8. Clara
Chapter 8
Clara
M y eyes follow Walker as he goes into RJ’s room. He’s barely looked at me this morning, and I’m worried. I’d hoped we’d killed whatever was bothering him last night, transformed it into something good. And while he’s not angry anymore, he’s turned hollow, an absence beside me.
Hopefully, he’s just tired. Considering it’s just past 7:45 a.m. and the game ended after 3 a.m., no one is going to be their best right now.
With a sigh, I turn the key Walker left for me and step into Jansen’s room. It’s time to wake him up for a meeting about the fence.
While I’ve had a peek or two of RJ and Jansen’s rooms, I’ve only ever been in Walker’s room. The guys all lock their doors and like to come and find me as soon as I walk into the house. At least I understand their caution now. If anyone figured out what the guys were up to, it could be catastrophic .
I close the door behind me, letting my eyes adjust to the half dark. Thick curtains cover the window in Jansen’s room, blocking the pale morning light. I don’t know why I expected chaos, considering how neat Jansen always is, but once I’m in, I realize that’s exactly what I thought was in here.
Instead, the room is faultless. A desk in the corner has textbooks stacked in one corner, notebooks in another, an older laptop closed in the middle. He has a bookshelf to the side, half filled with books and old locks, keys, and small tools placed to look like art, not like half-done projects. A circle rug is soft under my toes, the colors indecipherable without the light on.
Jansen sprawls across his twin-sized mattress, one foot and one hand free from the blankets, his hair loose around his head. I sneak forward, afraid to wake him, and after a moment, slip under the blanket next to him. I kiss him on the cheek, waiting for him to stir.
He doesn’t even twitch.
I run my hand down his chest, my fingers brushing through a small patch of hair, over those dancer muscles I love to watch move. Even in the half-light, I can tell that Jansen isn’t waking up, despite my hand wandering over his chest.
With a grin, I press my ice-cold toes against his shins, waiting for his screech. Instead of jolting away, Jansen flops an arm and a leg over me, pulling me so my nose smooshes against his chest.
And that’s the moment I learn Jansen likes to sleep naked.
Totally and completely naked.
My arm’s trapped practically on top of his dick, and I don’t know what to do. For a split second, I debate a wake-up hand job, but that seems creepy, as we’ve never actually been naked together. Shit.
“Jansen?” I whisper.
“Uhh,” he says.
“Jansen, it’s time to wake up.”
He pulls me even tighter, and now my hand is legitimately holding onto his dick. I couldn’t move it away if I tried. And the thing is getting stiffer the longer I’m palming it.
“Please, Jansen, I need you to wake up. We’re having a meeting downstairs in a few minutes.”
Jansen makes a little snuffling noise, but otherwise doesn’t answer.
“Jansen, wake up.” I don’t even try to be quiet—easing him awake is obviously not working. I give his chest a nudge too, for good measure.
As nice as it would be to stay here in the dark with him, to wake up slowly, wrapped in his arms, Trips looked volcanic this morning, and I don’t want to start today on his bad side.
Because I want to help. I’m not sure why, and I don’t think it’s a good idea in the long term, but it feels right to be with them, to assist the team. I can’t even lie to myself and say that learning what crime looks like from the inside will give me an edge in the FBI, because I’m not that good of a liar. I don’t even believe myself.
I wiggle my left arm between the two of us, and shove harder, creating a bubble of space between our chests, but somehow, this causes Jansen to press his pelvis into my hand, and I end up with the start of the hand job I was trying to avoid. Shit shit shit .
“Mmm,” he says, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.
Am I really going to do this?
“Jansen,” I say, using my best angry babysitter voice. “If you don’t wake up right now, I’m throwing off the blankets and leaving you to deal with your own damn hard-on.”
His leg hikes up higher, wrapping around my waist, locking my lower half in place. “No. Stay,” he mutters.
“If you want me to stay, wake up,” I answer. “I’m not going to take advantage of you while you’re comatose, Trouble.”
He sighs, yanking me close again, the tiny space I created gone. “You strike a hard bargain, beautiful.”
“I’m a cold hard bitch,” I say, and he lets out a sleepy chuckle.
“Your toes are cold, and you’re female, but that’s about as close to a cold hard bitch as you’re going to get,” he says.
I tilt my head so I can see him, but the position and dark room make it impossible to make out his face. “Are you actually awake?”
“I’m awake enough for you to finish what you started,” he says, rolling his hips, using my hand as a tool to stroke him, the skin soft and warm, the weight of his dick heavier in my hand than it was a moment ago.
“Prove you’re awake. Kiss me, and I’ll see if I believe you.”
Jansen rolls onto his back, slips his arms under my armpits, and pulls me level with his face, my hand falling free from his dick. I press my lips to his, waiting, hoping this isn’t just a game.
For a second, I think he’s fallen back asleep, but then he’s there, his tongue swiping at the seam of my mouth. I just promoted myself from roommate to dirty girl alarm clock. Our tongues dance, the heat rising between us, Jansen naked, me in my pajama pants and long-sleeve shirt sprawled across his chest, cuddled close in his tiny bed.
Too soon, Jansen pulls back, blinking up at me. “I think I like this wake-up call.”
His hands slip under my shirt, their weight warm against the small of my back. “You’re impossible to wake up, you know that?” I say.
Jansen drags me back to his lips, the kiss urgent, desperate, and I forget what I was going to say next. It’s just his breath and mine, my shirt riding up, skin on skin tingling. Jansen shifts me so I’m straddling him, lifting my shirt off.
I’d tossed on a comfy bralette before coming up, nothing fancy, but even with the half-light, I can see him lick his lips in anticipation. He slides his calloused fingers under the band and pushes it up over my head too, then tugs me back down on top of him, chest to chest, diving back into my mouth with dizzying vigor. His hands slide up and down, unable to land in a single space, but covering all of me with trails of warmth and intention.
He pulls back to lick and nibble down the side of my neck, shooting out sparks of sensation, as my body reacts despite the ride it had only a few hours ago. Trying to remember why I’m here, I mutter, “But, downstairs, Jansen.”
“We’ve got time. I’m impossible to wake up,” he says, huffing warm breaths against my skin. He rolls us onto our sides, kisses coupled with need, arms and legs tangling, ignoring the minutes passing by before someone comes to fetch us .
I break the kiss, slipping down the bed, but Jansen stops me, his arm locking me against him, my nipples peaked and sensitive against his chest. “You promised a hand job,” he says.
“I thought you might like a free upgrade,” I tease, one brow arched.
He shakes his head. “I want what I was promised. No more, no less. I’ll save my free upgrade for later.”
He rolls onto his back again, tugging one of my curls before tucking his hands under his head, waiting, watching.
Huh. Just a hand job. I sit back on my heels as I glance at Jansen, a smirk on his handsome face. He’s testing me, making sure I’m ready for this. And he’s turning it into a game. Well, I can play too—because I’m ready to try again, to start fresh.
I settle between his legs, running my hands up his thighs, my right hand wrapping around his cock, my left gently cupping his balls. Something cold brushes against my hand. Something metal .
Curious, I shift, and there, where his cock meets his body, is a ring, three beads attached to a hoop. It doesn’t take long to realize exactly where those beads would hit my body, and I clench in anticipation. I run a finger over the ring, following the bumps from one side to the other. Jansen watches me, his smile spreading. “Not yet, beautiful. You made a promise.”
I rub the large center bead one last time, then with a grumble about lost opportunities, I dance my fingers around his dick, teasing him with barely there touches. A few circles later, I pull my hand to my mouth, licking each of my fingers, then my palm, debating a peek at Jansen, but too worried about what I’ll see there. A sharp intake of breath from him lets me know that I’m doing okay so far.
I stroke my damp hand up and down, trying to gauge his rhythm. A few fast strokes, and a bead of pre-cum seeps out of the tip, and I pause my pattern to spread the pearl around the head, adding slickness to my hand. Fast and hard, I stroke again, my other hand gliding between his balls, around them, gentle but insistent. A few more pumps, circle the head. A few more pumps, play with his balls.
The rhythm takes over, time flexing and shifting with each shiver that crosses Jansen’s skin, pleasure and maddening patience rippling through him.
After what feels like both forever and no time at all, Jansen tenses, his eyes fluttering shut. With a sighed, “Oh God,” he comes, a puddle collecting on his abs.
I still, letting the spasms slow in my grip before sliding my hand up into the pool, an insane desire to draw in the fluid coming over me. I settle for slow circles in the mess, watching Jansen relax, morphing into a creature I’ve never seen before, one bereft of anxious energy and spontaneous movement. His eyes hood as he watches my fingers, swirling in his cum, stickier the longer I play.
“God, Clara.”
I smile, oddly proud. “Are you awake now?”
He laughs. “I’m something, for sure.”
I shift, rubbing my thighs together. Watching him come apart—yeah, it turns out that makes me horny.
He looks around. “I might need some help here,” he says, motioning at the slowly drying puddle. “I have a spare towel in the bottom drawer of my dresser. Could you get it? ”
I tilt my head to one side. “Exactly how long do you think we have? Because I’ll help you if you help me.”
A grin cuts across his face. “That seems fair.”
I walk to his dresser, bending at the waist to get the towel, putting on a show. Turning back with the towel, I preen with his eyes locked on me. Strutting to the side of the bed, I slip down next to him before wiping off his abs. Once I’ve cleaned him up, I go to toss the towel, but at the last moment he snags it, wiping the places that I can’t see but that he can feel.
Clean, he props himself up on his elbows, eyes scanning over my half-naked body perched beside him. I lean forward for a kiss, right as a thud thud thud pounds on the door. “Jansen, you fucker, you’d better be getting dressed, or I’m out twenty bucks,” Trips hollers through the door.
“Chill out. We’ll be down in a minute,” Jansen yells back, not taking his eyes from mine.
“You’ve got one. Make it count,” Trips says, his feet heavy down the stairs.
I cut my gaze to the door, both disappointed and embarrassed. I’d waltzed in here with a simple task—wake up Jansen. Now I’m half naked, fully horny, and we almost just put on a show for the one guy in the house I’m not even sure likes me.
What the fuck am I doing? I’ve never been this forward before. It’s like last night, a wildness in me shook loose, and I don’t know if I can lock it back in. I want to tease, to flirt, to fuck, and while the feeling’s not totally foreign, it’s never been on my terms before. This is unfamiliar territory, and I have no idea how to navigate it .
Jansen doesn’t let me wallow, though. He snags my chin and kisses me deeply. “Later,” he says, a promise, before tossing me my bra and shirt from the floor. He bounds up and pulls on some pajama pants and a sweatshirt as I navigate my bra in the half light. Both of us fully clothed, I open the door, but Jansen presses me against the cool wood with his body, clicking it shut again. After one last, breathless kiss, we head blinking into the light, Jansen’s promise hovering between us. Later .