Page 47 of If You Were Mine (After We Fall 3)
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After two cups of coffee and a blueberry muffin, I threw on some old clothes, put my hair up, and tackled the kitchen cabinets. I had the next two weeks off school for winter break, and I planned to spend as much time as possible working on the house.
Luckily the kitchen wasn’t too big, so there were only eight doors. I liked the original finish on the wood, but it was faded and speckled. My mother had tried to talk me into painting them white to create a brighter kitchen (as well as hiring someone to do the work), but a dark stain felt more authentic to me. I didn’t mind that the kitchen wasn’t bright—its earth tones were warm and natural. Plus I was planning to lay a light-colored tile on the floor, and that would brighten things a little.
After laying an old sheet down in the empty dining room, I took the cabinet doors off and set them on top of the sheet. Then I took everything out of the cupboards and washed out the insides. After that, I removed the hardware and cleaned the doors and facing with a mixture of TSP and water. While I waited for them to dry, I did some laundry, changed the sheets on my bed, and cleaned the bathroom.
Despite the fact that I was trying to use the work as a distraction, Theo was constantly present in my mind. Maybe because he’d offered to work on the cabinets last night or because we’d spent so much time in the kitchen, or maybe just because I was still bummed about never seeing him again when we’d had so much fun. I kept picturing his smile, his chest, his hands. Hearing his laugh. Tasting his kiss. Feeling his hands in my hair.
Get over it, Claire. Quit thinking about him.
But as I sanded and dusted the cupboards, I thought about his offer to fix the crooked ones last night. When I mixed an ounce of the stain into a gallon of varnish and painted it on, the color reminded me of his eyes, dark and shiny. And when I applied a coat to the cabinet facing, I stood right where I had last night and thought, Right here. This is where I stood when he pulled my hair and whispered in my ear and made me come so hard my knees buckled.
Such a bad girl. To want me this way.
His cock pounding into me again and again.
Right here. Right here. Right here.
My core muscles clenched, and I knew if I touched myself, I’d be wet.
I had to get out of the kitchen. Better yet, out of the house. At that point, I had to wait at least two hours for the varnish to dry anyway, so I decided to clean up and head over to Jaime and Quinn’s. Maybe some wine and conversation would get my mind off Theo.
I took a shower and dressed in jeans and a white cami. Once my hair was dry, I’d add a soft gray poncho sweater. I was coming down the stairs with my wet hair hanging down my back when I heard three loud knocks on the front door.
I paused, one hand on the banister, wondering who it could be. Jaime? My mother? But I barely had time to think before I heard three more sharp raps.
“Coming,” I called out, hurrying the rest of the way down the stairs. I pulled open the front door, and a rush of cold air swept in.
My breath caught—it was Theo.
“I need you,” he said, stepping across the threshold and taking my head in his hands. “I need you.”
Seventeen
Theo
* * *
She was exactly the salve I’d hoped she would be—the moment I crushed my lips to hers, I felt the conflict in my body resolve. The anger dissipate. The sadness lift. All of it was swept aside, replaced only by the desire to get closer to her.
I drew her into my body, thrilled when she wrapped her arms around my waist. Leaning back against the door to push it shut, I brought her with me, stroking her damp hair
, sliding my palms down her bare shoulders.
“You’re here,” she said breathlessly, tipping her head back to look up at me. Surprise and delight lit up her face, which was devoid of any makeup.
“Yes.” I kissed her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, her throat. Buried my face in her neck and inhaled the sweet, clean scent of her skin. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“I feel the same,” she whispered, tilting her head to give me better access to her neck and chest.
My lips brushed across her collarbone, over the top of her breast, and I felt her shiver. She ran her hands up the front of my chest, and I hated that I couldn’t feel her touch through the leather.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered, backing up and taking me with her.
I shrugged out of my coat and dropped it at our feet, then I picked her up, groaning as she wrapped her legs around me and slipped her tongue between my lips. I carried her up the stairs into her bedroom, breaking the kiss only long enough to make sure I’d reached the top and wouldn’t bump into anything. To my surprise, this entire level of the house was one open area, her bed at the back and a little art studio set up in the front by the east-facing window.
I moved quickly for the bed and tipped her onto her back, taking a second to ditch my boots. She scrambled to her knees and grabbed the bottom of my Henley and t-shirt, lifting them up. I helped her get them over my head, then did the same to her little white top. Reaching behind her, I unclasped her bra and she flung it aside, immediately throwing her arms around my neck.
