watch. One hand moved along her inner thigh toward her pussy, and my entire body tensed. When her fingers reached the center of her body, she stopped and rubbed herself lightly. “Here. I want your cock right here.” She tilted her head coquettishly. “How’s that? Do I get what I want?”

  My jaw, which had gone slack with surprise as she spoke, snapped shut. I swallowed hard as I fought off the urge to come. “Fuck yes, you do.”

  She stood up and I rushed for her, our mouths colliding as her hand replaced mine on my erection. I was so aroused already I could have lost it the moment she touched me, but I willed myself to hold back until I could get inside her. I reached between her legs, felt how warm and wet she was, and my knees nearly buckled.

  “God, I want you,” she whispered, sliding her hand up and down my cock as we kissed feverishly, frantically. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. I feel like I’m losing my mind right now.”

  I knew exactly what she meant. Usually, I spent more time messing around before sex—the art of foreplay is one I rather enjoy, and I’ve been told on several occasions my technique is unparalleled. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good orgasm as much as the next guy, but I don’t like to rush them. Sex was like my favorite game, one I didn’t play very often so when I did, I liked to take my time. Show off my best moves. Exhibit a little finesse before I put the puck in the net.

  But tonight, any plans I might have had for finesse were off the table—I was coming out of my skin with the need to get inside Claire, to know what she felt like. I managed to get my shirt off with her help on the buttons, but I didn’t even bother with my pants or her dress.

  I picked her up like I had before, our breath hot on each other’s lips as her legs twined around my hips. I went down on my knees on the floor, tipping her onto her back, and reached into my pocket for my wallet. Sex was the one thing I did responsibly, having seen firsthand that fatherhood was not something MacLeod men were good at. Better to go home and jerk off than risk being an asshole absentee dad.

  Thankfully, I had a few in there, and I wasted no time putting one on. Claire drew her knees up as I positioned my cock between her thighs, rubbed her clit with the tip. That first touch sent bolts of electricity screaming down my legs. My entire body vibrated with tension, and I couldn’t wait one second longer. I buried myself inside her, watching her eyes flutter closed, hearing her sharp intake of breath, feeling her hands grab my ass.

  I’d intended to go slow. I’d intended to whisper filthy things in her ear and make her say filthier things back to me. I’d intended to be creative and clever. Impress her with my size and skill and stamina. Give her something amazing to remember me by, an unforgettable experience that would linger in her mind long after I was gone.

  I did none of those things.

  Instead, I fucked her like a testosterone-fueled teenager on the living room rug, without words, without artistry, without control, my pants still shackling my thighs.

  What was she doing to me?

  Twelve

  Claire

  * * *

  So deep it hurts was an expression I’d heard from friends and read in books and vaguely imagined when I was under the covers with my vibrator (the Cosmopolitan from the Sex in the City line by Pure Romance, featured
heavily in Coming Alone), but I’d never experienced it on a personal level. I’d thought people were exaggerating.

  I’d only been intimate with a handful of guys, and none of them had even come close to so deep it hurts. And though Cosmo was skilled at his job, discreet, and dependable, size and strength were not his forte.

  But Theo. Theo.

  The man had everything. When he first slid inside me, I couldn’t even breathe. I don’t know if it was because I hadn’t had sex in so long or because Theo was really that much bigger than anyone I’d ever been with, but I felt the exhilarating thrill of losing my virginity all over again with none of the first-time awkwardness. (Am I doing this right? Will I bleed on the sheets? What’s that smell?)

  As he moved inside me, those four words kept repeating in my brain—so deep it hurts—but the pain wasn’t like any I’d ever felt before. At first it was sharp, and I’d gasp every time he pushed inside me, my eyes tearing up. Then its edges started to soften, and I felt my body adjusting to his, my hips tilting to take him even deeper.

  The muscles on his shoulders and abs flexed as he bracketed my head with his forearms. His breathing matched mine, hard and heavy and hot. I ran my palms over his back, raked my nails down his skin. Two hands weren’t enough—I wanted to feel every inch of him all at once. And damn this dress! I’d been so anxious to get him inside me that we hadn’t even stopped to take it off, but now I was desperate to feel his hands and mouth on my breasts, the warmth of his chest on my skin. What if I never got another chance?

  But I didn’t want him to stop. Something was happening inside me that I’d never felt before, a tightening at my core that intensified with every rhythmic thrust of his hips. I chased it, digging my fingers into his ass, pulling him tighter to my body. I wanted to tell him how good it felt, how big he was, how hard, how hot, how he was going to make me come again, how badly I wanted to feel him come too.

  But I forgot every word except one.

  “Yes,” I panted, over and over again, my lips brushing against his throat. “Yes, yes, yes…”

  Theo groaned, almost as if he was in pain. “Goddamn it, I’m gonna come.” He sounded angry about it, but I cried out in bliss as the knots inside me unraveled in glorious, pulsing pleasure. Above me, Theo’s body went stiff, and I felt his orgasm echo my own as his cock throbbed inside me.

  “Oh my God.” I could barely speak, my heart was beating so fast. My body didn’t even feel like my own. (And I’d have to retitle my memoir. Or at least add an afterword.)

  “Oh my God.” Theo still sounded mad. “I’m such an asshole.”

  I froze. Was he sorry already? Was he going to run out? My head fell back onto the rug. “What’s the matter?”

  Bracing himself on his hands, he lifted his chest up and looked down at me. “That was not supposed to happen so fast.”

  Relief had me giggling. “I obviously didn’t mind.”

  “I didn’t even do half the things on the list.”

  “Well, then…” I lifted my shoulders and willed myself to be brave. “Stay.”

  He didn’t say anything at first, just studied me from above. The tree lights lit his face just enough to show his indecision.

  Maybe I can persuade him.

  “Stay,” I whispered, running my hands up his chest.

  He swallowed. “I want to, Claire, but—”

  I put a finger over his lips. “Stay. I want to cross some more things off that list.”

  He smiled. “You do?”

  “Yeah. And maybe I have a list of my own.”

  “Listen to you,” he said appreciatively.

  “Just trying to be brave.” My heart refused to stop pounding. And it was exhilarating to speak my mind like this, even if I was risking being turned down. But what did I have to lose?

  Exhaling, he shook his head. “You’re making this very difficult.”

  “Good.” I crossed my ankles behind him. “Because I don’t want you to go.”

  “I don’t want to go, either. I just…” Theo hesitated, like he wasn’t sure how to phrase what he wanted to say. “I’m worried about what happens tomorrow.”

  He was thinking about tomorrow? “I predict I will be very sore, but I promise not to complain too much.”

  He smiled, but barely. “That’s not what I meant. It’s more that I’m worried about…expectations.”

  “Expectations?”

  “Yes. You and I are different, Claire. I like being with you, but…I’m no good for you.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  I let that sink in for a moment, trying to think of this from his point of view. “Because I’m looking for a relationship and you’re not?”

  “That’s part of it.”

  “What are the other parts?”

  “I’m not sure how long I’ll even be in town, or when I’ll be back. My…other job often involves traveling at the last minute.”

  I nodded slowly, realizing how little I knew about him. Not even his real last name. “So maybe all we’ll ever have is tonight?”

  “Not maybe, Claire. Definitely.”

  So we wouldn’t see each other again. I was disappointed, sure, but did that mean our night had to end? When I’d invited him in, I hadn’t done it because I wanted to bring him home to meet Mom and Dad. I’d done it because I was attracted to him, and I wanted to have some fun.

  I liked Theo; I felt safe with him. Even better, I felt sexy with him—sexier than I’d ever felt in my life. Why not take advantage of that while I could? A one-night stand wasn’t exactly romantic, but it sure as hell beat going to bed alone tonight. Maybe I’d even learn a few things that would help me be more confident. I bet there’s a lot he could teach me.

  I looped my arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “Then we shouldn’t waste any more time talking. I’m not looking for a boyfriend here, Theo. Just a good time.”

  He smiled against my lips. “OK then. Got any chocolate syrup?”

  * * *

  I did have chocolate syrup. But Theo got even more excited about the tube of crescent rolls I had in the fridge. “Oh my God, I have the biggest craving right now.”

  “For what?” I asked, throwing my hair up in a sloppy bun on top of my head. Theo was probably going to complain about that, but if he was going to cover me in chocolate syrup or something, I wanted to avoid getting it in my hair. While Theo cleaned up in the bathroom, I’d run upstairs, taken off the dress and slip, and put on a white t-shirt and pajama pants. After debating underwear, I’d gone with my gut and left them off.

  Theo pulled the rolls out of the fridge and turned around to face me. He was barefoot and wore just his pants and his white dress shirt, unbuttoned and cuffs rolled up. “Tell me you have marshmallows.”

  His face was so serious, I had to laugh. “I have marshmallows.”

  “Butter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cinnamon and sugar?” His eyes were getting bigger with every ingredient.

  “Yes, but what are we making?”

  “My grandmother called them Magic Marshmallow Puffs or something. Oh my God, they’re amazing. I haven’t had them in years, not since she died. Turn the oven on to…” He looked at the tube. “Three seventy-five.”

  “Got it.” I wanted to ask him more about his grandmother, but I wasn’t sure if I should. He guarded his privacy so closely, and I didn’t want to spook him, make him think I hadn’t meant what I’d said about being OK with just one night.

  While I preheated the oven, Theo started opening my lower kitchen cupboards, which were so old the hinges were coming off. “These aren’t in very good shape.” He dropped down to examine one, balancing on the balls of his feet.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s on my list of things to work on this winter. What are you looking for?”

  His brow furrowed as he examined the hinges closer. “Uh, one of those pans with the holes in it.”

  “Holes?”


  He frowned and looked up at me. “Not holes exactly. A pan that you’d make cupcakes in.”

  “Like a muffin tin?”

  “Yes! A muffin tin.”

  I laughed as I reached for a high cupboard, rising up on tiptoe to grab the muffin tin. “Here you go.”

  “Perfect.” He shut the cabinet door, but it was crooked. “You know, if you have a drill, I could fix that for you.”

  “That’s sweet, but if I only have you for one night, there’s only one kind of drilling I’m interested in.” My cheeks burned as I said it, but I loved the way it made his eyebrows arch in surprise, his mouth hook up in a slow grin.

  “As you wish.”

  I smiled. “So what can I do?”

  “Grab a bowl and melt some butter in it.”

  “Like how much?”

  He thought for a second then held up his hand, thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. “About this much.”

  I burst out laughing and went to the fridge for a half-stick of butter. “You really don’t cook, do you?”

  “Nope. Sorry. I know the fake Theo cooks for you all the time.”

  Something in his voice made me look over at him. He was peeling the wrapper off the tube of rolls and seemed to be concentrating hard on the task. Was he jealous of his fake self? “Hey. I’m not interested in fake Theo.”

  “No?”

  “No.” I shut the fridge and grabbed a bowl to melt the butter in. Once it was in the microwave, I went to him and slid my arms around his waist. I was so short in my bare feet, I had to tip my head way back to look at him. “Why would I be, when I have the real thing right here?”

  “I don’t know. Fake Theo is a pretty good guy.”

  “Real Theo is better.”

  He smiled. “Even though he doesn’t cook?”

  “He’s got…other talents.”

  Theo lowered his lips to mine and softly stroked them with his tongue. “Yes, he does. And he’s going to use them.” As the kiss grew deeper, his hands wandered down over my butt, inside my pants. He groaned. “You’re still not wearing underwear?”