Page 23 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Clara

T he venue is narrow and long, the floors unfinished concrete and the tables wobbly high-tops.

The only food is pickles and chips, but there are twenty different beers on tap, so the audience is happy.

Meanwhile, Emma has been peppering Jansen with information on his sister since we picked her up, a fresh fake ID for her in hand.

I’m happy for her. She’s been single longer than either of us thought she’d last, and I know she’s been lonely, even if her classes fill up nearly all her free time. Pre-vet isn’t easy.

There’s a section toward the front of super exuberant fans, and when Evie steps out onto the small stage, the group starts screaming and jumping.

And it’s easy to see why. Evie has presence .

Shining green eyes, a grin full of mischief, blonde hair falling over her brow but undercut all around her head, long, dangling earrings, and an outfit that somehow looks both stage- worthy and like she just threw on some jeans before she came out to play.

And when she speaks, her voice has a husky quality that makes you feel like she’s only talking to you.

One glance at Emma, and it’s easy to see that she’s totally smitten.

Evie charms the audience with funny stories and jokes, and the songs, while a lot twangier than I usually listen to, end up being about fifty percent covers of hip-hop tunes.

Knowing the lyrics doesn’t help at all, though, as the same song is an entirely different beast when accompanied by a banjo and a fiddle.

Megan Thee Stallion’s WAP has never sounded dirtier, or sillier, before.

At some point, Jansen slides up behind me, his hands on my hips, pulling me flush to him as we rock in time to the music.

I can tell how much my proximity affects him. Turning my head, I raise a brow, but he just gives me a slow kiss, eyes shining. It’s a promise. A silent agreement for later.

Good, normal, everyday. Exactly what we’ve needed.

The band calls for a break, promising to be back in thirty minutes, and then the room buzzes with silence. Or maybe that’s my ears.

Emma spins and pulls me into a hug, bouncing on her toes. “Oh my God, Clara. I think I’m in love, and I haven’t even talked to her. I’m so freaking nervous right now.”

“You’re hot, you’re smart, you’ve got this.”

Jansen takes my hand, I hold my other one out to Emma, and the three of us follow the band to a small room by the back door.

“Yoo-hoo? You decent, Evie?” he calls.

The door’s thrown open, then Jansen’s sister is there, her gaze critical instead of buoyant like it was on stage.

“So, you’re the girl?” she asks, looking me over with her lips in a tight line.

“Hi! You were great out there,” I say, hoping that ignoring her distrust will get her to like me faster.

“Are you a bluegrass fan?” one of the guys in the room asks, lounging on an old plaid couch.

“No, but my friend Emma is,” I say, shoving my friend through the door. Jansen and I follow, leaving Evie to click the door shut behind us.

The siblings have a whispered argument by the door while Emma chats with Evie’s bandmates, all of them talking about their favorite bands and songs. Basically speaking a foreign language.

I tuck myself onto the arm of the couch, letting the conversation flow without me. My mind has nearly wandered into worries when Jansen bands his arm around my waist, pulling me tight.

“Everything okay?” I whisper.

“Yeah. Evie’s just really protective.”

“Any reason why?”

“Yeah, but let’s not worry about that now.”

Evie sits beside us, and while I’m sure she’s trying to be subtle, she’s checking out Emma, and a grin stretches across my face. I might not win her over, but Emma’s doing great. Step one complete.

I slide off the couch, heading toward the door, and with a boldness I should have expected from her, Emma plants her ass next to Evie, taking the seat I just vacated. Nice. Step two, well on its way.

“We’ll be right back,” I announce, not yet having an excuse, but assuming it’ll be enough. Jansen follows my lead.

We slip from the room with no commentary. Turning to Jansen for a high-five, I find myself plastered against the wall, his hands digging into my hair, his teeth nipping at my mouth and demanding entry. I open and let him sweep thought from my head.

The rigid steel of his dick presses against me, and I gasp, swamped in need so strong I hardly can contain it. “Jay, not here. Photos,” I whimper, wanting him more than I want to be careful.

But somehow, he does what I can’t, and in an instant, we’re locked in the single-stall men’s room, my butt on the counter as he continues to devour me. “Shit,” I whisper as he licks and nips down the side of my neck. “I need you.”

“Good.”

Lifting myself so he can yank my pants down, they get caught on my boots, but neither of us cares. Instead, his fingers press into me, flexing and curling, his thumb brushing over my clit, my orgasm barreling down on me with the same speed as the musicians we just watched.

“Please, oh shit, please,” I mutter, Jansen’s other hand slinking under my bra and circling the stiff peak of my nipple.

When I come, I dig my teeth into Jansen’s neck, using his flesh to muffle my screams, his groan and matching bite making the spasms linger, lasting longer than they normally would.

Then his fingers are gone, and the blunt head of his cock is sliding into the mess of my orgasm, both of us panting, watching as it disappears inside of me.

“Oh God, beautiful,” he mutters, his damp hand cradling my cheek, the scent of me bright on his skin.

“Fuck me, Jansen,” I demand, my voice shaky, trembles still coursing through me.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

He shifts his grip to my hips; I wrap my legs around his waist, and then I’m only there for the ride.

The power of his thrusts would have me flying back if he didn’t keep me planted where he wants me, and every time he bottoms out, we both gasp.

Steady, brutal, I dig my fingers into his shoulders, my head thrown back, barely able to stay upright.

The edge of another orgasm beckons, and somehow, he knows it, wrapping his arm around my waist, locking me against him, freeing his other hand to tease at my clit, the angle keeping his piercing from doing what it’s meant to.

“I’m not coming until I feel you squeezing my cock.”

I can only moan in response. A moment later, my orgasm rolls through me with the same steady, brutal power of his thrusts, his choked groan soon joining mine, the twitch of him inside of me making me whine.

When I manage a shuddering breath, I open my eyes to find shining green ones grinning back at me. Glittering, clear, the Jansen I know and love. He should know how I feel. From the beginning, Jansen has been everything welcoming, everything supportive. And he’s mine.

“Jansen?” I start, working up to it.

“I love you, Clara,” he blurts, the words falling from his mouth like they’ve been pressed against his lips for months.

“I don’t know if you’re ready to hear that from me, or if you’re ready to be that for me, but I can’t keep the words in any longer.

Because I love the way you smile, and the way you always look for a solution when anybody else would choose to drown in disaster.

I love the way you force me to do more, to be more, for you.

I love watching you dance, and I love the way you look at me like I’m something special, like I’m worthy of having your love.

Shit, Clara, I love you with every ounce of my frantic, messed up soul, and I just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. ”

I laugh, tears falling. “God, I love you so much, Jansen. But you stole my moment. I was just going to tell you the same thing.”

He laughs, his smile bright in the electric lights, his lips buzzing with energy as he kisses me, a celebration without destination. “Once a thief, always a thief,” he whispers against my lips. But this kiss is another beginning, even if we’ve only just finished.

I open my mouth, welcoming the continued distraction, only to be stalled out by a fist pounding on the door. “Stop fucking and let us in. It’s too damn cold to piss outside. And there’s a line.”

Heat streaks up my neck and across my face, but Jansen just grins, brushing his nose against mine. “Time’s up, beautiful.”

“I think I might die of embarrassment leaving here,” I groan as he pulls out, rushing to grab a wad of toilet paper to clean me up.

Once we’re mostly decent, he grabs my hand, squeezing it tight. “You’re a queen, Clara. Don’t let them look down on you.”

Gazing up at him, he grins, while the guy on the other side of the door lets loose another flurry of knocks. “I love you, Jansen,” I whisper.

“I love you too, Clara. Now show them how regal you can be.”

Jansen pushes the door open, and I throw my shoulders back. A queen. I can pretend to be that.

“Dude, chill,” Jansen says, leading me past a line of four guys waiting for the restroom.

The weight of their eyes is heavy against my skin, but I put on a superior smile and strut by. No walk of shame for me. Because I’d never be ashamed of being with Jansen. And I shouldn’t feel shame for us wanting each other, no matter the location.

This isn’t convenient. And it doesn’t follow any rules that polite society wants it to. So, fuck the rules.

And when one guy mutters, ‘Fucking whore,’ I don’t even think before I lean in and whisper in his ear, “Jealous doesn’t look good on you, friend.”

Power, control, and having exactly what I want when I want it.

It’s delectable. And no one will take it away from me.

Not if I can help it.