Page 53 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)
Clara
H is voice cracks, low and pained. And when I pull his face in front of me, I see his fury and fear.
I see it, and both feelings balloon inside of me, matching his, needing them released from the cage I’ve kept them locked inside for so long.
They grow so large, the bars bend, then break, shattering with nothing bigger than a pinch of pain near my heart.
I drag his shirt off him, fingers greedy as they trace over the tattoos on his chest, my rabid explosion of movement immediately halted when my touch dances over scattered scars, more than I can count, some clustered together, some crossing others, none visible with the way the smoke curves around them, but impossible to miss when touching him.
“Letter opener. It was his favorite for a while. From when I was about eleven to twelve.”
Agony nips at my ribs at the casual explanation.
Pushing up on my tiptoes, I press first one kiss, then another against the raised marks, wishing I could make them all better, and knowing that I can’t.
He lets me work my way across his skin, lowering the zipper of the dress I shoved myself into this morning, artificially cool air licking my spine.
When he pushes the dress from my shoulders, leaving it pooled at my feet, I pause, wanting so much more than what we’ve been offered, more than what we’ll get, but needing direction on how we want to play this.
When I look up, instead of answers, I get Trips’ stunned expression as he gazes down at me in the navy lace bra and underwear I found in the dresser.
“Shit,” he mutters.
He traces the scalloped edge at the top of the bra, his touch lighter than I could have ever imagined. “This isn’t the way I wanted this to happen,” he says, eyes locked on the path his hands are making across my skin.
“Me either,” I answer.
His palm presses against my sternum, nearly large enough to span the breadth of me, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looks at his hand against my skin.
Then he’s dragging me into the closet, the door half shut behind us, shoving clothes aside as he presses me against the back of it.
“This, this moment is for us, not them, you understand?”
I nod, not trusting words as he whips my bra off me, my underwear gone just as quickly, my fancy sandals lost between the window and here. He pauses, his thumb skirting the hickey Walker left on my shoulder, then the faint finger marks on my hips from Jansen. “They aren’t gentle with you.”
“I don’t want them to be.”
He makes a noise somewhere between a growl and a groan, dropping his head on top of mine, his breath making my curls dance as he exhales and inhales, his chest so close I could almost bite it without moving.
Then his palm is on me again, this time over the small swell of my breast, swamping it completely.
I tug at his pants, needing him closer, wanting more of him than the beautiful, damaged art I currently have in front of me.
But instead, he drops to his knees, his head level with my chest, and as he pulls me closer, my hands fall to his shoulders.
He pulls one of my nipples into his mouth, his tongue flicking it, making me gasp.
When he brushes his teeth against it, I squirm, whimpers I want to keep quiet escaping, each tiny noise encouraging him to take more, more laps, sucks, and nips against my skin.
He tweaks my other nipple, and I dig my nails into his shoulders, pulling him closer still. And when he hikes one of my knees over his shoulder, forcing me open and onto my toes with the other foot, his big hands locking me against the wall, I almost weep with anticipation.
His tongue, soft, wet, covers me with warmth, this first foray leaving me clinging to the wooden rod above me as I rock into his touch, my whine even harder to contain.
His second sweep has me gasping. And when he picks up speed and purpose, his teeth grazing the most delicate parts of me, I can’t hold back the sob of pleasure. “Please,” I whisper, trying so hard to be quiet, but wanting nothing more than to scream. To yell, and beg, and demand.
His tongue spears into me and my muscles clench, wanting more, and he grunts in response, thrusting into me with what he safely can, his hands needed to keep me from toppling over, my arms already shaking from the strength I’m using to keep me exactly where I want to be.
Every muscle in my body grows tight, each spear of his tongue not enough but still somehow overwhelming.
Then he pulls it out entirely, and a pathetic little moan escapes my lips.
But a moment later, his lips latch onto my clit, and he sucks.
Waves of heat spiral out, my orgasm not shattering, but flowing through my body in wave after wave of tingling warmth.
“Oh,” I gasp out, knocking my head back against the wall behind me, my legs and arms shaking, my vision blurry.
When he finally lets my body settle, releasing my clit, he laps at me again, humming a satisfied sound against me.
His lips press against my inner thigh, and I sigh. Then his teeth take the place of his lips, and it forces an aftershock, a yelp and moan startled out of me. He lingers there, the sharp pang mixing with the continued roll of pleasure, and I know this is another mark that I’ll be happy to wear.
He sets my foot down, resting his head against my belly, and my hands find their way into his auburn waves, the freckles on the back of his neck stark against the white of his skin.
His deep sigh coats me in goosebumps, the exhale solemn enough for me to know this one, tiny, good moment is done. He looks up. “Fury and fear, Crash. Can you give that to me?”
My body resembles a cooked noodle more than anything, but we’d brainstormed this. We’d felt so clever, thinking we’d beat his dad at his own game.
The reality doesn’t feel clever at all. It feels like an emotional landmine that I flung us into with all the foresight of a baby deer running from a rustle in the woods.
But I nod, trying to convince myself that this is a game. That none of what comes next is real. It’s just playing, pretending until we can get what we really want.
Until we can steal our freedom back from a monster desperate to wretch it from us.
Trips rolls up from the ground, and needing another moment, I tug him closer by the front of his pants, the hang bar a barrier between us.
He ducks under it, his kiss edged with violence, both of us preparing for what comes next.
I undo his belt, slip his button and push down the zipper, taking a second to grip him through his boxer briefs, his groan and the thick drag of him against my palm bringing my violence to the front.
I take his lip and bite it, hard, watching as his eyes snap open, his cock pulsing in my hand, his weight resting on his forearms against the wall, caging me in. He pulls away, his nostrils flaring, and I keep hold of his lip until his breath hitches.
Then I let go, staring up at him. “Fury and fear,” I whisper.
Ducking under his arm, I sprint through the door and out into the room, the beat of his feet loud behind me.