If You Were Mine

by Melanie Harlow

  She laughed lightly and kissed a path down my chest, her hands moving to the button and zipper of my jeans. My heart beat hard in my chest as she pushed them and my underwear down. I kicked them all the way off, breathing heavily as she spread her knees wider, lowered her head in front of me and looked up.

  Fuck yes.

  The late afternoon light spilled in through both windows, which were far enough away that no one could see us, but close enough that I could make out the devilish expression on her face. She braced herself on one hand and used the other to grip my shaft and run the tip of my cock over her lips, tracing the shape of her full mouth. When I felt her tongue sweep over the crown, I sucked air between my teeth, making her smile.

  She took her time, relishing every decadent swirl, every velvet stroke, every impatient throb. When she finally slipped her lips over the tip, sucking gently, I groaned, my hands moving automatically to her hair, holding it out of the way so I could watch her.

  As if she was in no particular hurry, she lavished a few minutes on just the crown, driving me insane with the need to feel her plush, hot lips sliding over my entire cock. Her fucking mouth was incredible, soft and silky and full.

  “Claire.” A growl and a plea.

  She laughed from the back of her throat, but she obliged, lowering her head, those plush, petal-smooth lips sliding down my shaft, warm and wet and snug. My knees trembled, and I widened my stance for stability, my jaw dropping in ecstatic disbelief as she worked her mouth up and down my cock, one hand gripping the base.

  “Fuck, you can take me so deep.” I was riveted by the sight of her head bobbing slowly in front of my hips, elated at the sounds she made, at the way she seemed to be enjoying herself. My eyes traveled over her whole body, the hair streaming down her bare back, the curve of her waist, the perfect ass in tight jeans sticking up in the air. My hands tightened in her hair.

  She moaned and took me in as far as she could, her hand pumping up and down what her mouth couldn’t handle. I struggled to maintain control, allowing myself only the smallest thrusts between her lips. Inside me a battle waged between a monster desperate to do unspeakable things to this angel on her knees for me, and a man who wanted to maintain control. The pressure inside me was building, pushing me toward the edge, and I kept pulling back, pulling back, pulling back, because I never wanted this to end. And the more I fought the release, the harder she worked me. Goddamn, she’s good at this! How is she so good at this?

  Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, she pulled my dick from her mouth and flipped onto her back, her hair and head and neck hanging over the edge.

  She reached for me. “I want to make you come like this. Let me.”

  I almost lost it.

  Willing myself to hold on for one more miraculous minute, I guided my cock between her lips, watching as she took me in deep. Jaw-dropping, mind-blowing, eye-popping deep. Her hands gripped my hips, moving me in and out, while I looked on in amazement and fought the insane urge not only to come but to tell her I loved her, propose marriage, and offer to father her children if only she’d just keep doing what she was doing. For a moment, I was paralyzed with pleasure, but then my body took over, my hips rocking with the rhythm she set, my cock pumping hard and quick into her mouth.

  What the fuck is she doing to me? I can hardly breathe! What’s that sound? Is that my pulse? It sounds like a marching band is in the room. I think I’m having a heart attack. It’s beating way too hard. I’m going to die. This is it. This is it! Oh my fucking God, this is iiiiiiiit…

  I didn’t die. But I did come harder than I ever had before, in several seconds of earth-shattering bursts, grunting and gasping as my cock throbbed between her lips. As my vision clouded with silver, I imagined the way I was filling her mouth, sharing myself in the most intimate, most erotic, most dominant way possible. But it was the craziest thing—she was powerless beneath me, yet I felt vulnerable to her.

  What the fuck was happening?

  When I could see straight again, Claire was still gasping for breath, her head on the bed again. Wait, she’d swallowed? Maybe I would propose.

  OK, I wasn’t that crazy.

  But there were other things I could do.

  “Miss French, you are a very naughty girl.” I walked around the side of the bed, staring down at her. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  She propped herself up on her elbows and smiled. “I read it in a book once. Did you like it?”

  I grabbed her by the ankles and yanked her legs toward me, rotating her body so she lay across the bed. “I think you just swallowed that answer.”

  She licked her lips.

  “And now,” I said, unbuttoning her jeans and peeling them off, “it’s my turn.” I pulled her toward the edge of the bed and dropped to my knees.

  “You don’t have to.”

  I flung her legs over my shoulders and gave her a look. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “No. I did that because I wanted to, not because I expected anything in return.”

  “Good, because I’m not doing this for you. I’ve had a very bad day and the only thing that will make it better is the taste of your pussy and the sound of you screaming my name while I make you come. Got a problem with that?”

  She smiled. “No.”

  “Good.” I stroked up her center and felt the tremor in her legs. “Now let’s get started.”

  * * *

  When we finally wandered downstairs after a ninety-minute nap (neither of us had slept well last night), it was about six o’clock and both of us were hungry.

  “My kitchen is a mess,” she said, picking up my coat from the floor at the foot of the steps. I followed her through the living room, where she tossed my coat on the couch, and into the dining room. “I started the cabinet rehab today.”

  “Wow, you did.” I switched on the light and examined her work. “Nicely done. I like the stain. Needs another coat, huh?”

  “Yeah, that was the plan, but I got—”

  “Naked?”

  She giggled. “I was going to say distracted.”

  “Not sorry.”

  “Me neither.”

  Our eyes met, and something happened inside my chest, a quickening. It was slightly terrifying, and also kind of nice. “What if we order in and get that second coat on tonight?”

  She smiled. “Sounds good to me. Pizza?”

  “Perfect.”

  She ordered pizza and a salad and opened a bottle of wine while I retrieved the paint brushes from the basement sink, stirred up the varnish, and got started. “Want a glass?” she called from the kitchen.

  “No, thanks. Actually, I don’t drink.” It felt like a safe piece of myself to share, and for some reason, I wanted to share a few pieces with her. Just a few.

  “At all?” She stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, a glass of red wine in her hand.

  “Nope.”

  “Are you…recovered?”

  “You could say that.” I painted the cabinet doors with long, even strokes.

  “How long?”

  “I never went through rehab or anything. But I quit drinking about six years ago. Right after my first niece was born.” Another safe piece.

  “That’s…that’s great.” She paused. “But now I feel bad for drinking in front of you.”

  I looked at her guilty expression. “You don’t have to feel bad. I don’t drink because I didn’t like how it made me behave. It was hard to stop once I got started, and I made really bad decisions when I was drunk. But I don’t miss it.”

  “You’re sure it’s OK?”

  “Yes. Promise.”

  I got all eight doors coated by the time the food arrived, and Claire did the facing in the kitchen. While I washed out the brushes in the basement, she set the kitchen table with dishes from a box in one corner of the room.

  “So what’s next after the cabinets?” I asked her as she filled two bowls with salad.

  “Th
e floors, I think. I want tile, but I haven’t picked it out yet. Know any good tile places?”

  “Actually, I do.” I sat down and opened the pizza box, placing a slice on Claire’s plate and then on mine before closing it up again. “I’ll write the name down for you. Or I could take you there.”

  “Really?” She went completely still, salad bowl in her hand.

  “Um. Yeah.” It had sort of just slipped out, but it was the kind of thing I enjoyed—helping out someone who needed it. Josie and the girls had Aaron to take care of things at their house now, but Claire was all alone. Just like I was.

  Still, I needed to rein myself in. She was going to get confused if I kept sharing things about myself and offering to help her.

  “Wow, thanks. That would be great.” She set the bowl down in front of me. “What can I get you to drink? Water? Vernor’s? Cranberry juice?”

  “Vernor’s sounds good.”

  She plunked a few ice cubes in a glass and poured me some ginger ale, then sat across from me and lifted her wine glass. “Cheers to a second date—I haven’t had many of those lately.”

  “Me either.” Or first dates. Not real ones, anyway.

  Claire set down her glass and picked up her fork. “By the way, I still want to pay you for your time last night—at least the time you spent at the wedding. It’s only fair.”

  I stuck a tomato in my mouth and gave her a look. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want your money. In fact, I need to give you your hundred bucks back.”

  “But it’s your job.” She picked up her wine again and took a quick swallow. “Isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” It wasn’t a complete lie. More of a half-truth. “I also have a carpentry business.” Another not-lie.

  Her face lit up like I’d given her a gift. “You do?”

  “Yes. I’ve never really been able to make much of it, but I like the work.”

  “And you’re good with your hands.” She gave me one of those smiles that chipped away at my rules.

  “Thanks.”

  “I could definitely use your help around here. I have lots of projects.”

  “I’d be glad to help you.” I added quickly, “But I might not be in town too long.”

  “That’s right. You move around a lot. It’s one of the only things I know about you.”

  I cocked a brow. “I’d say you know a few other things about me.”

  Her eyes met mine. “I know how you taste.”

  Fuck. I swallowed with difficulty. “Yes. You do.”

  She focused on her food. “I’d like to know more, but you’re such a private person.”

  “So ask me something,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t have to lie. Part of me wanted to open up a little, but it didn’t come naturally to me.

  “What’s your last name?”

  Crap. Of course she’d want to know that, but it made me searchable. My conviction was public record. But Claire was so trusting, I didn’t think she’d race to do a background check. “MacLeod.”

  She smiled radiantly, as if I’d just given her an amazing gift. “MacLeod. So you’re Scottish?”

  I shrugged. “No idea, actually.”

  She took another bite of her salad. “I did a family tree when I was in school. I got back eight generations on both sides.”

  “Yeah? What’d you find?”

  “I’m English, French, Irish, Dutch, and a little German.”

  “A mutt.” I cocked my head. “Suits you.”

  She kicked me under the table. “Jerk.”

  After that, she was quiet for a moment, but I could see her struggling with something. Finally she asked, “So are you not a pilot, then? I’m not trying to be nosy, I’m just…trying to get to know you.”

  I thought about it for a second and decided to answer honestly. “I have a recreational pilot certificate. I don’t use it much, though. I wish I did.”

  “What made you get one of those?”

  “Just always wanted to learn to fly.”

  “But you didn’t want a career as a pilot?”

  I hesitated before lying. “No. I don’t like strict schedules. It wouldn’t have suited me. But I do love flying.”

  “I hate it.” She shuddered.

  “Why?”

  “It’s terrifying. I don’t understand how something that heavy can even get off the ground, let alone stay up there.”

  I laughed. “You don’t have to understand something to enjoy it, do you? I don’t know how to make pizza but I enjoy the hell out of a good slice.”

  “I’m telling you, just the thought of being on an airplane gives me a panic attack.” Her eyes were wide and serious. “My mother is the same way.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Dying!” she said, like duh. “Falling out of the sky!”

  I shook my head. “You do know that the odds of dying in a car accident are much, much higher, right?”

  “That’s different.” She sniffed. “I have control in the car. And even if I’m not the driver, at least I know what all the noises and bumps are.”

  “What happens when you want to go somewhere you can’t drive to?”

  She sighed. “That is a problem. Because I do want to go places like that—Paris. Florence. Madrid…” Her head tilted to one side. “Maybe I’ll take a boat.”

  I laughed. “That’s a long boat ride. Can’t you just get over your fear long enough to get on a plane and take a sleeping pill or something?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe someday.” Her cheeks flushed slightly. “You probably think it’s silly to be so afraid of something.”

  I shrugged. “Not necessarily.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  Not wanting to leave here tonight. “Nothing, really.”

  “I knew it. You’re a thrill seeker, huh? I bet you love rollercoasters.”

  “Uh huh.” I swallowed the bite in my mouth. “But not as much as skydiving.”

  “Skydiving!” she shrieked. “You mean you have purposely jumped out of a perfectly good plane?”

  “Many times. Nothing like it.”

  She looked at me like I was nuts. “What’s so great about it?”

  “The way it makes you feel. Totally free. Like you could do anything. No limits.”

  She shook her head slowly. “You’re brave. I could never. I’m too afraid of falling, always have been.”

  I liked it that she called me brave. I liked it that she thought I was good with my hands. I liked the way it felt to sit at her kitchen table and share a meal and talk.

  I liked it so much that I began to be afraid of falling too.

  But later, she asked if I wanted to stay.

  And I said yes.

  Eighteen

  Claire

  * * *

  It was better than my fantasies, falling asleep next to Theo. The sheets were sweatier and my hair was messier, but I’d had way, way more orgasms, and he was hotter than any man I could have dreamed up. Taller, stronger, dirtier. More handsome, more fun, more complicated.

  I still had no idea what had made him come back here tonight, but I was scared that asking him would break the spell. I need you, he’d said. What had he meant? Just sex, or something more?

  He was an enigma—so open and generous with his body but so closed off when it came to anything personal. I was amazed that he’d shared a few personal details with me tonight. I ran through the list of things I’d learned—last name, quit drinking six years ago, had a pilot license but wasn’t a pilot, had a carpentry business on the side, liked skydiving. And last night, he’d mentioned that he was raised by his late grandmother. Parents had both taken off. He had a brother who struggled to stay put, a sister-in-law, and three nieces he played tea party with.

  And he fucks like a rockstar.

  It was an intriguing picture, but it wasn’t very complete. Like a painting with random details drawn here and there, maybe even some color, but other parts of the canvas left blank.

  I h
ad no idea how to complete the sketch, no experience getting a man who guarded himself so closely to open up, no way to know how this would play out. All I had were more questions. Who was he, really?

  “Theo?”

  “Hm?”

  “What were you like as a kid?”

  He groaned. “More questions?”

  “Sorry, sorry.” I kissed his chest. “I was just lying here trying to picture you.”

  “I was a typical kid.”

  “What did you like to do?”

  “Ride my bike. Throw rocks. Make fun of girls.”

  I poked him in the side. “Tell me about one nice childhood memory from when you were small.”

  It took him a long time to think of one. “There was a tire swing in our yard when I was little. When I wanted to escape my house, I used to like playing on it.”

  “We had a tire swing up north at the cabin,” I said excitedly. “It’s still there, actually.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I laughed. “You probably won’t be surprised to learn I was scared of it at first.”

  “Of the tire swing? Why?

  “Because it was just a rope tied to this skinny old branch. I always thought it would snap.”

  “Even if it did, you’d only fall a couple feet.”

  “What can I say? I’m delicate.”

  “Uh, I beg to differ.”

  I poked him in the side again and then snuggled closer. “Why’d you want to escape your house?”

  He shifted, as if he was uncomfortable. “I don’t know. Just didn’t like being cooped up, I guess. I still don’t.”

  That made sense. He liked his privacy and his freedom.

  One thing I knew for sure was that I couldn’t pressure him, couldn’t make demands, couldn’t set limitations or conditions. And honestly, I didn’t really want to. He’d told me as soon as he walked in the door he didn’t know where this could go, and it had taken me all of three seconds to realize I was OK with that. Even if all he had to offer was orgasms and conversation right now, I’d go with it. I’d be patient.

  But lying there, wrapped in his arms, cuddled against his side with my head on his chest, listening to his heart beat, our feet tangled together, the blankets cradling us with warmth…I was dizzy with hope, drunk with possibility.