Page 66 of Brazen Criminals

He tucks his chin over my shoulder, our cheeks touching. “No worries, Clara. Out of curiosity, what was the metaphorical straw that broke the metaphorical camel’s back?”

“My mom thought I should grovel for Bryce and ask him to take me back.”

Walker’s arms tense around me. “She what?”

“She doesn’t know the whole story,” I say, defending her. “I try not to tell my mom too much. She, well, she means well, but when she gets mad, anything I’ve said to her, she uses against me. So I don’t tell her anything. If I don’t give her ammo, she can’t shoot me when she has one of her hissy fits.”

“Damn. If that were my mom, we wouldn’t have a kitchen, let alone a fully functional fridge. Aggressively closing the fridge a few times? I’d call that restraint.”

I curl up a little so I can press my cheek against his chest. His arms tighten around me, and another sigh escapes.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“No more sorrys, Clara. You’re good.”

We sit curled on the couch together, the house quiet around us. The strange burst of emotions left me empty and tired, but this feels safe, cozy, and right.

I don’t know what changes, but something does. My heart rate spikes, this comforting moment suddenly something more. I need to get closer. I twist around, straddling Walker’s lap, and let my good hand slink across his chest. His arms tighten around me, pulling my pelvis flush with his, his eyes searching mine, a question in his gaze. I slide my hand around the back of his neck and up into his hair, the thick cool strands sharp at the ends, an answer in itself. His lips part, and we pause, both of us savoring the anticipation.

I lean forward, and he meets me halfway. We touch with a soft whisper of a kiss, a shared breath, followed by a second kiss.

My tongue flicks out on the third kiss, and his meets mine, a gentle nudge, a soft caress.

One of his hands snakes up my spine, pulling me against him, while the other goes lower, grasping my ass and pressing me tight against his stiffening cock. My pelvis tilts, rubbing against him, lust taking over, the soft kisses and the hard promise making all thought vanish.

His kisses change, suddenly desperate, and I can’t stop rocking, a soft hum of pleasure escaping as the layers of cotton slide over my clit.

In a burst, I’m on my back on the couch, Walker over me, kissing and nibbling down the side of my neck, one of his hands pushing up my shirt, both of our hips rocking, looking for contact through our clothes. He unhooks my bra, sliding it up. My nipples are hard peaks in the cold air and my sling is in the way.

Walker does a slow circle around one of my nipples with his finger, and when I gasp and arch, he follows his finger with his tongue. I go to reach for him, to hold on with both hands, and my shoulder screams at the sudden movement.

Reality crashes into me. What am I doing? I just kissed Jansen on Monday, now I’m going to have sex with Walker on the couch on Friday?

I’m the worst. Literally the worst. I scramble away from Walker, grabbing my bad arm, using it as an excuse for me pulling away.

Walker notes me holding my shoulder. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, running a hand through his hair, his chest still heaving, eyes flickering between my wet nipple and my injured shoulder.

I scoot a little farther away, not trusting myself not to dive back into Walker’s kisses. “No, I hurt myself.” I can’t catch my breath, but I know I shouldn’t do this. As much as I want to, I can’t. My hand shakes as I pull down my bra, fastening it, then carefully lower my shirt. I’m looking everywhere but at Walker.

“Hey.” Walker still straddles my legs, his knees squeezing me to get my attention. “Are we okay?”

I smooth my shirt across my belly and pull back to the corner of the couch, folding my knees up under my chin. I glance at Walker. He still hasn’t moved, waiting for my answer. “Yeah. We’re good. I just…” I don’t know how to finish that sentence, so I shrug, hoping that he can somehow figure out what I’m going for.

Walker settles back into the middle of the couch, one hand resting on my foot, the part of me closest to him. I love that he always needs to touch me, that skin on skin is both electric and comforting. He closes his eyes, adjusting himself in his pants, not hiding the fact, just trying to get comfortable, and this too feels right. A flutter of misplaced pride spikes through me as I watch.

Finally, he opens his eyes, his thumb stroking the arch of my foot, just barely hard enough to avoid tickling me. “Clara, is this going to happen?” he asks, not looking at me.

I gaze at the same wall he is. “I wish I knew,” I say.

“You know you don’t owe me anything. I just, I really like you, Clara. I’m not making demands, but, I don’t know, I just need to know if I need to get over you. It’d be easier to know now rather than later, you know?”

I pull his hand from my foot, threading my fingers through his, clinging to him. He squeezes my hand back. “I like you too, Walker.”

“Is it anything I can fix?”

I shake my head, not knowing if he’s looking at me or not. “No. It’s me. I’ve got a lot to think about—a lot of change and a lot to figure out.”

Walker tugs my hand, and I turn, watching as he brings it to his lips, a long soft kiss left on my knuckles. My heart rate spikes again.

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