14. Jansen
Chapter 14
Jansen
I ’m pretty sure I have the brief memorized, but I read it one last time, wanting to have it all in my head before I go downstairs. My mind is buzzing, looking for issues, for holes, for moments I can exploit. Not that I particularly want to compete, but if I’m going to, I want to know all the ways I can win, and all the ways I can lose. Losing sucks, and leads to jail time, which sucks for all kinds of reasons. I’m not doing that to my mom again.
The chime of the oven chirps from downstairs, so I bound down to help Walker get everything plated. He’s been cagey all day, and I keep trying to get him to cheer up, but he seems determined to be a grump. Usually Trips has that role, so I’m not exactly sure how to fix it.
Only once before was Walker this dreary. I’d warned him about Tammy. He didn’t listen. And boy, did it suck when he figured out he was nothing but a booty call, and the third choice at that.
This feels the same, but I’ve seen the looks Clara’s been giving him—she’s worried, so she’s not the problem. He’s always moody, but this is bigger somehow. I waltz into the kitchen, wondering just how bad Walker is.
He’s got his back to me, pulling a pot roast out of the oven, my small pan of tofu and veggies following. I hop up on the counter, swinging my legs. “Hey. Need any help?” I ask.
He doesn’t turn toward me, pulling plates and utensils out. “I’ve got it.”
“Are we eating at the island or in the living room?”
“We only have four stools. I think we’re stuck with the living room.”
I laugh, hopping down and reaching around him to pull down cups. “Pot roast on the couch. First time for everything.”
He doesn’t answer, so I sneak a look at his face. And it’s blanketed in rage.
I set down the plates, reaching for his shoulder. “Hey. Are you okay?”
He turns to me, his face a cloud of fear and pain, but it vanishes so quickly that if I didn’t know him as well as I do, I’d think I imagined it. He smiles and shrugs. “I’m fine. I’ll bring out the food. You’ve got the plates?”
I wait, giving him a chance to break character, to feel rather than pretend everything is okay. But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns back to the food, basting everything in the pan one last time before dishing it onto a fancy ceramic platter. He couldn’t tell me to get lost any more clearly. Only I can’t decide if I should do what he wants or push.
I’ve had to run interference often enough with Trips that I usually know which way to wind someone to get them back to normal. But with Walker? He’s got his emotions tied into their proper little boxes, and I’ve never had a reason to cut the strings.
But he’s never straight up conned me like this before either. And I don’t like it.
I pick up the plates, pile on some forks and knives, and march them to the living room, setting them on the coffee table. I’d been focused before, but now I’m jittery and anxious. Luckily, I finally found someone to ease the electricity that always has me moving, so I cut through the kitchen to the back hall, my heart rate spiking just thinking about seeing Clara again.
I make it just past her bathroom door before Walker grabs my arm, dragging me back to the kitchen. “Don’t,” he says, fury sneaking out behind his mask.
“What, do you have sole ownership of Clara now or something?” I yank my arm out of his grasp.
He glares out the kitchen window, trying to piece together his pleasant mask, but I’m not gonna let him. Something is up, and this fake, bland bastard is so much worse than whatever it is Walker is trying to hide. I take a leap, a guess. “So you fuck her, and what, the rest of us are shit out of luck? I know that’s not what she wants, and I’m not going to let you dictate what kind of relationship the rest of us get to have with her.”
He still doesn’t meet my eyes, but his words lash out with genuine anger. “That’s not fucking it. Just,” he rubs his hands over his eyes, taking a breath, “she’s going to need a minute, that’s all.”
“Why?” I push, knowing I’m getting close.
But instead of rising to my challenge, instead of snapping, he shakes his head and goes back to the stove. “Whatever. Maybe you’ll make her, I don’t know, happier.”
I debate forcing the issue, but he’s shut down. I glance through the doorway behind me. Clara looked worried this morning. Maybe she’ll know what’s up. With one last look at Walker, I slip down the hall to Clara’s room, my knock light.
“Go away, Walker,” she yells through the door. Well, that’s not good.
“It’s me, Jansen,” I say, my hand on the doorknob.
Without warning, the door flies open. I stumble forward as Clara grabs a handful of my shirt, dragging me into her room, slamming the door with my back as she presses me against it. Her eyes are shining with unshed tears, but she looks ready to explode, not melt. She is livid. What the fuck did Walker do?
Her hands spread across my chest, the full force of her behind them, pinning me where I stand.
“Hey,” I say, once again in unfamiliar territory. Clara’s been playful, she’s been forward, but never aggressive.
She runs one hand up to my hair, pulling out my ponytail. “Hey.”
“Are you okay?”
She closes her eyes, shaking her head.
“You want to talk about it?” I ask as her hand tangles in my hair .
She opens her eyes and shakes her head again. “No. I just don’t want to feel…this,” she says.
I reach up and cup her cheek. “What do you want to feel?”
She licks her lips. “In control.”
Shit. I swallow back the knowledge that we’re supposed to be in the living room in the next few minutes. That can wait. This can’t. “I’m yours,” I say, my heart pounding in my ears, my words more true than I’d realized.
A hint of a smile flits across her lips. “Good.”
Her fingers grasp my hair, pulling me down to meet her lips, her kiss frantic, her tongue forcing its way into my mouth, our teeth clinking. Her other hand snakes down, unbuttoning my jeans, and the noise of the house, the plans I’ve been working on all day scatter away, swallowed by her flame.
She backs me away from the door, forcing me to drop onto her mattress on the floor. I yank off my shirt before she’s back on me, her hands stroking down my chest, her nails leaving trails of fire across my skin. She tugs off my jeans and boxers before stripping off her own clothes, fully naked, her gentle curves vivid in the electric light.
Her eyes pass over me, taking me in, and the inspection has me throwing back my shoulders, shifting to accommodate her desire. She kneels between my legs, her hands skimming my thighs, skirting my painfully hard dick, and over my pecs as she crawls up my body, her nipples brushing my chest. Fuck. I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on this fast.
“Clara,” I say, wanting to know how I’m supposed to play this.
She presses her finger to my lips, stopping me, and I find I don’t mind a bit. Her breath brushes against my ear as she whispers, “Shh,” the chastisement followed by her tongue sweeping the lobe, her teeth nipping a line from my ear to my shoulder, my bones thrumming.
I run my hands from her waist to her ass, wanting to yank her against me, needing more contact than this torture. But she shifts, my hands no longer reaching, so I trace her ribs, teasing her too. She pauses her trail of kisses down my chest to shoot me a mock glare before snatching my hands and placing them on her breasts, a soft sigh escaping from her.
This girl is a fucking goddess.
I do as requested, squeezing, tracing circles as she settles onto her heels, straddling my hips, her head dropping back as I risk a pinch of one of her nipples. Her answering moan tells me all I need to know, so I use a hand to urge her closer. I take her nipple in my mouth, a swipe of my tongue followed by a nip as she grinds against me, her hands suddenly flighty and frantic against my skin.
“Please,” she murmurs.
“What do you need?” I say, licking her nipple one last time before switching to her other breast.
She rolls her hips against my dick, and I shudder under her. “You inside me.”
Hell yeah. I flip us over, driving into her so fast she yelps, her surprise followed by a low moan that makes my skin electric. Shit. This feels so fucking good. If I could be right here, forever, it would be a life well lived. I force myself to move, to try a few different angles, until her nails are digging into my back, and I know the bead of my piercing is rubbing her just right .
We crash together, both desperate for release, both caught in wave after wave of almost. I tense up, but I’m not jumping off this cliff without her. I barely hold on, pounding into her, her pelvis tilting to meet my every thrust. Reaching down with my thumb, I find her clit, rubbing it once, twice, three times before she explodes around me, squeezing my climax from me.
Our groans mix in the room’s quiet, both of us panting.
I flop to my forearms, my nose pressed into her neck while I try to remember how to breathe.
Fuck.
Never would I have guessed that the quiet, sad girl I met in August would turn into this Venus. I’m floored and so fucking giddy to be here, with her, right now. Her fingers trace the lines of my spine, my ribs, and for the second time today, I’m totally and completely at peace. Quiet. Calm. Hers.