Page 16 of Brazen Deceits

“Please, Jansen, I need you to wake up. We’re having a meeting downstairs in a few minutes.”

Jansen makes a little snuffling noise, but otherwise doesn’t answer.

“Jansen, wake up.” I don’t even try to be quiet—easing him awake is obviously not working. I give his chest a nudge too, for good measure.

As nice as it would be to stay here in the dark with him, to wake up slowly, wrapped in his arms, Trips looked volcanic this morning, and I don’t want to start today on his bad side.

Because I want to help. I’m not sure why, and I don’t think it’s a good idea in the long term, but it feels right to be with them, to assist the team. I can’t even lie to myself and say that learning what crime looks like from the inside will give me an edge in the FBI, because I’m not that good of a liar. I don’t even believe myself.

I wiggle my left arm between the two of us, and shove harder, creating a bubble of space between our chests, but somehow, this causes Jansen to press his pelvis into my hand, and I end up with the start of the hand job I was trying to avoid. Shit shit shit.

“Mmm,” he says, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.

Am I really going to do this?

“Jansen,” I say, using my best angry babysitter voice. “If you don’t wake up right now, I’m throwing off the blankets and leaving you to deal with your own damn hard-on.”

His leg hikes up higher, wrapping around my waist, locking my lower half in place. “No. Stay,” he mutters.

“If you want me to stay, wake up,” I answer. “I’m not going to take advantage of you while you’re comatose, Trouble.”

He sighs, yanking me close again, the tiny space I created gone. “You strike a hard bargain, beautiful.”

“I’m a cold hard bitch,” I say, and he lets out a sleepy chuckle.

“Your toes are cold, and you’re female, but that’s about as close to a cold hard bitch as you’re going to get,” he says.

I tilt my head so I can see him, but the position and dark room make it impossible to make out his face. “Are you actually awake?”

“I’m awake enough for you to finish what you started,” he says, rolling his hips, using my hand as a tool to stroke him, the skin soft and warm, the weight of his dick heavier in my hand than it was a moment ago.

“Prove you’re awake. Kiss me, and I’ll see if I believe you.”

Jansen rolls onto his back, slips his arms under my armpits, and pulls me level with his face, my hand falling free from his dick. I press my lips to his, waiting, hoping this isn’t just a game.

For a second, I think he’s fallen back asleep, but then he’s there, his tongue swiping at the seam of my mouth. I justpromoted myself from roommate to dirty girl alarm clock. Our tongues dance, the heat rising between us, Jansen naked, me in my pajama pants and long-sleeve shirt sprawled across his chest, cuddled close in his tiny bed.

Too soon, Jansen pulls back, blinking up at me. “I think I like this wake-up call.”

His hands slip under my shirt, their weight warm against the small of my back. “You’re impossible to wake up, you know that?” I say.

Jansen drags me back to his lips, the kiss urgent, desperate, and I forget what I was going to say next. It’s just his breath and mine, my shirt riding up, skin on skin tingling. Jansen shifts me so I’m straddling him, lifting my shirt off.

I’d tossed on a comfy bralette before coming up, nothing fancy, but even with the half-light, I can see him lick his lips in anticipation. He slides his calloused fingers under the band and pushes it up over my head too, then tugs me back down on top of him, chest to chest, diving back into my mouth with dizzying vigor. His hands slide up and down, unable to land in a single space, but covering all of me with trails of warmth and intention.

He pulls back to lick and nibble down the side of my neck, shooting out sparks of sensation, as my body reacts despite the ride it had only a few hours ago. Trying to remember why I’m here, I mutter, “But, downstairs, Jansen.”

“We’ve got time. I’m impossible to wake up,” he says, huffing warm breaths against my skin. He rolls us onto our sides, kisses coupled with need, arms and legs tangling, ignoring the minutes passing by before someone comes to fetch us.

I break the kiss, slipping down the bed, but Jansen stops me, his arm locking me against him, my nipples peaked and sensitive against his chest. “You promised a hand job,” he says.

“I thought you might like a free upgrade,” I tease, one brow arched.

He shakes his head. “I want what I was promised. No more, no less. I’ll save my free upgrade for later.”

He rolls onto his back again, tugging one of my curls before tucking his hands under his head, waiting, watching.

Huh. Just a hand job. I sit back on my heels as I glance at Jansen, a smirk on his handsome face. He’s testing me, making sure I’m ready for this. And he’s turning it into a game. Well, I can play too—because I’m ready to try again, to start fresh.

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