Page 35 of Brazen Deceits

Chapter 17

Clara

After a moment in the hallway, I try Jansen’s door. By pure chance, it’s unlocked.

I feel like I’m sneaking out of my parents’ house as I inch the door open. Unlocked doors don’t happen around here. Is he okay?

I’m not quiet as I step into his space. I’ve figured out the guy could sleep through the ceiling caving in around him.

The first morning I found him taking up half my mattress, I slipped out, as silent as I know how to be. Then I dropped a textbook trying to get it in my bag. The bang was unearthly, but Jansen just made a sad little mewing noise and rolled over. The next time I found him draped over me as I opened my eyes, I didn’t even try to be quiet. Despite my lack of stealth, he slept just fine.

I take in the dim room. Jansen sprawls across his little twin mattress, his hair covering most of his face. Tripping overhis jeans and shirt crumpled on the floor next to his bed, I find Jansen’s usual neatness missing. Unlike his car, or the last time I visited, chaos greets me. His bag spills across the middle of the rug, his books scattered across the floor, desk, and chair, and his keys and wallet have knocked over one of his door-lock sculptures.

Worried, I sweep Jansen’s hair from his forehead, pressing my hand to his forehead. No fever.

What to do? On the one hand, he doesn’t seem sick. On the other hand, his door was unlocked, his clothes are on the floor, and he’s messed up his perfectly organized bookshelf.

A soft snore escapes as he rolls onto his other side, leaving a small sliver of bed empty, warm and rumpled, just waiting for me to crawl in. Before I stop to let myself think, I strip off my clothes, yanking off my panties and bra and slipping under the covers next to him. I hold my breath, not sure if this was a smart plan. What am I doing? When did I decide to be the kind of person who strips down and crawls into bed with a guy I’m not officially dating?

Now. The answer, apparently, is right now.

Curling against him, his breath soft, the murmur of RJ and Trips in the room next door, I feel a calm wash over me, removing the tension I’ve held all week. Jansen rolls into me, draping his leg over mine and nuzzling the back of my neck. “Beautiful,” he mutters and stills behind me, his limbs’ dead weight pinning me in place. Warm, held, and safe, I doze off.

Jansen’s fingers trail from my waist to my hips, pulling me from a dreamless sleep. Shifting my weight against him, he snakes his other arm under my neck, shifting me until it feelslike every inch of me is touching every inch of him. “Good morning,” he whispers, lighting me up with a simple greeting.

I grasp his hand where it’s pressed against my sternum, his pinky brushing against my chest, dragging it up so I can kiss his fingertips. They smell like gasoline, the tips rough with callouses. “Morning,” I say.

He nips my ear, then kisses the bite away. “I like waking up like this. Who let you in this time? I might need to steal a thank you gift.”

Chuckling, I turn in the circle of his arms, running my hands up to frame his face, his morning stubble rough against my palms. “I let myself in. The door was unlocked. Does that mean you owe me a gift?”

Jansen rubs his cheek into my hand, his eyes unfocused as he stares over my shoulder. “Unlocked? Really?”

“Is that a problem? Should I have stayed out?”

Jansen’s eyes roam over my face before settling on my lips. “Nah. I just can’t believe I didn’t lock it. I mean, I was tired, but that tired?”

He shakes his head in my hands before brushing his lips over mine.

“What kept you up?” I push his hair back, wanting to see his face, not fractured bits behind the curtain of smooth blond strands.

One of his fingers dances around a curl on my back, a smile easing across his lips. “Working.”

“Are you picking pockets again, Jansen?”

He chuckles, then presses his lips against mine once more, his other hand sliding to cradle my waist. “That’s just for fun and practice. I’ve been working on big money this week.”

I run my thumb along his lip, and he clamps down on it, his teeth just this side of painful against my skin. I flush as he watches me, his eyes glittering dark in the half light. “Do I get to know what big money means?” I breathe out, my curiosity fighting with the need to plaster myself to Jansen and not separate until we’re both sweaty and boneless.

Electricity follows his hand as it slides over my hip, grasping my ass and pressing my pelvis into his erection. Not enough. Definitely not enough. He slowly releases my thumb, licking and kissing it, easing the sting. “I do a bunch of big money stuff. But this week, I was lifting luxury cars.”

I slide my damp hand over his pecs, reveling in the subtle divots of his abs, exploring lower as I try to remember what we were talking about. “How does one go about stealing fancy cars? I can’t imagine they’re easy to hotwire.”

Jansen trails kisses over my cheek, down my neck, as his hand slowly spirals around my hair, gathering it into his fist. “No, they’re quite difficult to hotwire. That’s why I break into the owner’s house while they’re sleeping, nab the key, and leave before they realize I was even there.”

I shiver at the thought of waking up to Jansen sneaking through my imaginary mansion, like a cat in the dark. It strikes me as both wicked and sinfully appealing.

The scent of gasoline wafts over me, a smell that’s trailed Jansen all week long. I nip his shoulder before kissing away the bite, all while stroking his cock, the skin silky under my palm, my thumb circling the head, lazy and teasing. “Hmm. But you smell like gasoline, not like expensive leather interiors.”

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