Page 86 of Brazen Deceits

I shake my head, words trapped behind years of doing what others expect, of being the good girl who never makes waves.

My body stretches again, and I keen as Walker slides his whole slim artist’s hand into me, stilling as tremors wrack me from head to toe. “Tell me what you want,” he demands.

Panting, I gaze at myself in the mirror, thoroughly undone by the fully clothed man kneeling at my feet. I look like some nymph at a fucking bacchanalian, lost in the woods with only sex and alcohol to keep me going. I look wrung out from too much pleasure. I look like a goddess, a feral beast, a goddamn queen. “Fuck me until I scream, Walker.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

His clothes vanish as I stare at myself, then he’s pressing his palm to my back, forcing me down as he drags my hips toward him. He kisses my shoulder, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Goddamn. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

He slides in, and I’m so fucking wet I don’t even have to adjust for him. Squeezing and tweaking my nipples as he poundsinto me from behind, I whimper, overwhelmed. The build is electricity rolling from my fingertips and toes, spiraling in on the point where the two of us are joined.

Walker slams into me, harder and harder, and I meet every thrust, wanting the punishing pace, the pure sensation of being fucked like a dirty goddess. “Shitshitshit,” I groan, so close, so so close.

One circle of my clit has me shattering with a scream, Walker three pumps behind me, both of us collapsing on the counter, his weight heavy on my back. “Holy fucking shit,” I whisper.

Walker’s soft kisses feather across my back. “Ask princess. Just ask, and you’ll get exactly what you need. I’m here.”

He is. At least for now, he’s here.

Chapter 37

Clara

Piles of brioche French toast are sizzling on the stove by noon. Last night was wonderful, magical, and exactly what we needed, and the encore this morning was pure decadence. I’m surprised I’m upright at all.

Only my weird clinginess hasn’t dissipated. I can’t stop touching Walker, needing verification that he’s still here, beside me. He’d disappeared for so long that some part of me is terrified he’s going to vanish again.

And with each easy grin, each touch, some of the tension in me unspools. Unfortunately, I have months’ worth of the stuff wound up, so one amazing night and leisurely morning won’t fix it.

Only, he promised me forever. And I think he meant it.

I know I did.

Cutting orange slices and spiraling them in the bowl, I’m startled when strong arms wrap around me from behind, RJ’s citrus and sage scent merging with the oranges. “Hey, sugar.”

I twist in his arms, my heart practically buoyant with his open display of affection. I stretch onto my tippy toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips, and he holds me tighter. Not letting go, he glances at Walker. “Need a hand?”

Turning to Walker, I’m terrified of what I’m going to see. Does he think I’m showing favoritism? But he’s wearing his genuine smile, no mask, and another thread around my heart unwinds.

Walker plops a few more pieces of bread into the batter, a twinkle in his eyes. “Clara’s been relegated to fruit duty. I don’t think she can mess that up much. Want to take on the sausages?”

“Hey! I’m not that bad.”

Walker and RJ both look at me, and a flush creeps up my face. “Okay, so I’m notgood,but I could learn.”

RJ pulls out a pan, reaching around me to pull out a spatula, his other hand warm on my waist. “You should just stick to the fruit for now, sugar. We don’t want to waste the expensive stuff.”

I huff, and Walker plants a kiss on my cheek. “Your oranges are lovely.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

We’re just finishing plating everything up when Trips stomps in, black circles under his eyes. “Hey.” He slides onto one of the island stools, plucking the center of my orange spiral and chomping into the fruit.

I slide onto the stool next to him, giving him a little shove. “That was supposed to be for when brunch starts.”

“Brunch started two minutes ago.” He holds up his phone, a message sent to the other guys telling them to be here at one. It’s 1:02. Damn him.

I hand him a plate, glaring. He just smirks, setting the rind down. After a glance between me and Walker, his smirk slides into a grin. “Aren’t you two looking freshly fucked?”

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