“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.