17. Clara
Chapter 17
Clara
A fter a moment in the hallway, I try Jansen’s door. By pure chance, it’s unlocked.
I feel like I’m sneaking out of my parents’ house as I inch the door open. Unlocked doors don’t happen around here. Is he okay?
I’m not quiet as I step into his space. I’ve figured out the guy could sleep through the ceiling caving in around him.
The first morning I found him taking up half my mattress, I slipped out, as silent as I know how to be. Then I dropped a textbook trying to get it in my bag. The bang was unearthly, but Jansen just made a sad little mewing noise and rolled over. The next time I found him draped over me as I opened my eyes, I didn’t even try to be quiet. Despite my lack of stealth, he slept just fine.
I take in the dim room. Jansen sprawls across his little twin mattress, his hair covering most of his face. Tripping over his jeans and shirt crumpled on the floor next to his bed, I find Jansen’s usual neatness missing. Unlike his car, or the last time I visited, chaos greets me. His bag spills across the middle of the rug, his books scattered across the floor, desk, and chair, and his keys and wallet have knocked over one of his door-lock sculptures.
Worried, I sweep Jansen’s hair from his forehead, pressing my hand to his forehead. No fever.
What to do? On the one hand, he doesn’t seem sick. On the other hand, his door was unlocked, his clothes are on the floor, and he’s messed up his perfectly organized bookshelf.
A soft snore escapes as he rolls onto his other side, leaving a small sliver of bed empty, warm and rumpled, just waiting for me to crawl in. Before I stop to let myself think, I strip off my clothes, yanking off my panties and bra and slipping under the covers next to him. I hold my breath, not sure if this was a smart plan. What am I doing? When did I decide to be the kind of person who strips down and crawls into bed with a guy I’m not officially dating?
Now. The answer, apparently, is right now.
Curling against him, his breath soft, the murmur of RJ and Trips in the room next door, I feel a calm wash over me, removing the tension I’ve held all week. Jansen rolls into me, draping his leg over mine and nuzzling the back of my neck. “Beautiful,” he mutters and stills behind me, his limbs’ dead weight pinning me in place. Warm, held, and safe, I doze off.
Jansen’s fingers trail from my waist to my hips, pulling me from a dreamless sleep. Shifting my weight against him, he snakes his other arm under my neck, shifting me until it feels like every inch of me is touching every inch of him. “Good morning,” he whispers, lighting me up with a simple greeting.
I grasp his hand where it’s pressed against my sternum, his pinky brushing against my chest, dragging it up so I can kiss his fingertips. They smell like gasoline, the tips rough with callouses. “Morning,” I say.
He nips my ear, then kisses the bite away. “I like waking up like this. Who let you in this time? I might need to steal a thank you gift.”
Chuckling, I turn in the circle of his arms, running my hands up to frame his face, his morning stubble rough against my palms. “I let myself in. The door was unlocked. Does that mean you owe me a gift?”
Jansen rubs his cheek into my hand, his eyes unfocused as he stares over my shoulder. “Unlocked? Really? ”
“Is that a problem? Should I have stayed out?”
Jansen’s eyes roam over my face before settling on my lips. “Nah. I just can’t believe I didn’t lock it. I mean, I was tired, but that tired?”
He shakes his head in my hands before brushing his lips over mine.
“What kept you up?” I push his hair back, wanting to see his face, not fractured bits behind the curtain of smooth blond strands.
One of his fingers dances around a curl on my back, a smile easing across his lips. “Working.”
“Are you picking pockets again, Jansen?”
He chuckles, then presses his lips against mine once more, his other hand sliding to cradle my waist. “That’s just for fun and practice. I’ve been working on big money this week.”
I run my thumb along his lip, and he clamps down on it, his teeth just this side of painful against my skin. I flush as he watches me, his eyes glittering dark in the half light. “Do I get to know what big money means?” I breathe out, my curiosity fighting with the need to plaster myself to Jansen and not separate until we’re both sweaty and boneless.
Electricity follows his hand as it slides over my hip, grasping my ass and pressing my pelvis into his erection. Not enough. Definitely not enough. He slowly releases my thumb, licking and kissing it, easing the sting. “I do a bunch of big money stuff. But this week, I was lifting luxury cars.”
I slide my damp hand over his pecs, reveling in the subtle divots of his abs, exploring lower as I try to remember what we were talking about. “How does one go about stealing fancy cars? I can’t imagine they’re easy to hotwire.”
Jansen trails kisses over my cheek, down my neck, as his hand slowly spirals around my hair, gathering it into his fist. “No, they’re quite difficult to hotwire. That’s why I break into the owner’s house while they’re sleeping, nab the key, and leave before they realize I was even there.”
I shiver at the thought of waking up to Jansen sneaking through my imaginary mansion, like a cat in the dark. It strikes me as both wicked and sinfully appealing.
The scent of gasoline wafts over me, a smell that’s trailed Jansen all week long. I nip his shoulder before kissing away the bite, all while stroking his cock, the skin silky under my palm, my thumb circling the head, lazy and teasing. “Hmm. But you smell like gasoline, not like expensive leather interiors. ”
“That’s not from the cars. That’s from where the cars end up.” He presses into my hand, a groan escaping him.
“And where do the cars end up?” I ask, barely able to keep my mind on the conversation.
Jansen pulls my hair tight, tilting my head to the side. “I have a friend who owns a chop shop. Sadly, those beautiful vehicles are stripped down to parts and on the open market by now, anything with a serial number melted away.” He nips my neck, the tension on my hair a bite itself. “I think that’s enough about my midnight activities. I have better things to do with my mouth right now.”
He covers my lips with his, conversation discarded, our tongues meeting and twisting, all of me hot and needy. He thrusts into my palm while his hand squeezes my ass, my body already wet and throbbing.
With a moan, he rolls us onto his back. Unraveling his hand from my hair, he grasps my hips with both hands. Once I’m stable, he slides his hands up my sides, stroking his calloused thumbs over both of my nipples, electricity shooting from them to my clit, and I sigh. Sadly, he leaves them and instead cradles my face, urging my lips to his. “Make me scream, beautiful,” he says.
I grin, ready for the challenge.
Leaning over, I let my hair fall forward, the strands swaying over his chest. He lets me control the pace, the intensity of our connection. I kiss and lick his cheek, then his ear, trailing warm breaths across his skin, teasing, building. With one hand, I trace the muscles of his chest, his abs, the deep groove from his hip to his cock. Once I make it to the end of my exploration, I grasp his cock, thick and slightly pulsing in my hand. Lining up, I slowly lower my weight onto him, the delicious stretch pausing my descent. We both groan once he’s fully seated, our eyes locked, anticipation bright.
I shift forward, searching for a spot where his piercing will rub my clit just right, and once I find the perfect place, I ride him, agonizingly slowly. We shared an explosion before. This time, I want our connection to last.
His hands break from their anchor on my hips to trace my curves, cradling my ass, smoothing to my waist, slight movements that somehow keep me on edge. I lean down, nipping and licking a line from one of his shoulders to the other. The earthy scent of him, bold under the tang of the gas, begs me to pick up the pace, but I hold back. Good things are worth the wait.
His hand snakes through my hair again, grasping the back of my head. Gently, he pulls me away from his skin, neither of us stopping our steady ride. His eyes are hazy, his breath as labored as my own. “Are you trying to kill us both?” he asks.
“Just a little,” I answer, pressing a kiss to his lips, licking his tongue with mine, the slow pace lighting every inch of me up like a field of fireflies. He bites my tongue, just hard enough to communicate his frustration, and I grin, nipping him back.
Pulling away, I pick up the pace, the pressure building through my body, his piercing pushing me higher and higher. Jansen bucks from below, fingers digging into my hips as he slams me against him, swelling pleasure coursing through us both. “Oh God,” I say, the edge so close, so fucking close. But I need Jansen to come with me, for us to tumble into oblivion together .
“Clara,” he moans, his fingers likely leaving marks. “Oh God, please.”
I nod, not sure what I’m agreeing to, clawing at his chest, my body slick with sweat. I grind down once, twice, three times, then shatter around him.
Jansen plunges into me, calloused fingers locking us together, as he groans his own release, the throbs of his cock prolonging my own spasms, both of us breathless, speechless, locked together, watching each other in wonder, lingering in a state of quiet creation.
Eventually, his hands ease from my hips, and he rolls us onto our sides, pulling me close, his lips pressed against my forehead.
I trace the muscles of his chest, languor robbing me of anything other than the tiniest of movements. His fingers tangle in my hair, both of us content to just rest in each other’s arms, reveling in the peace which, for Jansen, only exists in moments like this.
I brush my nose against his chest, breathing him in, disappointed that once again, his work is keeping us apart. We rushed last weekend. Then he was gone all week, apparently breaking, entering, and committing grand theft auto. Now, he’ll disappear for the weekend, doing reconnaissance in Chicago.
I guess being a criminal and a college student is a lot of work.
“Say, Clara?” Jansen asks.
“Yeah? ”
“You don’t have to say anything, but I just wanted to let you know…” He stops, rubbing his nose against my head, his thought unfinished.
“Let me know what?” I ask.
Jansen fills his lungs, his chest expanding against my palms, but he’s cut off by a bang on his door.
“Get up, asshole!” Trips yells. “RJ needs the cash to go buy your ride.”
Tension strums through Jansen. “Fuck off!” he shouts.
There’s a pause, Trips probably as uncertain about what to do with an angry Jansen as I am. After what feels like an eternity, Trips answers, his voice quieter, but no more polite. “I’ll be in my room, jackass.”
His footsteps fade as he leaves, the rigidness in Jansen melting the farther Trips gets, but not disappearing entirely. I tilt my head back, brushing my hands along the bristle of his cheek, encouraging him to focus on me. “You were saying?” I ask.
A soft smile replaces his grimace. He rubs his nose against mine, kissing me softly. “It’s not important.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m going to miss you, beautiful.”
“I’m going to miss you, too.” I kiss him, soft and lingering. “When are you guys coming back?”
He runs his hand down, grasping my ass. Not leading anywhere, just idle possession. “Early enough on Tuesday that we can get to our afternoon classes.”
“That long?”
Jansen rolls onto his back, and I prop myself up to watch him, his hair a halo around his head on the pillow. “For a gig like this, at a private property? Ideally, we’d observe it for at least a week. Three days is going to have to be enough this time.” He shrugs, his movements losing their looseness, energy building in him once again.
He glances at me, apology in his eyes, but I grin back, encouraging his chill as long as possible. “Time to get this show on the road?”
He chuckles, flipping me suddenly so I’m under him. He kisses me like he wants to fuck my brains out in a dark alley behind a dance club, then pulls back, leaving me panting.
“What was that for?” I gasp.
Mischief lights up his eyes. “I don’t want you forgetting about me while I’m gone.”
“So you, what? Tongue fuck my mouth, then scurry away?”
He laughs, rolling out of bed, tossing me my clothes from the floor. “More or less.”
“You’re a tease, Jansen Pierce.”
He pulls his hair into a ponytail, his slowly rising cock on display, before pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt. “And you love it.”
With one last lingering kiss, he pulls a book from his bookcase, doing some weird hand movements before the spine pops open. A small section of pages is glued together and cut out to make a miniature drawer in what is otherwise a totally normal-looking book. A huge wad of cash falls onto his desk before he does the same with two more books, the pile growing larger and larger. Scooping up the cash, he stops at his door, looking at me naked on his bed, a smile stretched across his face. “I am so going to miss this,” he says.
He slips out the door, leaving me there in his room, his collection of mini-safe books on his desk, their real pages fluttering as the central air kicks on.
He trusts me.
I hope I don’t fuck this up, too.