If She Says Yes Read online

  If She Says Yes

  Tasha L. Harrison

  Dirtyscribbler Press

  Also by Tasha L. Harrison

  THE LUST DIARIES

  THE TRUTH DUET

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  “I am convinced that most people do not grow up … We marry and dare to have children and call that growing up. I think what we do is mostly grow old. We carry accumulation of years in our bodies, and on our faces, but generally our real selves, the children inside, are innocent and shy as magnolias.”

  Maya Angelou

  Contents

  1. Tomás

  2. Tomás

  3. Darcy

  4. Darcy

  5. Tomás

  6. Darcy

  7. Tomás

  8. Darcy

  9. Tomás

  10. Darcy

  11. Tomás

  12. Darcy

  13. Darcy

  14. Tomás

  15. Tomás

  16. Darcy

  17. Tomás

  18. Darcy

  19. Tomás

  Acknowledgments

  EXCERPT

  1

  Tomás

  Locking myself in an airplane bathroom and beating off like a twelve-year-old as my plane made its descent to Charleston International Airport wasn’t something I imagined myself doing at my big age, and yet…

  Here I am…

  I snarled at my reflection in the tiny bathroom mirror in disgust as I whipped out my already hard dick and dug a bottle of hotel lotion out of my pocket because yes, I’d planned ahead for this moment.

  Sage and Summer, the label read.

  I found it in the front pocket of my carry-on last night when I was packing and used it to jerk off when I got out of the shower this morning. I wasn’t usually the sort of dude that couldn’t make it through the day without jerking off, but the situation was dire. Sometimes, taking the edge off was a requirement to function in the world like a human being and not a dick desperate to dive into any wet hole. Well, that wasn’t entirely truthful, either. If it was just any wet hole, there’d be no problem. Either way, the cheap hotel lotion had just the right amount of slip to make this jerk-off session quick.

  Oh…and one other thing.

  I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and opened my voicemail app. My hand trembled as I selected the most recent message from Darcy MacFarland.

  My best friend’s mother.

  “Hey, Tommy.”

  She was the only person that still called me Tommy. Hearing my name in her husky, sweet Southern accent? It made my dick throb and was the only reason why I allowed it. But there wasn’t much I wouldn’t allow Darcy MacFarland to do to me. I popped the lotion open one-handed and squeezed a generous dollop of the slippery cream into my palm.

  “Seems like we’re playing phone tag, but I wanted to let you know that I received your email with the very detailed itinerary. I’ve synced my calendar with yours to make sure there are no issues with keeping our boy on schedule. However… I did see that you have reservations at The Mills House Hotel. Well, I have to say that I don’t approve. I thought both of my boys were going to stay here with me!”

  My boys. Fisting my dick in my hand, I gave it a slippery tug. That shouldn’t be hot, but in my twisted brain, any sort of possession from Darcy triggered this kind of response.

  “I have the garçonnière all set up for you. You’ve stayed there before, but I’ve had it remodeled since then, so hopefully, it will be up to the standards of the wunderkind architect of one of the fastest-growing firms in Chicago.”

  She let out a deep, husky chuckle, and just the intimate sound of her laughter brought me close to the edge.

  “That will always tickle me. My little Tommy on the cover of Architectural Digest. Hm. I guess both of you boys are all grown up now. Anyway, I hope you’ll go ahead and cancel those reservations after you hear this message. If you stayed in a hotel, it would make me very upset. And you don’t want to upset me, do you?”

  No…never. I only want to please you.

  “Any ol’ way, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. It’s been so long. Until then, sweetie!”

  I’ve missed you too. More than you could ever know.

  I closed my eyes and imagined how she would respond if I told her how much I missed her — how much I fantasized about her and how dirty those fantasies were. Would she console me when I confessed my years-long crush? No…she’d probably laugh at me. Maybe she wouldn’t believe me until I explained in detail how much I wanted to bury my face between her legs. Or maybe she would shame me a little (or a lot) for being so obsessed with her. But then…maybe…she would make me beg. God, I wanted to beg for her. Beg for her kisses. For her touch. For her taste.

  “Fuck…” My whimpering sounded so loud in the tiny bathroom, but it was hard to keep those sounds in when I thought about Darcy letting me worship her pussy or using my body to get herself off. My dick throbbed in my hand as I fucked my fist a little faster, imagining that I was doing it for Darcy — coming for Darcy.

  The first spurt hit the wall just over the faucet, but I was too inside of my own head — inside of this fantasy — to be appropriately horrified by it as I fucked the sensitive tip of my dick into my slippery hand, milking every last drop of pleasure out of my orgasm.

  Light-headed and panting, I leaned over the sink and pressed my forehead against the tiny mirror. My breath fogged and obscured my reflection, and honestly, I was glad because the shame that always accompanied this fantasy was quick on the heels of my euphoric release.

  Swallowing down my disgust, I reached blindly for a few paper towels and turned on the faucet to clean myself up.

  This is ridiculous.

  After all these years, I still had an unbearable crush on my best friend’s mom, and it didn’t look like it was going to end any time soon. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was supposed to do about it. And considering the way that I wanted her, I knew this was something I could never confess — to her or anyone.

  I realized a few years ago that I was what people in the lifestyle called a submissive. Not in the way that I wanted a woman clad in shiny latex to crush my balls with her spiked heels — even though I have tried that. Hey, a guy couldn’t really know what he liked if he didn’t try everything, right? But my fantasies about Darcy were…very Darcy-specific. I wanted to worship her. Cater to her in ways I assumed other men never have. What was that even called? A slave? A pet?

  Fuck. My dick liked both of those labels.

  It had been about seven years since I last saw Darcy, though I’d thought about her nearly every day of those seven years. Her son, Jared, has been my best friend since college. I was the broke out-of-state student, piecing my tuition together with scholarships, grants, and part-time jobs, who couldn’t afford the trip home to Chicago every holiday. Jared was the one with a rich family and a fun-loving mom who threw pool parties that nearly got her ousted from their historic downtown Charleston neighborhood. She was also the one who came to my rescue my junior year when my grades plummeted due to too much partying, and I lost one of my scholarships. She let me stay in the garçonnière rent-free. Let me borrow her old car — a late-model Mercedes — to get back and forth to campus. Fed me from her table most nights. I think I fell in love with her that summer. Well, to
be honest, I was halfway in love with her before that or at least deeply infatuated.

  Jesus… The way my heart used to pound in my chest every time I heard her ask Jared, “Are you coming home this weekend? If you are, bring Lil’ Tommy with you!” And I accepted every invitation eagerly.

  Lil’ Tommy.

  I outgrew that nickname long before I went to college, demanded that everyone call me Tomás, but for Darcy? I would be her Lil’ Tommy any time, any place.

  Which would be so much easier to do if she wasn’t my best friend’s mother.

  My friendship with Jared was important to me. After graduation, we both moved to Chicago, my hometown. He went to medical school at the University of Illinois and then became a doctor at Northwestern. I started an entry-level job at Edgewater Associates, one of the most elite architecture firms in the city. That job gave me the foundation to start my own firm, Son of Martin, five years ago. Jared was my biggest supporter, then and now, so, of course, I said yes when he asked me to be his best man. I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to say? Sorry, bro. I can’t be your best man because just hearing your mother call me Lil’ Tommy makes me weak with the need to be inside of her? No, of course not. I couldn’t tell my best friend of fifteen years that I’ve been fantasizing about his mother as long as we’ve known each other. Besides, I was honored that he asked me to stand at his side while he recited his vows to Brandi. I just hoped I could make it through the ceremony without coming in my pants.

  Four days. Four days and three nights in the guesthouse, mere steps from her bed.

  I cursed again, finally meeting my reflection in the mirror. Took in my flushed face and rumpled clothing. I barely recognized myself. I buttoned my pants and smoothed down the front of my t-shirt, attempting to put myself back to rights.

  How the fuck am I going to survive the next four days?

  To be honest, I wasn’t sure I would, and if I did, my dick would probably be really chafed from fucking my own hand.

  We made our way toward baggage claim once we touched down. The car service I’d hired pinged me while we waited for our luggage at the carousel, and I felt that satisfying dopamine hit I always got when my plans came together seamlessly. Beside me, Jared groaned audibly.

  “Can you not have your face buried in your phone this weekend?” he complained.

  “I was just confirming our ride,” I said, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. “You do realize that I’ll have to look at my phone to make sure everything stays on schedule, right?”

  “I get that, but I swear to god if I catch you responding to work emails—”

  “I’m not. I’ve got my office manager on everything until I get back. There’s nothing important enough to distract me from getting the most out of this weekend,” I reassured him.

  And that was partially true. I’d landed one of the biggest and most prestigious contracts of my career before we left Chicago. Signed the paperwork on it right before I got on the plane. But as the owner of my own fledgling architecture firm, it was difficult to pull back entirely. I was gonna give it my best effort for my best friend.

  I spotted my and Jared’s bags on the turnstile and grabbed them both. “Car’s waiting out front.”

  The driver took us the long way around from the airport, which was fine because it was a great reintroduction to the city I came of age in. He turned on Meeting Street and drove right through the thick of it, past Marion Square, all the way down to South Battery. Charleston and its small-town charm rolled out before us. I fell in love with the city and its historic architecture all over again.

  The reason why — well, one of the reasons why — I’d wanted to attend the College of Charleston was that the B.A. program had a focus on historic preservation and community planning — which was the exact mission of my firm, Son of Martin. The other reason was that it was far from Chicago and so different from the steel and concrete urban environment that I grew up in that it forced me to open my mind to new experiences.

  College of Charleston was on the coast of South Carolina in Summerville. The air was hot and heavy with water, time moved slower, and even the most stressful parts of my course of study seemed like languid, dreamy days when I looked back on them now.

  Driving to the MacFarland family home filled me with nostalgia as well. The palmetto trees, magnolias heavy with fragrant white blossoms, and colorful flowers that poured from the window boxes of narrow townhomes on cobblestone streets were quaint and quintessentially Southern. I rolled the window down and breathed in the mix of floral and brackish-scented air coming off the Ashley River. I could already feel that second hand slowing. This was my first vacation from my high-stress life in over a year. I was well overdue.

  The wedding was on Saturday evening, but we’d flown in early because Darcy had stressed that it was important to her to spend some time with her son before the nuptials. Jared was also worried that Brandi and his mother hadn’t bonded enough…whatever that meant. But I was glad to have a little extra time on our schedule so all of the pre-wedding preparations wouldn’t feel rushed.

  “Fuck,” Jared groaned while thumbing out a text.

  “What’s up?”

  “I asked my Aunt Amelia to find mom a date to the wedding and she just told me that mom refused to even consider it.”

  “A date? I thought she was seeing that realtor guy—”

  “Todd?” Jared spat his name out like it tasted foul. “Nah, that was just a fling. She hasn’t dated anyone since Dad died.”

  “No fucking way…” I said, realizing belatedly that I was way too shocked and possibly visibly delighted at this news. Darcy was single… I mean, she was still my best friend’s mother, but if I flirted a little bit, I didn’t have to worry about stepping on another man’s toes.

  “Yeah, well, none of this would be an issue if Jojo and Dylan weren’t coming.”

  Jolene Kirkland. Shannon MacFarland’s long time mistress and mother of his now ten year old son.

  District Attorney Shannon MacFarland’s wandering eye was never a secret — especially not to me and Jared. We’d parted ways many a night on King Street, leaving his dad with some girl half his age. I was ashamed to say I didn’t think twice about it back then. At twenty-two, the concept of marriage was foreign to me. I just assumed cheating was part of it. All men cheated on their wives, right? I mean, both of our fathers had cheated, so that proved to be true for me and Jared. But it was still a shock when Jojo showed up at his funeral with a three-year-old kid. And Darcy… I could hardly believe how gracious she was to Jojo and her son — then and now.

  “Anyway, I know you’re here to be my best man, but Mom’s been in a funk. She’s always liked you. Maybe you can keep her happy and distracted this weekend, so she and they don’t kill each other?”

  Oh fuck…he doesn’t even realize what he’s asking me to do. Keep Darcy happy and distracted? Seriously? “Of course, Jay. Assuming she even needs it. I’m sure she’ll be busy with wedding preparations since y’all are having it at the house. And she probably found a date on her own.” Though the thought of that made me want to clench my fists.

  “I doubt it,” Jared said, shaking his head. “She hasn’t mentioned that she’s dating anyone, so she’s probably attending alone.”

  It was shocking that a woman as fine as Darcy MacFarland wasn’t dating anyone? How? Why? If I had half a chance, I would be beating down her door...with my fucking dick. “That’s just criminal,” I muttered under my breath.

  “I know. Mom deserves to be happy, you know? At least for this weekend. So, you’ll take care of her for me? Make sure her wine glass is full and dance with her or whatever? Turn on that Tomás Martinez charm?” He elbowed me playfully.

  Dance…? Darcy loved to dance and was a phenomenal dancer. I’d seen her in action. I never danced with her because her husband was always around. I guess I would get my chance this weekend. I was no slouch, but I didn’t think she would let me push her around the dance floor. But the thou
ght of Darcy’s body pressed against mine while dancing a slow bachata or a banda with my thigh wedged up against her pussy...

  “Yeah, sure. I can do all that.” I squirmed in my seat. I might die, but I can do it.

  “Thanks, man. I just want to make sure she’s okay and has a good time this weekend.”

  The driver took us down Rainbow Row, one of the most photographed streets in the Holy City, and turned into what appeared to be an alley, albeit a cleaner, wider alley than I had ever found in Chicago. The driver pulled into a space next to a big, black Range Rover. The garage was open, and inside I could see an AMG Benz, low-slung and bright red. That had to be Darcy’s. Alongside the garage was a brick pathway that led to the back entrance of the MacFarland townhome. All the nervous energy that I’d barely kept at bay bubbled up inside of me as we grabbed our suitcases out of the trunk and made our way toward the house. Zinnias crowded the walkway. The strong floral scent was overwhelming, and I felt like that twenty-two-year-old kid, dying for his crush to throw a smile his way.

  Just beyond the red brick entryway, the residence buzzed with activity. The courtyard and porches were getting decorated with white and pink peonies. In the yard was a huge archway of the same flowers on a raised platform that would be the altar.

  “Holy shit,” Jared cursed in a soft voice as he stood on the porch, looking out over the yard.

  “What?” I asked, concerned that something was amiss.