by Gina Azzi
“You heard wrong!” I call after her, relieved that she manages to break all the tension with her flirty mouth and humor every damn time.
“That’s not what my brother says. Or Big Daddy.”
“Torsten?” I frown. “When did you talk to him?”
Claire comes back into view, setting down a plate with four brownies. She slides into the chair across from mine. “Earlier today.”
I swipe a brownie from the plate and stare at Claire. Why the hell did my good time mood just swing wildly toward pissed-off? Torsten is cool with everyone. He’s the biggest flirt on the planet but never has a girlfriend. Everyone knows this and yet…“Do you talk to him often?” I take a huge bite of brownie.
Claire pauses, watching me as I chew the delicious, fudge-like, chocolate goodness. “Are they good?”
“Are you kidding me?” I practically growl, shoving the other half in my mouth. “These are the best brownies I’ve ever had.” Crumbs fall from my mouth and I don’t even care.
Claire can cook and bake.
She visibly relaxes and bites into a brownie as I take up a second one. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She shrugs. “I talk to him every now and then. He needed help with something so he reached out, we chatted for a bit.”
Huh? I lean back in my chair, considering this. What does Torsten need help with? Why would he reach out to Claire? “Do all the guys hit you up for advice or whatever?”
Claire swipes her tongue along her bottom lip to catch a brownie crumb. “Sometimes. I’m friendly with all of them. The team’s unofficial little—”
“Sister,” I finish, wincing. If I hook up with Claire, things won’t just go south with Austin but with the entire team. I sigh. “Claire—”
“No.” She holds up a hand.
“No what?”
“No, I’m not doing this with you. I am an adult, Easton. I’ve made it perfectly clear how I feel about you. And you’ve been honest with me too. Right?”
I nod, clearing my throat. For some reason, I feel like Clairebear, the girl I teased for being a kid for too many years, is about to school me. It’s unsettling and I shift in my chair.
“We shared a kiss. One kiss.” Her voice is forceful and I’m ashamed that she can talk about this a hell of a lot easier than I can.
“I know. It’s just that, I don’t want to mess things up between us, Claire. And it’s not just us. Your brother is my best friend. The team is all I’ve got besides Noah. I can’t—”
“Risk it all on me,” she completes my sentence, softly.
Instantly, I feel like a giant ass. Especially at the look of dejection that fills her face. “It’s not that either, babe.”
She glances up, her eyes wary. “It’s not?”
I place my brownie down and lean forward, closer to her. “It’s not you, Clairebear. It’s me. And that’s not me feeding you some bullshit line either,” I tack on when I get a read of her expression. “I’m out of rehab just over a month. I’m trying to stick to my routine, my schedule, my meetings. The support of the team, of your family, of you”—I pause, trying to find the right words—“I need it all, need you, more than I thought I would.”
Across from me, Claire softens. She reaches across the table and laces my fingers with hers. The gesture is so simple and yet, when her thumb presses into my palm, it fills me with a silent strength I yearn for. “I want you, Claire. I want you in every way imaginable. But I can’t lose everything, including you, when this goes sideways between us.”
“Why would it go sideways?” Her voice catches and I hate the uncertainty I always manage to fill her with.
“Because I’m a fuckup, babe. And I will fuck this up. It’s only a matter of time.”
She shakes her head, her eyes as clear as a summer sky. “I don’t believe that.”
I chuckle harshly and move to lean back in my chair.
Claire catches my fingers before they can slide from her grasp. She tugs me back and shakes her head. “Your problem is that you’ve always gotten away with everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“No one’s ever given you something to really believe in before. If you messed up, the only consequences were for you to bear. I’m not saying it didn’t cut Noah or hurt members of your team, but this is different.” She scrapes her teeth along her bottom lip and suddenly, I want to crawl across the table just to be closer to her.
What is wrong with me? What am I thinking?
“If you take me to your bed, Easton, you can’t just walk away from me.”
“I know that,” I say, a strange mixture of anger and relief clogging my throat. At least she’s finally seeing my point.
“So don’t,” she throws out, her eyes flaring with challenge.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t mess it up. I dare you.”
Is she kidding me right now? My mouth drops open but no sound comes out. Claire’s resolve is obvious, her fingers tightening on mine.
“Claire, I can’t just—”
“You’ve always been a risk taker, Easton. A gambler.”
I blow out a breath, not refuting her statement. Because it’s the truth. I take big risks, willing to lose it all, for that one moment of having it all. “I won’t risk you, Claire.”
She smirks. “Then don’t lose.” With those words, Claire drops my hand and stands from her seat.
I watch, hypnotized, as she rounds the table and comes closer to me.
“Claire,” I warn, my ability to keep my hands to myself nonexistent after trying to rein in my desperate thoughts for the past month.
Claire grins, her eyes flickering with the tiniest hint of vulnerability.
Fuck, I can’t hurt this girl. I can’t.
She doesn’t stop walking until she’s perched in my goddamn lap. The weight of her on my thighs feels better than it should. Instinctively, my fingers grip her waist, holding her closer when I should be holding her back. She winds her arms around my neck, her elbows hooked over my shoulders. We’re eye level when she wets her bottom lip and my gaze drops to her mouth.
She smells like summertime and flowers, inviting and sweet. Her presence wraps around me and holds me captive. I don’t stand a goddamn chance. There’s no way I could reject what Claire is offering.
Because she’s offering herself. More than just her body. But her care, her concern, her fucking light. Only a fool would deny her and I’ve been a fool ten times over. I won’t turn her down again. I won’t let her look at me with hurt when she could look at me with pride.
She believes I can do this. She thinks I can be strong enough to be worthy of her.
How can I let her down? How can I not even try? For her?
I lean forward slowly, closing the distance between our mouths. Claire inhales sharply, her eyes darting to mine before falling to my lips. My palm anchors the center of her back, my pinkie and thumb nearly grazing her ribs.
I breathe her in, savor this moment, allow myself to fall into its sweet promise. My lips touch hers softly, reverently, with an edge of hunger. I kiss her once, twice, and then I hold her close, until her breasts press into my chest and we’re flush together. On the third kiss, Claire’s lips part and my tongue eases inside, flicking against the tip of hers.
She sighs and lowers even more on my lap. My dick stirs as want races through my veins. I kiss Claire thoroughly, our need for each other escalating with each meeting of our tongues. I harden beneath the seam of her jeans. Her fingers clutch at the blades of my shoulders. When we’re both breathing heavily, she grinds against me and I see stars, feeling more like a seventeen-year-old punk than a nearly thirty-year-old man that has had my fair share of women.
But none of them ever made me feel as clumsy and desperate as Claire.
I stand from the chair, lifting her in my arms, and stride toward the stairs. “What is it with you and chairs?” I whisper against her cheek as I press kisses down the column of her neck.
I snort, taking the stairs two at a time. I enter my bedroom and toss her into the center of my bed. She looks relaxed and at ease as she scoots toward the headboard and props her back against the pillows.
I pull off my T-shirt and drop it to the floor, smirking as Claire’s eyes drop—and linger—on my abs.
“What if I said I was going to give you everything, Claire?” I taunt, moving closer to the bed.
She gasps, her eyes flashing up to mine. “I’d say you better get to work, East.”
12
Claire
His nostrils flare and his abs ripple at my words. Easton’s tattoo, a colorful, elaborate, tribal-inspired design that treks up the left side of his ribcage captivates me. He clears his throat and I drag my eyes to his. Easton’s eyes are dark and swirling—a hurricane about to unleash a torrent of wind and rain—and I am here for it. Nerves jumble in my limbs, packing together and unraveling like a spool of thread. I feel uncentered and excited and breathless.
Anticipation rocks through me, heightening my senses so I drink in each detail as it unfolds.
The scent of Easton’s cologne mixed with fresh soap as it rolls off his pillowcase. The fading beams of sunlight displayed along his bedroom wall like a light show. The prowess in Easton’s body as he strides forward. His expression both possessive and vulnerable. There’s enough emotion in his eyes for me to drown myself in and I want to, willingly.
I’ve waited years for this moment, dreamed of this exact encounter, and now, it’s finally happening.
My body hums approvingly as Easton crawls over my frame. His skin is hot where it presses into mine, his hands are rough, with calloused fingers and blunt fingernails, as they trail my skin. Exploring, touching, feeling.
I lie back against his pillows and revel in the feel of his weight as it drops over me. His hands brush my hair away from my face. For a long pause, we stare into each other’s eyes, the way lovers might, even though we don’t yet hold that title. His gaze is searching as it bores into mine, a probing glance to overturn secrets and unravel riddles.
“Claire,” he whispers, his tone rough.
“I want you, East,” I reassure him.
He sighs, closing his eyes for a long beat. His shoulders bunch and his body tightens. He’s a man at war with himself, and for a moment, I let him battle. Because with each of my exhales, his body lowers over mine, and his resolve to keep fighting against this weakens.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he admits on a hushed breath.
“Then don’t,” I murmur.
His eyes flash up to mine, the cocky grin I love rippling over his mouth. “It’s that easy, huh?”
“It is if you want it to be.”
“This feels like one hell of a risk,” he mutters, his mouth arcing toward mine.
“Bigger reward,” I manage to say before he kisses me.
Easton’s kiss is like a drug and I am already an addict. He kisses skillfully, like a man with a lot of experience, but there’s a hunger to his kiss. A desperate pressure to his mouth, a plea to his lips as they coax mine into submission. He kisses me like I’m his future and this is goodbye all at the same time.
I moan as he settles more firmly between my thighs. His hands clasp around my wrists, bringing them over my head and pinning them to the pillows. In this position, each inhale brings my breasts dragging across his chest. My breasts feel heavy, my nipples tingling, and I want nothing more than for him to undress me.
He doesn’t disappoint. When his lips meet mine again, his control snaps. He kisses me fiercely, with a desperate hunger. I meet him kiss for kiss, our teeth clicking, our tongues dueling, our lips desperate for the upper hand. Easton has my shirt over my head and my bra popped open in a matter of seconds. We both shimmy out of our pants, our discarded clothes falling to the floor.
His eyes bore into mine, hazy with lust. “I’m going to ruin you for any other man, Claire. There won’t be another fucking Derek.” He spits his name, his shoulders trembling with a possessiveness that turns me on.
“Is that a promise?” I taunt.
Easton growls and pounces. I chuckle as his body covers mine once more, his hands touching every inch of my skin. “A warning, baby,” he murmurs in my ear right before his fingers scrape against the scrap of lace between my thighs. He strokes my core and I moan. He does it again.
“Easton,” I cry out, my back arching off the mattress.
Jesus, it’s been too long. With all of my sassy talk and flirty banter, I haven’t been with many men. Most of the time, I hold myself back. Something never feels right, but this, right now, feels too right to be anything else.
“You’re so wet for me, Claire,” Easton groans.
He shifts onto his side so he can watch my expression as he pleasures me like it’s something he does every day.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he murmurs, noting the heat on my cheeks. “Watching you come apart in my hands is magic.”
I close my eyes as pressure builds low in my belly. Easton’s lips streak across my chest and he clamps down on my left nipple just before he dips two fingers inside of me and curls them.
I nearly buck off the bed.
“That’s it, baby. Give me everything,” he demands, the stubble of his chin scraping up my throat until his mouth claims mine.
Between the assault of Easton’s lips and the feel of his fingers inside of me, I reach the peak faster than I ever have before.
“East,” I say, wonder and a hint of worry in my tone.
“Shh, I got you, Claire. Let me see you come for me.”
My orgasm rips through me, as powerful as a tidal wave, as I break apart in Easton’s arms. His fingers are relentless, his lips hungry. Ribbon after ribbon of pleasure bursts through my body, colorful and fragmented like a kaleidoscope of possibility.
I’m barely getting my bearings when my eyes pop open.
A million thoughts—did Easton just make me come? Oh my God, what do I say?—scramble in my mind. Before I can say anything, Easton sucks his fingers into his mouth and drags them out with a loud smacking sound.
“You taste better than dessert, Claire,” he says, moving down my body like a freaking panther. All stealth and deliberate-like. My brows furrow together as I watch him. When he settles at the apex of my thighs, understanding dawns and I sit up.
“No, wait. Easton, I can’t. You can’t—”
He shakes his head and hooks my right thigh over his shoulder. “I can, Claire.” He blows against my sensitive flesh and my thighs quiver. East grins saucily, his eyes meeting mine as his tongue darts out and licks a path straight up my center.
I cry out, flopping back against the pillows, my fingers twisting the duvet cover.
I moan as Easton does it again. His fingers hold my thighs open as he swirls his tongue over the little nub that drives me wild. I whimper and feel his chuckles vibrate against me. He works me over again until I’m seeing stars.
Another orgasm rocks through me, more powerful and intense than the first. “You’re right,” I wheeze out.
“About what, baby?”
“You’ve ruined me for any other man.”
Easton snickers, flipping me over and lining up behind me. He pauses to unroll a condom. His hand runs over the swell of my ass. “Just getting started, Claire.” Then, he pushes into me and the Earth tilts on its axis.
13
Easton
Heaven. Being inside of Claire is like owning a piece of heaven.
I’m desperate for her. Fucking delirious.
Pleasuring her was ecstasy. I loved seeing the flush build from her chest to her cheeks. I savored every moan that fell from her mouth, knowing I was responsible for it. And I fucking reveled in every orgasm I helped her achieve.
But right now, I’m balls deep inside of her tight body and I can’t see straight. The only thing I can focus on is making this last
as long as possible. I pull out slowly before plunging back inside of her, swearing.
She chuckles, shifting her weight so her ass pops even higher in the air. And God, the image of her like this is one that will stay etched on my eyelids for eternity. I work a rhythm between us, reveling in every gasp and groan that drops from her lips. My hands grip her hips savagely as I thrust into her, over and over. Her breasts swing from the momentum and I lean forward, removing one of my hands from her hips so I can fondle her breast. Jesus, I can’t get enough of her.
Will I ever have my fill?
I tweak her nipple and increase my pace, drowning in the frantic panting of her breathing. It’s a valiant effort but too fucking soon, my body coils and snaps, and I spill inside of Claire, hugging her to my chest and rolling us both to my mattress.
I hold her for a long moment, our heavy breathing the only sound in the room. I soften inside of her, slip out, and drag myself to the bathroom to clean up. Fuck, what the hell was that? Besides being the most intense sexual encounter of my life—which is saying something—it was with Claire.
I’m the last guy on the planet who wants to talk after sex but right now, that’s exactly what I think Claire and I need to do. Except when I reenter my bedroom, her soft snores pierce the air.
I chuckle, watching her curled up on her side, her hands folded beneath her cheek. She looks like an angel. I pull the duvet over her sleeping body and crawl into bed beside her. Within moments, I pass out. For the first time in months, I dream of nothing.
When I wake in the morning, my body is pressed against Claire’s and I’m already hard, ready for round two. Shit.
I peer at Claire, still sleeping beside me. The morning light filters through the windows, flickering shadows on the walls. Logically, I know I should be paralyzed with fear. Claire and I crossed every line, broke every rule, obliterated any possibility of being just friends last night. But I don’t regret any of it. In fact, every second with her was worth it.