Page 82 of Brazen Mistakes

I grip his shirt, not ready for him to pull away yet. “I trust you. Completely. But a drawing? It’s a little embarrassing.”

Jansen’s warmth presses up against my back. “There’s nothing embarrassing about you when you come, Clara. You’re decadent.” He follows that comment with a brush of his nose along my neck.

Walker grips my hands, still clutching his shirt, and pulls back far enough to see me clearly. His dark eyes are so full of want and care, I can hardly breathe. He’s giving me an opportunity to hide from my reality. I’m not sure I should take it.

Only his next kiss is gentle, coaxing, and my body reacts as it always does, relaxing into the pillow under my head, melting into the blankets, welcoming his affection. Jansen’s solid mass behind me is the only reminder that I should have bones. With a soft hand to my cheek, Walker pulls back, and it’s like there’s a string between our gazes, and neither of us wants it to snap by looking away. We need this connection, and Jansen will let us make it happen.

Jansen’s hands slip under my shirt and tweak my nipples, forcing my eyelids to snap shut, before dragging off the shirt he just put on me.

When I next open my eyes, Walker has his drafting chair right across from my face, his sketchbook propped on oneknee, the scratch of his pencil barely audible over the hum and beat of the music.

Jansen pulls me close, and I realize he’d already taken off his clothes before joining me in the bed. Reaching back, I slide my hand along the underside of his growing erection, and he laughs, pulling his hips away from me. “Bad Clara. This is supposed to be about you, not me.”

The bark of laughter that escapes me is loud and wholly out of place, but feels good, easy after the weird, heavy anxiousness I’ve been wearing all day. Twisting, I kiss Jansen as a reward, and he’s happy to take it, his lips soft as his fingers trace lines over my ribs and breasts, waking up my nerves with his ministrations.

His kisses stay steady, his hands in constant motion over my skin, wrapped around me from behind. Walker’s view is uninterrupted, his pencil rarely pausing, but his pages occasionally flipping.

An errant thought causes a poorly timed chuckle out, both guys pausing.

“Nothing, nothing. I just had a weird thought,” I choke out.

“What thought, beautiful?” Jansen asks, licking up my spine and making my back arch.

“Uh, I just saw Walker flipping pages, and it reminded me of a flipbook. Then I imagined a sexy cartoon flipbook.”

The silence makes me want to shrink, but then both guys laugh, too.

“That’s probably a thing, to be honest,” Walker says. “Ancient graffiti is at least fifty percent dicks, so a sex flip book has to have been done before.”

“New calling, man?” Jansen asks, and Walker flips him off.

I burrow into the pillows. “Sorry. Mood killer.”

Jansen nips my shoulder, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes. “Sex seasoning, maybe, but not a mood killer.”

Walker and I huff out matching almost laughs, but then Jansen kisses and nips down my back, his hands slipping under my waistband and pulling my hips back, so my ass is grinding against him, and I forget what was so funny.

Jansen continues his slow assault, finding new sensitive spots I’d never considered, the underside of my bottom rib, the small of my back, inching down the bed behind me, my hands having nothing to grab onto but the sheets. Slowly, I’m undressed, Jansen continuing the drag of his tongue and teeth over my hip, one cheek of my ass, and if I weren’t practically dripping, it might be weird. But it’s my slow undoing, coupled with Walker’s analytical gaze as he draws, warming my front while Jansen warms my back.

Finally stripped bare, I expect Jansen to continue his assault where I want him most, but instead, his tongue traces a line down the back of my thigh, and I gasp as he passes the sensitive skin where my ass meets my leg. The gasp doesn’t go unnoticed, and his teeth nip there, leaving me to groan and shudder, wanting more, but trusting that waiting will be worth it.

The back of my knee makes me squeal and twitch, Jansenswiftly moving on, switching to his hands to give a small but thorough foot massage. I glance down at him, his grin mischievous. “Any reason you’re all the way down there?” I ask, pulling my foot from his grasp and flopping my legs open. “I know you’d much rather be up here.”

He pulls out his ponytail, his grin turning into a smirk. “I just wanted to make sure Walker had a roughed-out sketch before we got to the best part.”

“Right,” I say, knowing that Jansen likes to play, and that Walker is just the perfect excuse.

The tilt at the corner of Walker’s lips says he knows Jansen’s full of shit. “If you want something, you need to ask for it,” he says, his eyes meeting mine over the edge of his sketchbook.

I swallow, the intensity Walker wears like a mantle flowing around us all. “I do, don’t I?”

He nods toward Jansen, and I sit up a bit on the pillows. “Jansen, make me come for Walker, and then you can take me however you want,” I say, surprised by the husky tones of my voice.

Jansen’s grin is bright, and he nips the inside of my ankle before slinking up the bed between my legs. “Sounds like a deal, beautiful.”

The first exploratory lap of my slit sends electricity surging from my toes to my earlobes, and the rough chuckles of both men mingling with my groan.

I’m not going to last long. Jansen’s slow torture did more than I thought it had.

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