“No. Did you want me to put some on?”
“Don’t you dare. I like you this way.” His mouth moved down the side of my throat, making me shiver. “I just might get a little distracted while I’m trying to cook.”
“No complaints here.” I loved his hands on me. And his lips and tongue and anything else he wanted to touch me with. He kissed his way down my neck and chest, making my nipples perk up and poke through the thin cotton. Bending down, he lowered his head and sucked one into his mouth, shirt and all. He took it between his teeth, and my clit started to tingle. The microwave dinged, signaling the butter was ready, but neither of us cared. I took his head in my hands, threading my fingers into his hair as he moved his mouth to the other breast and his hand to the first. Oh my God, if it feels this good with a shirt on, imagine how incredible it will feel when it’s off.
My lower body was humming, and I wondered if he was hard. I had my answer a moment later when he turned me toward the counter, pulled my pants off, and flattened himself against my back. One hand remained on my breast and the other snaked between my legs as he rubbed his cock along my lower back. “I can’t get enough of you.” His breath was warm on the back of my neck and sent gooseflesh rippling down my arms. He dipped one long finger inside me and brought it to his mouth. “The sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”
I was mesmerized watching him suck his finger clean. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He slipped two fingers inside me, slid one foot between mine, and kicked it out wider. His fingers moved deeper.
I gasped and flattened my palms on the counter for stability. Suddenly I felt shaky on my feet.
He moved his fingers in and out of the silky wetness between my legs and rubbed it over my clit. His cock bulged against my spine, and I wanted it inside me again. “Theo,” I whispered, looking over my shoulder at him with pleading eyes.
He kissed me, gliding his tongue along mine, pinching my tight, tingling nipple with his left hand and bringing me closer to orgasm with his right. “Can I fuck you in the kitchen?” he asked, his voice low and raw.
“Yes,” I panted. “You can fuck me in every room of this house if you want to.” Oh my God, did I just say that?
“Then I better get started.” His hands left me only for the amount of time it took him to grab a condom and put it on. Then he was back between my legs, guiding the tip of his cock inside me from behind, filling me slowly, deliciously, completely.
Instinctively, I rose up on my toes and arched my back, bracing my hands on the counter. Theo’s breath was ragged as he began to move with slow, deep, rhythmic thrusts. His hands gripped my hips so hard I’d have bruises, but I didn’t care. It would be evidence that this night had really happened, proof that I was capable of being uninhibited, unashamed, unafraid. I’d cherish those black and blue marks like gifts.
Theo moved one hand between my legs and circled his fingertips over my clit, burying his cock so deep inside me my toes nearly left the floor. Then he pulled the elastic from my hair, causing it to tumble down my back. Grabbing a handful of it, he yanked my head back, pulling my hair so hard, tears sprang to my eyes. But the sharp-edged sting on my scalp was in perfect contrast with the swirling, spiraling pleasure he wrought at my center.
“Was this on your list?” he rasped. “Being fucked by a stranger in your house?”
My pulse skittered away from me. “Stranger?”
“Yes. You don’t know me.”
My eyes were wide. Was he playing a game or was he serious? I wasn’t sure I liked it that either could be true.
Suddenly he stopped to whisper in my ear. “Play along, princess. It’s more fun that way.”
He’s acting.
Relief mingled with arousal, sending a shiver through my body as he began to move again. For a second, I panicked that I didn’t know how to play along—that I wouldn’t be good at these games. I was creative, yes, but with art I could take my time. I was kind of on the spot here. Closing my eyes, I tried to think about fantasies I had when I was alone. There were scenarios that turned me on, but I’d always kept them private. Could I go there with Theo? What if he didn’t understand?
“You’re so wet for me. I think you wanted this.” The sexy growl in his voice pushed me over the edge.
“I don’t,” I gasped. “You should leave.” But I arched my back even more, pushed my ass back against him, hoping he’d follow me.
He laughed, sinister and seductive. “Not going to happen. I told you I wasn’t good at stopping.”
“Please!” I begged, trying to keep a smile off my face. Damn it, did Giselle have to get all the acting talent? I wanted to play the role fully, but I was so excited it was hard not to show it.
“You don’t really want me to stop. You weren’t even wearing underwear. You wanted me to fuck you. You wanted my hands on your pussy. You want me to make you come all over my cock.” His hand moved faster and harder over my clit, making my stomach feel weightless, my legs go numb. “Don’t you?”
“No.” My voice was as weak as my knees, because I wanted it so badly. I was already on the edge, the tension in my body coiled tight. One second later, I was writhing against him, riding out the most intense orgasm I’d ever felt, my muscles contracting repeatedly around his cock. He kept his hips still, which meant I could feel the tip of him in that deep, hidden spot that electrified every fiber of my being.
As soon as I collapsed forward on the counter, he grabbed my hips again. “Such a bad girl,” he snarled, fucking me hard and fast. “To want me this way.”
“But I’m a good girl.” Getting the words out was a struggle.
“That’s just a show. You want this.” He was close. I heard it in his voice, felt it in the way he moved. “You want me to come.”
“Yes,” I breathed, unable to think beyond the truth of my desire. “I want it. I want it—give it to me.”
His body stilled as he surged inside me, his hands tight on my hips. I closed my eyes and grabbed one of his wrists, circling it with my fingers. It was crazy, but I’d never felt so close to someone during sex before. Maybe it was because I’d had the courage to act out a fantasy with him. Maybe it was because he seemed to know me better than he should. Maybe it was the way he’d said I’m no good for you, as if he wished he were.
Why couldn’t he be?
Before my heart could answer the question, my head spoke up.
Because he doesn’t want to be. He said as much.
You have tonight, and that’s it.
Make the most of it.
Thirteen
Theo
* * *
“Got the cinnamon and sugar ready?” I lined up the bag of marshmallows, the bowl of melted butter, and the crescent roll dough, which Claire had placed on a plastic cutting board.
“Yes,” she said, holding a little white bowl with two hands. After we cleaned up, she’d put on pastel pink flannel pajama pants with little gray bunnies on them (I’m not making this up) and traded the white t-shirt for a fitted gray tank top that showed off her breasts. Her hair was back on the top of her head, and every time I looked at it I remembered taking it down and watching it spill down her back like honey. “Where does it go in the assembly line?”
“Right here.” Ignoring the twitch in my pants—take a break, asshole—I made space between the butter and the cutting board, and she set it on the counter. “OK, ready?”
“Ready.”
I pushed my cuffs up a little higher. “So you take a marshmallow, and you give it a bath in the melted butter.” Taking a marshmallow from the bag, I rolled it around in the butter, and the memory of doing this hundreds of times as a kid hit me like a freight train. I could hear my grandmother’s voice, smell her house, see the blue ceramic mixing bowl she always used for the cinnamon and sugar. I’d taken that blue bowl when Josie, Aaron and I cleaned out the house. But I didn’t bake, so it sat unused and gathering dust in my kitchen cupboard. Same with her electric mixer and a set of spatula
s that I recalled licking batter off. Those were the good years—the cake batter years.
“And then what?” Claire prompted.
I focused on the present. “Then you cover it with cinnamon and sugar.” Melted butter dripped from the marshmallow as I rolled it around in the little white dish. “Now get one of those little triangles of dough ready.”
Claire laid out one raw crescent roll. “Just flat?”
“Yes.” I placed the sugar-and-cinnamon-coated marshmallow at the wide end of it. “Now you have to wrap it up with the dough and seal the edges.” My fingers were also coated with butter, sugar, and cinnamon, so I watched as Claire folded the pointed end of the triangle over the top of the marshmallow and then pinched all the edges of the dough together.
“Like that?” She looked up at me.
“Yes. Just make sure the seal is really tight, or they explode in the oven and all the magic drips out.”
She laughed. “Got it. So the marshmallow melts, is that it? That’s the magic?”
“Don’t try to look behind the curtain, Claire. Sometimes believing in magic is better than the truth.”
“OK, OK. So now what?” She held up the dough-wrapped confection.
“Now dip the bottom of it in the butter and drop it into one of the holes in the muffin thing.”
She did as instructed and looked at me. “How’s that?”
“Perfect.”
“I really want to lick your fingers right now. Is that one of the steps?”
I grinned. “It wasn’t when I made these with my grandmother, but help yourself.”
With a twinkle in those sage green eyes, she took my right arm by the wrist and held my hand up like a lollipop. She looked at me as she closed her lips over the base of my thumb and slowly pulled it out, her tongue swirling over the tip.
My dick took interest, hopping around in my pants like a little kid in line for the merry-go-round, impatient for his turn. She licked the next two fingers just as slowly, savoring every drop of butter and grain of sugar. And the way she kept her eyes on mine, oh my God, my imagination was out of control. My pants grew uncomfortably tight.
Gently I took my hand from her grasp. “Uh, I could watch you do that all night, but I’m going to lose all interest in baking these things if you keep going, and I really want you to taste them.”
She giggled. “Will you let me lick them again once they’re in the oven?”
“You can lick anything you want to once they’re in the oven.”
“Deal.”
We worked together, and even though there were some spontaneous finger-licking breaks, we managed to get them in the oven in about ten minutes.
She set the timer for ten minutes and I rinsed the bowls in the sink. “Should I put these in the dishwasher?” I asked.
“I’ll do it.” She pushed me gently to the side and took my place in front of the sink. “You tell me about your grandmother.”
Leaning back against the counter, I crossed my arms. I wasn’t in the habit of talking about my family, but I’d opened my big mouth about my grandmother already. And I couldn’t believe I’d missed that damn Barbie doll when I’d cleaned out my car. I was usually so careful. “She was good to me.”
“Were you close?” Claire loaded the bowls into the top rack of the dishwasher, which looked about as old as the house. For that matter, so did the linoleum floor, which was clean but cracked and faded. She had a lot of work ahead of her, fixing this place up.
I could help her.
Immediately, I shoved that notion from my mind. I was out of here tonight and I couldn’t come back. “Yeah. We were, for a while anyway. She basically raised me from eight to eighteen.”
“Really?” She flicked a glance at me. “What happened to your parents?”
I hesitated, but figured what the hell. “My mom left when my brother and I were young. Dad was in and out of the picture for a while, but eventually decided out suited him better.”
“Ah.” She shut the dishwasher door and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. “Did you grow up around here?”
“Not far.”
“Where’s your brother now?”
“That’s a good question.”
She faced me with the towel still in her hands, a quizzical look on her face.
Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. Now what? “Like my father,” I said carefully, “my brother struggles to stay put.”
“You said you’re a drifter, too,” she pointed out.
I gritted my teeth. “I don’t have a wife and three kids, with a fourth on the way.”
Claire’s jaw dropped. “Wow. Those are the nieces you mentioned?”
I nodded.
“And his wife is pregnant?”
My hands clenched into fists beneath my arms. Every time I thought about Josie and those girls, I wanted to punch something. But Claire didn’t need to hear about it. “Yes. But she’s fine. They’re all gonna be fine.” I said it with much more conviction than I felt.
Claire folded the towel and left it on the counter. “I bet you’re a fun uncle.”
“I am pretty awesome at tea parties.”
“You play tea party with them?” She put a hand on her heart. “That’s so cute. Do you get to see them much?”
When I paused, she went on quickly.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry. I’m just…curious.”
“It’s OK.” Again, I spoke carefully, keeping emotion out of it. “I don’t see them as often as I’d like.”
She nodded slowly. “I hope their dad comes back.”
“Me too. You close to your folks?” I asked, veering the conversation away from the dysfunctional MacLeods.
A huge sigh escaped her. “Yes. Too close. They only live like a mile away, and my mother loves to drop in.”
“Should I be nervous?” I glanced over my shoulder, which made her laugh.
“No. She’s in bed by now, I’m sure. She goes bananas at Christmas, and tomorrow starts the three-day countdown.” She shook her head. “She drives me crazy this time of year.”
“Must have been nice when you were a kid. Before I moved in with my grandmother, we never even had a tree.”
Her face fell. “That’s terrible. God, I’m sorry. I’m such a brat to complain about anything. I have great parents.”
I grimaced. What the hell was I doing? Not only was I telling her private stuff, I was being depressing as fuck. “Don’t be sorry. That’s my fault for saying that, and it really wasn’t that big a deal. We had nice Christmases later on. My grandmother didn’t have a lot of money, but she made up for it in other ways. I think she always felt she’d fucked up with my dad, so I felt like a second chance for her.”
“What about your grandfather?”
“I don’t really know. He was in the military, I think, but he was long gone by the time Aaron and I moved up here, and she never talked about him.” I shrugged. “Another drifter, I guess.” She nodded slowly, and I could see her processing things. Like how fucked up my family is compared to hers. I bet her parents adore her. I bet they all have matching pajamas they wear on Christmas morning, and they sit around watching each other open gifts and sipping hot chocolate from matching mugs that say Proud to be French.
“Think your brother will come home in time for Christmas?” Claire asked.
“I fucking hope so, but I’m not sure. I want to bring a tree over there for them tomorrow.”
She perked up. “That’s a great idea! Can I—”
The oven timer went off, and I was glad for the distraction. I had the feeling she’d been about to ask if she could meet the girls or help with the tree, and I had to stick to my one night only rule. I had to.
For her sake.
Claire had the kind of heart that was big enough to let anybody in, even me. I couldn’t let her do it.
“Oooooh!” Claire squealed as she took the rolls from the oven. “They look so good! And no explosions. The magic is safely contained.”
She set the pan on the table. “Do we need plates?”
“Nah. Let’s just eat them right from the pan. That’s what I used to do.” I dropped into one of four chairs around the table and pulled her onto my lap. “Come here.”
Laughing, she sat across my legs. “Can I try one now?”
“No. They have to cool a little. Learned that lesson the hard way. Scorched the fuck out of my tongue.”
“Want me to kiss it better?”
“Actually, yes.”
Her mouth on mine, her hands in my hair, her ass in my lap, the scent of magic in the air…there was nothing about this moment that wasn’t perfection.
She pulled away and inhaled deeply. “Oh my God. They smell so good. Now can I try, please?”
“Yes.” I grabbed one and took a bite, and the taste turned back the clock twenty years. “Oh man. That’s like heaven.”
She took a bite and moaned. “It is,” she said, her mouth full. “Oh my God.”
“Told you.” I finished mine in two more bites and reached for another.
“It’s like—oh crumb, look what I just did.” She tipped her chin to her chest and giggled. “The magic just dripped onto my cleavage.”
“Please allow me.” Angling her body so I could lick her chest, I swept my tongue across the top of her breast. Actually, this is like heaven. I don’t need to turn the clock back—I just need to stop it right here.
She shivered. “That feels good.”
“I’m so glad you think so,” I said, “because you just gave me a fucking fantastic idea.” I bit into the puff in my hand and let the syrupy insides spill onto her chest on purpose.
She giggled as I licked it up, and my dick started to swell. “When’s it my turn?”
“Go for it,” I told her, eating the rest of the pastry. “Better hurry, because the magic disappears fast.”
One night only.
If You Were Mine Page 9