Brazen Mistakes (Brazen Boys #3)

18. Clara

Chapter 18

Clara

T he light peeks through Jansen’s blinds when I jolt from my sleep, another nightmare yanking me awake.

Despite the series of naps I’ve had over the last twelve hours, I’m still so tired I’m dizzy. But while my arms and knuckles are achy and sore after my midnight workout with Trips, it’s been weeks since I slept for that many uninterrupted hours, so I’ll take the discomfort.

Jansen’s soft snores continue even after I slip from his bed, pulling on my actual clothes, and inching downstairs, the only scuffling in the house coming from Trips’ room.

My running shoes guilt me as I stretch my tight quads from last night. A run might help, but I don’t know if it’s safe to head out alone. And I’m already so exhausted, it doesn’t even sound fun.

Instead of going for a run, one hand against my head has me detangling my curls. The ache building behind my eyes tells me I’ve gotten just enough sleep for my body to show me how much sleep debt I’ve accumulated. I’ll be lucky to do much of anything today.

My hair unknotted, I glance out my window, hoping we’ve frustrated Bryce now that we’re not down here for him to spy on anymore.

I miss my big bed.

A glimpse of purple on one of my chairs catches my attention, and I pick up the box from RJ, the slip cool to the touch.

I haven’t even given him a welcome back kiss yet.

Emboldened by that thought, I pick up the slip, and feeling a little silly, some sweats and a sweatshirt, before rushing to the bathroom to change and brush my teeth.

As prepped as I’m going to get, I dash upstairs, trying RJ’s door, only to find it locked.

I don’t want to knock. I want to surprise him.

This tiny setback makes all that damn emotion flare in my chest again, but this time, it’s got the flavor of both anger and agony, and I’m not sure if that’s an improvement.

I’m leaning with my forehead against RJ’s door when Trips prowls up to me. “Kicked out?”

I flip him off, not moving. “I wanted to do a surprise wake-up, but this door is blocking me.”

“That’s what doors do. Learn to pick locks.”

“Planning on it, asshole.”

I’m nudged to the side, a jingle of keys and grumbled curses following the move, and then the door to RJ’s room is open. “I’m only doing this once, so get it sorted.”

“Right. Will do.” I close the door in his face. I’m not ready for Trips’ damage this early in the day. Especially after last night.

Turning, I find RJ sound asleep on his bed, his bag tossed on the floor by his desk, clothes scattered all over the floor. Nerves attack me—will he like this surprise? Am I too much? Too soon? Should I just let him sleep? He was dealing with family stuff and is probably exhausted.

I’ve almost talked myself into sneaking back out when he rolls toward me, eyes fluttering open. “Clara?”

“Um, yeah. Good morning.”

His smile eases my anxiety, the way it always does, and I gain just enough of my boldness back to not just stand there like an ice-locked snowman.

“Good morning, sugar.”

Swallowing back my fear, I pull off my sweatshirt and sweats, standing there in just the beautiful purple silk slip. “I, ah, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to see the gift you got me. You know, like, in person or something.”

His sleepy grin turns into something closer to hunger as he takes me in.

“I hope it’s what you imagined. It fits well. If you don’t, I guess, I don’t know, we could try something different?”

He reaches over and snags my wrist, dragging me to his bed before spinning me once and pulling me down beside him, one knuckle trailing from my shoulder down my side, resting at the valley of my waist. “You’re so much better than my imagination, sweetness. So much better.”

The urge to hide floods me, but the way he’s looking at me, his eyes locked to mine, it’s impossible to do anything but bask in his attention. “Was this a good surprise?”

“The best surprise.” Running his hand farther down, his fingers brush against my thigh, tracing the line where the lace meets my skin.

Unable to just lie there, I reach for him, run my fingers over the bridge of his nose, brushing up into his hair, following the straight rows divided out two days before. “You know, I haven’t even given you a real kiss since you got back.”

“Then that’s something that needs to be fixed.”

The kiss is tentative, delicate, and some part of that ever-humming angst calms as I sink into him. We kiss, not as a precursor to the next step, but as a destination, as an action to be savored and enjoyed for its own merits. Our breaths syncing, our hearts beating to the same rhythm, our tongues meeting for a lingering dance.

His hands slip under the silk, inching up the fabric until it pools at my waist, his hand warm as it explores my skin. I do the same with his shirt, eventually lifting it over his head, his body warm and welcoming with every touch.

His hands bracketing my waist, he pulls back. “Too much? Too fast?” I ask, the ease vanishing.

His soft smile calms me a little. “No, sugar. It’s perfect. I am just trying to figure out exactly what I want to do with your lovely self.”

“Do we need a plan?”

“Maybe not a plan. But I’m almost twenty-two, and I’ve never done anything like this. I guess I’ve got a bucket list at this point. ”

“Ooo. I’m a huge lover of lists. What’s at the top?”

“That’s the problem. They aren’t ranked.”

Running my hands down his chest, I grin when his breath hitches as I graze his nipples. “Okay then. We can do whatever sounds best to you. We’ve got all the time in the world to knock things off your list.”

“Hmm. I like the sound of that.” His hand brushes the outside of my hip as his lips meet mine, and I let myself explore his skin, wanting to learn what makes his breath catch, makes his heart skip under my palms.

There’s an ease here that I didn’t realize I was missing, a break from the chaos that lives inside my skull, and I sink into it.

RJ rolls us so I’m on my back, his soft smile above me. “I both want to take this thing off of you and keep admiring you in it.”

“It is very nice. It feels nice, too.”

“So I did a good job with my not-a-Christmas present?”

“You did amazing with your not-a-Christmas present. But now I feel like I should get you something.”

He kisses me softly. “Nah, you’re gift enough.”

We kiss for longer, my fingers exploring the shape of his shoulder blades, the rhythm of his ribs, before he pulls my arms from the slip and tugs it down from my chest, his breath catching like he’s unwrapped the perfect gift.

With a careful knuckle, he traces one nipple, then the next, as I hold my breath, afraid to fracture this moment.

He hums, soft and low, before dipping down and kissing the top of one small swell, then the other, his breath tickling my skin. Gentle kisses feather over me as I melt into the mattress, my bones soft with his simple worship of me. I thought I was impatient, needy, but RJ brings out my peace.

When he finally laps at my nipple, I groan, my hips canting up into his as he hisses against me. “Shit, Clara.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

His tongue spirals my now taut nipple. When he pulls it into his mouth, I shudder, suddenly alight from inside, his hands tracing the sides of my rib cage, his touch as necessary as the next breath. This aching torture, this all-consuming sensation, so much from so little, it hardly makes sense.

But it’s RJ.

So it makes all the sense in the world.

He switches to my other breast, and I can’t keep in any more whimpers, the pleasure so vivid it needs to exist outside of me. And this time, when he pulls me into his mouth, his teeth nip at me. I buck under him, wanting more, needing more. “RJ, oh God,” I manage, before dragging him to my lips, needing to taste him, needing to show him how much I love what he’s doing to me.

We roll again, and I find myself above him, plastering my skin to his, the slip bunched around my waist, my hips grinding into him through his pajama pants. He groans at the contact, so I rock against him again, wanting him to feel as alight as I do.

His hands trail down my back, over my ass, urging me to rub against him, his hardness obvious through the thin material of his bottoms.

Our tongues clash, the peace broken by my own urgent need, but he meets me, needing me just like I need him .

“Shit, sugar. I’ve got more I want to do yet.”

“Yeah?”

“So fucking much. I don’t want to come in my pants. Get that pretty pussy up here.”

My brain stutters as I pull back to look at him. “Really?”

“Girl, I’ve been dreaming about tasting you since I saw how wet and delicious you can get.”

“Oh.”

His grin is soft, but his eyes are bright as he waits.

“Are you sure? I’ve never…”

“Yes. This is definitely on that list of mine. And it’s about damn time you get this.”

“What about you?”

“Ladies first, sugar.”

Out of objections, I swallow. Shuffling to the head of the bed feels bigger than tying Jansen to the bedposts.

This is RJ. I’m his first in so many things. It feels odd that I should get a first out of this, too.

Or maybe it’s just right.

The urge to check again, to make sure I’m not asking too much, floods me, but before I let my fears fall from my lips, RJ pulls my leg over his head, fingers tracing a looping circle around my opening. “Oh shit,” I gasp, fears and words forgotten.

“I want to taste you,” he says.

“Please do.”

“Tell me if something doesn’t feel good, okay?”

I meet his eyes. “This will be good. There’s no way it can’t be.”

“I’m a novice. Feel free to direct. ”

I choke on my laugh as he pulls my hips down and his tongue traces the same loopy circle his finger made earlier.

My grip on his headboard grows rigid as he experiments with his tongue, his fingers, his nose, quickly pinpointing the places that make me gasp, moan, and writhe.

And it feels good. So good.

Too good.

My orgasm sneaks up on me, barreling through me without warning, and I scream as I collapse against the headboard, RJ continuing to lap at me, prolonging the agonizing pleasure.

I go to shift away, to give as good as I got, but his fingers dig in, keeping me there.

“RJ?”

“More. Sit all the way down and let me make you feel good.”