5. Clara
Chapter 5
Clara
W alker stands with his head pressed against the front door long enough for me to worry. I rub the small of his back, waiting for him to return from wherever his mind has taken him.
I wish I had context for what just happened. I was silent, like he asked. Watching this Jasmine woman took all my focus, but I know I’m missing details that would have let me understand the minutia Walker wanted me to look for.
Replaying the whole interaction, I make a list in my head and lock it away, holding onto it for when Walker is ready to listen.
Now is not that moment. He’s stuck in his head, thinking he’s failed before he started, that he’s let the guys down on some big job they have coming up. I need to get him into a different head space, to bring him back to me .
My phone buzzes in my purse. I pull it out, finding a text from Trips.
Is Walker alive?
I sigh. Tact is not his strong suit.
He’s alive. He’s going to need a minute, though.
The answer flashes back faster than thought.
Tell him to answer his fucking texts. You have an hour.
Yes, sir, Captain sir, the snarky voice in my head answers. I don’t think the sarcasm would translate to text, though.
Give him a while. You’ll be too busy to help until tomorrow anyway.
The middle finger emoji is all I get back, so I take it as permission to let Walker wind down.
Tucking my phone into my purse, I study the broken man in front of me. What can I do?
Touch. Walker is always touching me, brushing against my arm, holding my hand, pulling me into his lap. He needs touch .
I slide my hand from his back, slipping my fingers into his. I give a little tug to get his attention. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, but he doesn’t turn.
“Walker, let’s go to my room, okay?” I say, gently prying him away from the door, pulling him in my wake down the hallway, through the kitchen, and back to my room. He follows me, eyes glazed in genuine anger, something I haven’t seen from him before.
I drag him to my bed where I flop down, the steep drop to the mattress on the floor forcing Walker to tumble after me. “Clara,” he says, annoyed.
“Shh,” I say, kicking off my shoes before wrapping myself around him koala-style. “Talk to me. What’s going on up there?” I ask.
Walker stays stiff in my arms, but at least he’s answering. “I’m just so mad.”
“Mad about what?”
He rolls onto his back, kicking off his own shoes, so I settle my head on his chest, his heart beating against my cheek. I wait for his answer.
Eventually, he sighs. “I’m just mad. It’s not important. Not really. ”
With that, he wraps an arm around me as his lips press against my forehead. “Are you better?” I ask.
“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. Tugging his 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.
I’m ready to shove him away, to take care of my own damn self when finally, finally , he laps the head of my clit. After all the gentle teasing, that simple stroke is all it takes, and I burst with a yelp, his fingers tight in me, his tongue pressed solid against me, as he rides the waves of pleasure with me .
I come down slowly, Walker coaxing shudders and aftershocks with small thrusts of his fingers and swipes of his tongue.
Oh my God.
“Oh,” I say, not able to form words, one arm flung wide, the other draped across my eyes, only a sliver of the world visible, a sliver filled entirely by Walker.
Only then does Walker pull back, sitting on his heels, a grin wide on his face. His fingers slip free, and he lifts them up, carefully cleaning them with the same tongue he used to shatter me. I shudder, entranced. “Mmm,” I manage.
He laughs, eyes bright. “That good?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know he’s welcome to eat me out whenever he damn well pleases. Shit.
“Mmm hmm,” I answer.
I need to find my skeleton somewhere around here. He’s still wearing those stupid pants. I want them off. I need to be less noodley so I can get them off.
“Pants,” I manage, my bones still missing, as I wave my floppy arm in his general direction.
He chuckles again. “What was that? I can’t understand you.”
“Bastard. Pants. Off.”
“Wait, these pants?”
He slips his thumbs into the waistband, and I growl. “Fucker.”
“Well, that is the goal, isn’t it?”
I flip him off with my functioning hand before attempting to sit up enough to reach his fly. No more teasing.
I wiggle until I gain control of my limbs, hauling myself upright and onto my knees, reaching for his pants .
The jokes die as anticipation takes over, my fingers hooking the button, pulling the zipper. Together, we strip his pants and boxer briefs in one tug, his cock springing free to meet my eager hand. I wrap my fingers around its breadth, and slowly stroke up, watching Walker, reading what he likes.
The second, firmer stroke has his head dropped back, his eyes closed, a gasp escaping as he slowly caresses up my arms, his hands coming to rest on either side of my neck, his thumbs tracing my jawline. I press Walker back with both hands, and he lets me, collapsing onto the pillows. Bending down, I trail my tongue along the underside of his cock, the skin silky smooth, following the seam from base to tip. I twirl my tongue around the head, pulling him into my mouth, my hand pumping down as my lips trail after. “Damn it, Clara,” he groans, totally at my mercy.
His fingers dig into my hair, my bun already half out, and I suck him deep. If he can make me boneless, I can do the same for him. I settle into a rhythm that has his hands tugging at my hair hard enough to hurt, the ache on my scalp mirroring the one between my thighs. I cup his balls, running my fingers around, between, gentle, insistent. He lets me play for a moment, his cock thick in my mouth, before he pulls me off. “No, princess. I want to be in you.”
I meet his eyes, his hands sliding back to the sides of my face, one thumb stroking my damp bottom lip. The shock of being cherished steals words from me.
He rolls forward, kissing me deeply, our tongues dancing, both tasting like each other. He pulls a condom from his wallet on the floor, and I can’t help but grin. “Planning on getting lucky tonight?” I ask .
“Only hoping for the past two months,” he answers, rolling the condom over his cock before kissing me again. He and I fall onto the pillows, and he holds my face for one last check-in.
“Please, I’m ready. I need you,” I whisper.
No other invitation needed, Walker plunges in, my body stretching to accommodate his. “Oh God,” I manage, canting my hips to help him press deeper.
He pulls back, slamming in again, watching for my reactions, for my pleasure. So I show it to him—all the tingly, achy anticipation that courses through me. I hold none of it back. I trust him with all of me. He deserves to see the way he makes me come undone.
I pant and writhe, letting out all the noises I used to keep bottled in, the moans, the gasps, they fall from my lips, and Walker laps them up, using them to guide his touch, from hip to waist to chest. I trail my hands over his muscles, his abs flexing under my palms. He shifts, his right hand gripping and caressing my breast, his left braced above me.
The pace quickens, and I need to feel him closer, as close as he is deep inside me. I wrap my legs around his waist, my nails digging into his back, and I feel the urge to mark him, to claim him as mine.
So I do.
Dragging my nails across his back makes him hiss, bucking. In a rush, he reaches down to rub his fingers against my clit, forcing me to meet him, waves of pleasure growing into typhoons. My body buzzes, electric, tensing like a bow before I snap, a scream bursting from my lips. Walker follows me with three quick thrusts, groaning as he arches back, eyes closed in ecstasy.
The feel of him pulsing inside me triggers an aftershock, and I tremble and whimper as he collapses on top of me, both of us sweaty and shaking.
“Damn,” he whispers, his voice muffled by the pillows. “Just damn.”
I giggle as my body stills, flooded with happiness and ease. I wrap my arms and legs tighter, locking us together. “It was a joint effort.”
He presses his nose against the side of my head. “I’d join your team any day, princess.”
I kiss a line from his shoulder and up his neck. We both lay there, at peace, him nestled inside me while I twine us together.
Eventually, he pulls away, disappearing to deal with the condom. The bed feels big and empty without him.
Hurrying back, he slides under the blankets to join me, immediately claiming the big spoon position. The weight of his arm around my waist is familiar from all the times I’ve woken up with him tucked behind me, but also foreign, with no clothes between us.
The bang of the front door echoes down the hallway. “Do you think they need us out there?” I ask.
Walker buries his nose in the mess of my hair. “They don’t need us. We’re fine here.”
Despite the comfort of his arm around my waist and the warmth of his body behind mine, the tension slowly returns to his frame. As I turn to ask him what’s going on in his head, he twists to turn out the light. “Not tonight, princess,” he says, ending the conversation before it even begins.