Page 103 of Brazen Deceits

Trips shrugs. “Look at it out there, Clara. No one’s going to be in class. I can miss one day. It’s not like I didn’t learn all the material on my own two years ago.”

“You’re playing hooky with me, Trips?” I ask, honest to goodness butterflies flapping around in my stomach.

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Maybe. But I’ll take it however I please, thank you very much.”

He snickers, pulling out a tablet. “Okay then. Here’s what I have so far.”

Together, we tease apart all the weak points in the guys’ lives. We list out all the moments or places where someone might have figured out what they do in their free time and compare it to a list of who has the financial means to arrange a theft like the Rubens job.

In the end, the list is tiny, mostly composed of Trips’ family and family friends, plus a handful of prior clients. His face is bleak. Glancing at the time, I offer a small smile. “Are we playing hooky for business law, too?”

He runs his hands over his face, for a second looking like a lost little boy instead of an angry asshole with way too many muscles. “No, I think we did all we could. Let’s go to class.”

We both shove our stuff into our bags, returning the plates to the bins by the counter. I slip my capelet back on, my hat and mittens still damp from the snow and left in my backpack. “Do you think the buses will run on time? I have work at one.”

“You’re still working at the coffee shop?” Trips asks.

“Well, yeah. Where else would I get grocery money?”

Trips wraps my hand around his bicep as we snake through the tables. “You’re part of the team now. The company can cover your living expenses. Anything else is just spending money.”

I glance at him. “But I’m not actually part of the team. Not really. Not yet. And so far, it looks like everyone else drops money into the pot. I have nothing to give.”

He shrugs. “You can sample what we do, see if anything clicks with you. And those jobs are just maintenance money, anyway. The real cash is in big jobs. And you’ve proven you can be an asset there.”

He stares straight ahead, caught up in his own thoughts.

I mull it over as we walk back to campus, the snow lighter but the wind harsher, my nose numb by the time we get back to Hansen Hall.

One thing has been bugging me, though, and I know he’s the only one who really has the answer. I tug his arm, gaining his attention once we’re in the atrium. “Trips? Will it always be as dangerous as it was yesterday?”

He pauses, and even through his thick wool coat, I can feel his muscles tense. Saying nothing, he drags me to the nearest empty study room, swiping us in. The door clicks behind us, the automatic lights switching on as he pushes me into the corner of the room, his body blocking out the surrounding space, my entire reality narrowed to Trips against my front and my backpack heavy against my back.

His lips smash into mine, not asking, not enticing, but forcing me to take what he has to give. Gasping at the onslaught, he takes more, his tongue lashing with mine, heat roaring through me.

I drop my backpack, letting it crash to the ground, before grabbing Trips’ coat, the buttons slipping under my fingers as he wraps my braid tight around his fist. His other hand slides under my dress, yanking down the front of my leggings, icy fingers plunging into me, making me yelp.

“Don’t you ever fucking do that again,” he growls. “I was trying to make myself forget you saw guns and fucking ran toward them. I could almost pretend you were one of the fucking guys. But fuck that, Clara. I can’t. You’re not.”

My quest for his skin under his coat forgotten, I’m clenching his lapels, trying to stay on my feet as sensation swamps me. Trips drags my head back by my hair, the pain making me moan. His fingers pound in and out before he grinds those same cool, wet fingers against me just right. His mouth covers mine, drowning my moans with his tongue, his teeth.

Dragging my head to the side again, his teeth close on my earlobe, tugging past the point of pleasure and into pain, blending with the ache in my scalp and my mounting climax into a confusion of joyous agony. “Never again. You promise me that and I’ll let you come,” he rumbles against my ear.

He pauses, his hand motionless against my clit, my braid still locked in his fist, as he waits for my answer. I flutter my lids, catching sight of his steely gray eyes, dark enough to match the storm that’s always roiling inside him. “Trips—“

“I can’t see that again, Clara. I can’t watch you on a fucking screen, putting your life at risk. Not again.”

I swallow, locked in place. “But I’d do it again, Trips. Without even thinking. If any of you were in trouble, I’d be there, helping in whatever way I know how.”

His eyes close, his grip on my braid still tight, his hand probably drenched against me. “Fuck, Clara. What are we doing?”

I don’t answer. How can I? I won’t make a promise I can’t keep, even if every nerve in my body is desperate to come all over Trips’ hand, to be marked by him, to ride him until we’re both screaming each other’s names, spent in a heap on the floor of a goddamn study room.

Instead, I slide my hands up around his neck, tugging his hair, matching my intensity to his. He groans, his eyelids flying open. “Last I checked, we were nearly fucking in a study room,” I whisper.

A finger caresses my wet folds, teasing my entrance, and I lean into him, trying to tug his face to mine.

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