Page 44 of Brazen Mistakes

But it’ll be worth it.

The ties are probably digging into my wrists, but all I can focus on is the way I’m gripping the bed rails hard enough I’m surprised they haven’t broken yet. The singular way her tongue flicks its way over my tip yet again has my hips canting into her mouth, chasing her.

Her tongue spirals around my head and I give up on streets and senseless nonsense escapes me, the urge to flip us both and pin her under me spiking, twisted arms be damned, but then, she finally, finally inches up my body, her hand guiding me against her dripping cunt.

I flex up into her before she’s even dropped fully onto me.

We both groan at the contact, her head thrown back, her hands braced on my chest as she slowly sinks the rest of the way down, shivers coursing over me, sweat following, mybreath short, the bed creaking as I try and fail to reach for her, to grip her hips while I drive into her until she screams.

“Shit,” she says, grinding against me, my piercing shifting slightly with the motion as she hisses.

“Ride me,” I say, desperate for her to get some pleasure before I can’t hold back any longer.

Her eyes flutter open and she bends forward, nipping my bottom lip instead of kissing me as she rocks, and it’s so much, too much after that amount of teasing, and I grit my teeth. I hitch my hips up to meet her movements, giddy when a breathy moan escapes her, her hair a tangled mess over one shoulder, her body as slick as my own, just as ready as I am even without me doing a damn thing to her, just letting her have her way with me.

Her speed picks up, her muscles clenching me as I work hard to hold back, everything tight and ready. But she’s not ready, she needs more, and I’m the one who’s gotta give it to her.

She grinds down on me, using my piercing, my fingers itching to help, to give more, to coax her to destruction before I explode.

“Oh God,” she moans, rubbing herself against me over and over again, fluttering around me, and I’m not sure I’m going to make it.

Her fingers dig into my skin, and finally, finally, she comes, strangling my dick. I surge up into her, slamming through her orgasm, until the last of my control shatters and I’m coming, every inch of me bright with pleasure, wet with sweat, shuddering and breathless.

She moans, head back. “I can feel you,” she says before collapsing on top of me. Her breath brushes warmth against my cheek, and I give in to another urge, wholly unexpected, as my eyes drift shut, sleep stealing me, surrounded by her scent.

Chapter 17

Clara

Jansen falls slack beneath me, passed out, sweat slick on both of us. Resting my cheek against his chest, I listen to the drum of his heart as I catch my breath, my body still alight from the flood of emotions just thrown at me.

Fear, anger, desire, control, and one hell of an orgasm, it all should leave me spent, passed out, just like Jansen.

But my mind won’t stop spinning. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to relive my fear. The dreams are bad enough. There’s no way I’m letting that into my conscious mind, too. It would be too much.

The weight of everything has me already teetering on the edge of sanity. I have no intention of letting the nasty black ooze in my mind infect every good thing in my life.

That pretty picture now entrenched in my imagination, I get up and find a towel, cleaning both of us. Untying hiswrists, I press a kiss to each, worried that it was too much. That I was too much.

That maybe I’m breaking him, just like I’ve been breaking myself for years.

Curling up on his pillow beside him, I give his wrists a closer inspection. Neither looks injured, just a few faint red ridges visible from where the fabric pressed against his skin, no different in color and texture than the lines across my chest when I take off my sports bra.

Research. I’m going to have to do some research if I want to do something like this again safely.

I won’t break him. I need him too much.

Nestled against his chest, I hold my breath, waiting for my mind to calm down, for some semblance of peace to find me after my nightmare, after literally attacking Jansen. Pleasurably, I hope.

Walker’s nowhere to be seen, so maybe he went to get RJ. Or maybe I was too much of a bed hog and pushed him out. Considering he seemed perfectly content to have me sleeping on top of him last night, the first option seems most likely.

No calmer, no less ready to crumble, I flick off the light, pulling the blankets up over us.

Jansen’s eyes flicker open for a second, and he smiles down at me before diving back into his pillow. “Love you,” he says, soft snores following his words as I freeze next to him.

Fuck.

Was that real? On purpose?

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