Page 71 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Trips

T uesday morning, Falk shoves me into Clara’s room, and once again I’m uncertain if this is a reward or a punishment.

The asshole progenitor was called out of town on business, and as he doesn’t trust anyone with the creation of his grandson besides himself, Clara and I haven’t had to perform.

Something clenches low in my gut at the thought, and as she rolls to face me from the giant bed, I can’t even begin to parse the meaning of it. But then she lifts the edge, inviting me under the blankets with her, and I can’t pretend that I’m that dense. Not anymore.

I want her. I’ve wanted her for so long it aches like a permanently broken bone. But I don’t want to fuck her with an audience.

This should just be for her and me. For us.

I want to destroy all these damn barriers I’ve put between us. At this point, the only thing that stands in our way is me.

My mistakes.

My fear.

Well earned, through years of abuse and torture.

But not even my fear could keep her safe. Not when she’s too damn foolhardy to take it for the warning it is. She’s always running toward danger, some crazy plan in her head.

This time, she ran away first, but still, here we are, doing dumb shit so she can get the storybook happy ending she’s demanding from the universe. And while it’s never been stated, not directly at least, she wants me to be a part of that.

Fingering the small bag that’s lived in my jeans pocket since yesterday, I take her invitation, sliding under the blankets with her, the warmth of her sharp against my floor-cold skin. I tug the bag out, directing her hand to it, and she smiles, sleep still clinging to her expression.

Her soft lips press against mine, and my heart stutters in my chest. Then she turns, her ass nestling against my slowly growing erection, the bag in her hands.

Wrapping my arm around her waist, pressing my face to her hair, the floral scent I’m used to now upscale, but still wafting from her like some special drug that makes all reason leave my brain, I wait. And want.

And not a damn bit of it is for the camera.

She presses the syringe into my hand, then shimmies up her silky sleep dress, her panties pressed down, her naked ass presented as best as possible under the covers.

The stinging scent of an alcohol wipe barely keeps me from the need to take before they take from us, but I feel out where I’m aiming this damn shot, then press it into the taut muscle there.

A sigh leaves her lips, tension leaving her with this one part of her plan working out. A small part. But a win.

My father may want a grandchild, but it’ll be another three to four months before he’ll even get the chance. Thank God for modern medicine and sympathetic doctors willing to take payment under the table.

She tucks the syringe back into the baggie and hides it under her pillow. I don’t know how she’ll dispose of it, but even if we’re found out, it’s done.

It’s not like my father can remove the hormones from her bloodstream. She spins in my arms, staring up at me in the half-light.

Then her lips press against mine again.

And that want, the need for this one time to just be for us, it devours me from the inside out. I take her kiss and nip at her lips, begging for more.

And that’s all it takes.

A small growling sound comes from her throat as her hands clench my shirt, dragging me closer, rolling us so I’m braced above her, our tongues a tangle of need and delayed desire.

Her teeth nip at me, and I pin her wrists to the bed, her struggle against my hold making us both crazy, teeth and tongues punishing each other for making us wait. Her hips tilt up, dragging against my dick in such a way that I have to pull back, panting over her.

“Careful, Crash,” I whisper.

“The last thing I want to be is careful, Trips,” she says, eyes dark as she yanks an arm, testing my hold and finding it immovable.

“I’m coming in that sweet pussy, and I’m not letting you take that from me with all your goddamn squirming,” I bite out.

Her lips twist. Then her sharp little teeth dig into my pec through my shirt, a groan falling from my lips from the violence of it.

This.

This is what I’ve wanted from her. No cowering. No tears. Just violent want, neither of us able to overthink a goddamn thing.

I let go, stripping off my clothes as she does the same, both of us too impatient to be bothered with unwrapping each other. It’s been too long. Too many months of impossible desire, fiery words, and thwarted secret moments.

But once she’s naked and panting beneath me, I can’t seem to breathe, my brain stalled out on her perfection.

Ignoring the green, healing bruises across her ribs and stomach, she’s exactly what I’ve dreamed of for so damn long.

Wiry muscles and small dark nipples already peaked and begging for my mouth.

Gentle curves I’ve wanted in my hands, all of her so warm, soft, and goddamn fragrant that my brain shuts down.

Her nails rake down my chest, and the sting of it has my brain locking in on the one thing I want: to fuck this woman with all the desire I’ve pressed down, hidden, ignored, and fought against. “Crash, last chance to say no.”

“Fuck me like you mean it, Trips,” she says, a challenge in her gaze that I can’t turn down.

I never can with her.

Pinning her arms in one hand, her struggle against me real instead of feigned, but for us instead of anybody else, I latch around her nipple, sucking on it hard enough to make it bruise. And she whines, pressing her chest against my lips, begging for more.

This fucking girl.

She fights me, like she does with every damn thing, but this time, it’s a game we can both win. Switching to the other nipple has her groaning, and every hair on my body stands on end.

“Shit,” I mutter against her skin, already so on edge that I might come from my dick bumping against her thigh.

“Do it,” she says, legs banding around me, heels digging into my ass.

“Clara—” I say, not sure how to say that this might not be the fuck-fest she wants. Not with the way my body’s acting.

She stops her struggle, her face falling, and my fucking busted heart aches. Twisting her head to the side, her legs drop to the mattress, and I know I’ve fucked all the way up.

“No, I— shit . I’m just, I want this to be good for you, and I’m so fucking on edge right now,” I stammer, like it’s my first time or some shit, but it works, because her dark eyes lock on mine.

But she doesn’t reply, just gazes at me, waiting. And I hardly know what to do, my dick twitching with every pulse of my heart.

“Fuck.” I drop my forehead to hers, closing my eyes for a second. “Are you sure? About me? I’m such a goddamn fuck-up.”

Her breath washes over my face. “And I’m not? Maybe I haven’t been clear, Trips, but I want you.”

“Do you trust me?” I ask, needing to know where we stand.

She shifts, her knees bracketing my hips. “Almost.”

Honest. Something that I need, even if I hate how much that answer hurts. “Is that enough?”

“For now? Definitely.”

“And later?”

“Trust takes time. So, that’s what we’ve got to do. Give it time.”

I look down at her, swallowing the urge to tell her all the ways I’m better than I was. But she’s right. She doesn’t need words. It’s the actions that will get us there. So instead, I nod.

Our lips meet, gentle, coaxing, my body making a promise that I’m still not sure my fucked-up brain can keep. A promise to keep building that trust, even when the shit gets hard and makes me want to shut down, hide in the safe spot in my mind. But if it comes to her safety, I’ve got to try.

For now, though, I have a beautiful woman I’ve wanted for what seems like forever laid out before me, asking me for something I can give. Without reservation. “This, right now, it’s for you and me, you understand?” I ask.

“Understood. So?” She tugs at her wrists, reminding me I still have her under my control, her lips daring me to make a move.

It’s a dare I’m happy to take.