Page 10 of Brazen Deceits

“I’m not worse.” He kisses my forehead again. “Are you better?” he asks.

I know he’s not asking about tonight. He’s wondering if I’ve recovered from years of subtle manipulation from my ex, Bryce.

So, am I better? No. But I think I’m ready to stop licking my wounds and poke my nose out of my cave. I’m ready to try to be better. “I’m working on it,” I say.

He watches my face for a moment before he shifts and kisses my eyebrow, the edge of my cheek, the corner of my mouth. He pauses, waiting, as I suck in a breath, my heart pounding in my ears. I drag myself up his chest, brushing a thumb over the straight slash of his eyebrow, his skin warm under my palm. I study him, picking out flecks of brown in his obsidian eyes, the straight strands of his eyelashes a frame offsetting their brilliance.

I watch him watching me, his hands framing my face, his thumbs tracing my lips, the last lingering pigment from my lipstick a vivid smear on his mouth as he reaches up to unbutton the top of his dress shirt. One, two, three buttons loose, and the wings of his collarbone visible.

I shift my gaze back to his. The tension in his gaze, the way he’s staring at my lips, but not moving, well, he’s scared. I’ve been so careful lately, not wanting touches, not diving into the safety offered, only hiding. But I don’t have any doubts about this. About us. I don’t want him to either.

“Kiss me,” I say.

And he does.

He holds me like I’m precious, like he’s afraid to drop me and have me shatter into a million pieces. But this kiss, it shatters me too, into tiny glittering stars, held together in his arms.

I’ve missed this. I’ve missed him.

I work on his buttons, slowly opening his shirt, his skin smooth under my fingers as I go, and still we kiss. Tugginghis shirt from his waistband, I let out the last button before running my hands from his shoulders to his waist, my fingers wandering the divots of his abs, down to the button on his pants. I glance up at him, asking with my eyes whether we’re going further.

He grins, the glint back in his gaze. “Nope. My turn,” he says, before twisting us around, his hands snagging the hem of my dress, pulling it over my head just before I topple onto my back, Walker braced above me.

He tosses the dress and his shirt onto the floor, then grazes his hands over my stomach, the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips. I watch his face, and I see no disgust, no sneer of resignation. I see reverence. I see joy. And I want to cry.

Fighting the flood of emotions, a fresh reminder of all the time I lost to my ex, I sit up, reaching to unclasp my bra. Action—action and sensation to clear my mind. His hands cradle mine behind my back, stopping me. “Hey, how are you feeling there, princess?” he asks.

I want to say that I’m fine. I don’t want to kill the mood. Only, my eyes lock onto the blanket. God, I’m terrified looking at him will start a flood of tears that can’t be dammed back up. “I’m okay, really.”

His hands pull mine from my bra, and he runs his own up and down my arms like I’m cold and he’s warming me up. “We don’t need to rush,” he says.

I risk a glance. “I need this, Walker. Please. I need a clean slate.”

He holds my gaze, looking for some sign that I’m lying. But I really do need this. I haven’t felt this cherished, this beautiful,well, ever. And now, here, the way he looks at me, the way he sees me, I need it more than I need to breathe.

I reach out, running my hands over his pecs, inching closer, wanting his skin against mine, needing it. With a sigh, he closes the rest of the distance, pressing us together, his hands slipping behind me to unclasp my bra. I pull back just enough to slide the straps from my arms. But I always keep one hand on him, grasping that tether of connection, feeling that if I lose contact, the universe will crash down on us, smothering us in unmoored emotions.

He pulls the cups loose, tossing my bra off the bed before running his palms over my nipples, a burst of pleasure streaking down me. “God, I’ve dreamed about these,” he says, running his thumb over the peak of one, then the other. Each touch courses through me, combining with his words to light every damn pleasure center in my body.

He dips his head down, pulling one nipple into his mouth, and I can hardly think. “Walker,” I murmur, not really saying anything.

I dig my hands into his hair, gripping the coarse black strands, not sure if I’m pulling him closer or pushing him away. “Mmm,” he hums before switching to my other nipple, the abandoned nub chill and damp.

I roll my hips reflexively, my legs brushing up against the rough texture of his trousers. Not okay. If I’m almost naked, he should be too.

I pull my hands from his hair, running them down to the firm ridges of his abs again, enjoying the smooth hardness of the path, before trying to reach the button on his pants. Too far. He’s too far down, his tongue flicking the tip of my nipple,my hips bucking up again. “Walker, your pants,” I manage, words difficult as my whole body thrums.

“Mmm,” he says, finally releasing that nipple, only to trail licks and kisses down my stomach. He slides my lace panties off, flinging them to the side, before gently pressing my knees farther apart, making a spot for himself between my legs. “Walker,” I gasp, but he presses a hand to my stomach, holding me still.

“Ladies first, princess,” he mutters, his breath light against my swollen clit.

His tongue circles at that point of tension, my thighs quivering. He presses one finger into me, his tongue teasing a path around and around, but never quite hitting the spot that I want, my clit throbbing with need. Around and around. Again and again.

I grip his hair tightly, the cool strands my only anchor as the pleasure rises. He presses another finger in, and I’m rocking against his hand, against his tongue, desperate, the pleasure there, but hidden just out of reach. But still, he teases, around and around, warm, wet, so so close, but not enough.

It’s not enough.

“Walker,” I growl, but he doesn’t change his pace, his pattern, or lose an ounce of his goddamn patience.

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