Page 64 of Brazen Mistakes

“We’re already planning on going again next week.”

I trace the edges of her fingers as I smile into her curls. “Jansen’s got to be thrilled to have a partner in crime.”

“He’s an excellent teacher.”

“Really?”

She laces her fingers with mine, halting my exploration. “Really. He’s patient and encouraging, while still giving honest feedback. He said next time I get to pick the house we hit.”

“Already?”

“If you’d asked me this afternoon, I would have said there’s no way I’d be ready to do that. But after tonight, I feel pretty confident that I know what to look for. Although if the snow melts, I’m shit out of luck.”

I laugh. “Tracks in the snow are a key part of your training?”

“Apparently.”

“I never realized snow could substitute for criminal training wheels.”

She whips around and punches me in the shoulder, then covers her mouth, eyes wide at her reaction, scrambling from the bed as I groan and chuckle, rolling to sitting, the blankets pooling around me. “Come here, you little slugger,” I say, gesturing her back to me.

Her hand drops to her thigh, and even if I can’t see it, I can tell she’s drumming it against her leg. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

Pulling her back to the blankets, I kiss her, trying to soothe the sudden waves of fear she’s projecting out like some kind of radioactive compound. “No harm, no foul. Although you might have to kiss my arm better. That was a surprisingly solid punch.”

She immediately kisses my bicep, her tongue slipping out and tracing a line up to my shoulder, making goosebumps erupt across my skin.

“Trips taught me how to punch the other night.”

“Then I’m lucky you didn’t break anything of mine.”

She scoffs, settling into the nest of my crossed legs, our pelvises locked together, kissing me until I’m lightheaded.

“All better?” she asks while rocking against the semi that kiss gave me.

“There might be a little bit of an ache, right here,” I tease, pointing at my lips, and she grins before kissing me again, rubbing against me, trying to escalate, to escape whatever is going on in her head.

Sliding my hands through her hair, my palms resting against her jaw, I halt her, hating to stop, but like everything with Clara right now, I don’t know what else to do.

Sex is great. But I don’t want to be used as an escape. I want to be the masterpiece, not the paint. Fuck. I can’t say that to her. Not right now.

I slide on a grin, making sure it reaches my eyes. I promised her no masks. And this isn’t one. It’s me trying to take care of her. “As fun as this is, I think sleep might be a better choice, and we can revisit this moment in the morning, when there’s light for me to appreciate all of you, and toothpaste so my morning breath doesn’t murder you.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Maybe not, but still, I think sleep needs to happen first.”

She pouts, all but flouncing into the blankets. “Fine. But you’d better hold me until I wake up.”

“That I can do.”

Cuddled together, hoping for sleep, the window slowly brightens from black to gray, Clara still tense in my arms.

“I love you,” I whisper, all truth but part apology for removing her best coping method from her.

She shifts even closer to me. “I love you, too,” she whispers as we both watch color return to the room, sleep eventually finding us, but not until the day is bright, and the house is humming with movement. Too little.

Too late.

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