Embracing Reckless

by Melanie Shawn

  But I knew the truth now, though, and it was that I’d just never met someone exciting enough to light that fire. With Clay, the fire was blazing away, and I didn’t see much of a possibility of putting it out again.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  He laughed, but I did notice there was a little rasp behind his voice. “Getting ready for bed.”

  I looked down at myself and assessed my outfit, then kicked my Converse sneakers off and scrambled under the covers, still fully dressed in my jean shorts, long-sleeved jersey tee, and socks.

  Clay laughed. Not a little laugh, either, but a throw-back-your-head belly laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Do you plan to pull the blanket up to your chin next and huddle under it like the grandma in Little Red Riding Hood?”

  I gave him my best defiant look. “If the mood strikes.”

  He settled down onto the bed next to me, stretching out like he had no cares in the world. He looked over at me, fixed me with a steamy look, and with a laconic smile, said, “Babe, trust me. If the mood strikes, trying to cover yourself even more is gonna be the last thing on your mind.”

  Chapter 12

  Brandy

  I sat straight up in bed, sweat pouring down my face, my heart racing. For a long moment, I couldn’t even remember where I was. My eyes strained against the darkness, trying to sort out some kind of usable information that would give me a hint, but they found none.

  I had a ritual that I’d complete every time I woke up from a nightmare, which was more often than I care to admit to myself. I’d close my eyes, grasp something—like the hem of my shirt—as a way of anchoring myself to reality, and then take slow and deep breaths until my galloping heart slowed to a trot.

  Sometimes this ritual worked, sometimes it didn’t. I tried it, but didn’t see any difference at all in my first five or six breaths. I started to get frustrated, and that made things even worse.

  I hadn’t realized how much this calming ritual worked because it served to anchor me to a place where I felt calm and in control—my own room. Here, in this anonymous room, it didn’t hold even a fraction of the power it did at home.

  I moved to swing my legs over the side of the bed and plant my feet on the floor. Like a person stepping off of a bobbing boat on a choppy sea, I wanted nothing more in that moment than to stand on solid ground.

  Before my socks hit the faded shag, though, I felt a strong arm wrap around me, and a soft voice whisper, “Are you okay?”

  As soon as the strength enveloped me and that caring voice hit my ear, everything came rushing back with crystal clarity as my memory cleared all at once. The fight with my mother, my decision to spend spring break on a quest to find the mystery man she claimed was my and Sandy’s father, Sandy being justifiably pissed at me, the car breaking down on the side of the road, Clay rescuing me, and the 1940s-esque sleeping arrangement I’d insisted on to preserve my chastity since I didn’t trust my self-control.

  Nope. Scratch that. That’s what I’d told myself it’d been about, but it wasn’t true. It was about preserving my sense of control. Not just self-control, but control in general…and suddenly I didn’t really care so much about that anymore.

  In fact, in this moment, I really wanted to be out of control and reckless. I wanted to rush headlong into adventure, heedless of the consequences, and forget about the future. I wanted to feel. I wanted to live in the moment, and take what I wanted.

  And it was no mystery to me what I wanted.

  Sitting there in the dark with his strong arm around me and his sweet, caring concern sweeping over me, I wanted him more than I could ever remember wanting anything in my entire life. More than a starving man wanted food, more than a desert-dweller wanted water. More than I imagined those badass synchronized swimming girls must want air after being underwater for five solid minutes.

  That’s how much I wanted Clay.

  And, if I had any say in the outcome, I was gonna have him.

  My inner control freak could go pound sand.

  I made a decision right then and there. Well, I don’t even know if it could be called a decision so much. It was more like I just had an instinct and, without even thinking, acted on it. Really, the only “decision” I made was to turn my brain off so that I didn’t get in my own way with overanalyzing and over planning.

  Without hesitation, I turned and grabbed Clay by his T-shirt, pulled him toward me in a rough, swift movement, and pressed my lips to his.

  For a long moment, I stayed still, my lips pressed to his, unmoving. He did the same.

  I didn’t think it was possible for him to be more shocked by my actions than I was myself. They were so out of character that I wondered if it was even me sitting there, controlling my lips, or if my body had been taken over by a particularly brazen pod person.

  God, I’d never before done something so impetuous. I’d never thrown caution to the wind and just did based on pure, animal instinct.

  From the way my heart was pounding out of my chest and my blood was racing through my veins in a superheated, headlong rush, it was clear that it was something I’d have to try more often. The thrill suited me.

  I quickly found, though, that I had so little experience with acting on impulse that I wasn’t quite sure what to do next. I’d made the bold first move, shocking myself with my impetuous behavior, which was so out of character. But that was the extent of the surprises I had up my sleeve.

  The longer I sat there, pressed against Clay, completely frozen with indecision, the closer I got to giving the whole thing up. My skin was burning, now, but it wasn’t from arousal this time. It was from sheer embarrassment.

  One more second, and I was sure I would’ve disentangled myself, jumped up, and run into the bathroom, hurling embarrassed excuses and apologies over my shoulder.

  Thank God it didn’t come to that, because Clay stepped up and did what I was learning he did best—he took charge.

  His demanding hands traveled the length of my torso, exploring my skin like it was undiscovered territory and he was Lewis and Clarke.

  “I’ve wanted to do that since the minute I laid eyes on you,” he groaned, his soft lips turning intense and persistent as he moved them against my mouth.

  “So have I,” I gasped, and the truth of that statement hit me hard, washing through the length of me and leaving nothing but desire in its wake.

  All of my caution, all of my inhibitions, all of my second guessing and overanalyzing… gone in the time that it took for Clay to touch me and me to realize how much I wanted him.

  Damn. It felt good to let go of all the chains holding me down and just surrender to my base nature.

  Hell, until two seconds ago, I hadn’t even realized I had a base nature, and now I was surrendering to it. Suddenly, life felt like it held nothing but possibility.

  Sexy, sexy possibility.

  I pulled back long enough to gasp, “I want to be naked with you. Right now.” Then, I reached down and pulled my shirt off in a swift motion. I wanted to do it dramatically, before I could lose my nerve.

  I knew that once I had my clothes off and felt Clay’s bare skin pressed against the length of mine, there would be no turning back. There would be no losing my nerve. I just had to dive headlong into these waters. Once I was submerged, it would be sink or swim time.

  Clay moved back and off the bed.

  A terrifying thought popped into my mind. Oh, crap! I scared him off!

  But that was short-lived once I saw what he was doing. After rummaging in the pocket of his discarded jeans for just a moment, he straightened. In his hand, held aloft like a trophy, was a condom.

  I laughed. “And you said not to call you a Boy Scout. Well, I guess in a lot of ways you are.”

  “In the ‘always be prepared’ aspect, I crush it.” He tossed the condom onto the nightstand. “Case in point… now it’s ready when I need it.”

  He climbed back onto the bed, and I leaned
back on the pillows, opening up my arms in invitation.

  He leaned in close and kissed me again, but the feeling behind it was different. It was just as intense, but so soft and gentle that it melted me inside. This was more about the seduction than the action itself, and if the intention was to turn my inner calibration up to eleven, then that mission was more than accomplished.

  His lips trailed kisses down my neck, sending shivers everywhere that his hot mouth touched. The thought popped into my mind that I could easily stay here forever. Just abandon the rest of my regular life. No more school, no more friends, no more family. No more eating, no more sleeping. Nothing else but this. Here. This room, this bed, and Clay touching me. Yes, I could definitely do that. In fact, it would be heaven.

  Without his lips breaking their steady rhythm of kissing for one instant, his sure, practiced fingers unhooked my bra and pulled it slowly away, his laser-focused eyes fastened on my breasts. His breathing sped up more the longer he looked, and how much the sight of my body turned him on caused an achy thrumming deep in my belly.

  Slowly, he lowered his head to my nipples and took them in his mouth one by one, his hot tongue flicking them to stiff peaks and then swirling around them. I felt the jolts this caused running all the way through my body and settling between my legs, as if I had a direct line installed through my belly that transmitted sensation straight from my nipples to my pussy.

  As if reading my mind, Clay ran his hands up my still-denim-clad inner thigh until he reached the V where my legs met. When his palm covered me, he groaned low in his throat and growled, “Fuck, Brandy, I can feel how hot and wet you are for me, even through your jeans.”

  I threw my head back at his words. There was nothing he did—not even touching me—that sent me into the stratosphere the same way that his voice did. And when it was a low, raspy, desperate growl that told me exactly how much he wanted me, and how much I turned him on? Forget about it. I was in orbit, and nothing could bring me down.

  This was a whole new world for me. I’d never been turned on like this before. I’d been with other guys before, sure. Fumbling high school goofballs on academic decathlon trips, when it felt like part of the high school mandate was to fool around. But I’d decided pretty quickly that it wasn’t really my thing. I didn’t find it exciting. In fact, if I’d had to choose one word to describe those experiences, it probably would’ve been “boring.” A close runner up would’ve been “annoying.”

  This was different. This was so different, in fact, that it felt weird to even categorize the two types of experiences as the same thing: sex.

  If sex in my past had been a sort of take-it-or-leave-it proposition, sex with Clay was definitely a TAKE-IT-TAKE-IT-TAKE-IT-TAKE-IT affair.

  I ran my hands up and down Clay’s back as he touched me, breathing in the way his muscles twitched under my touch, making me feel powerful and sexy.

  My fingers brushed against the waistband of his boxer briefs. Another urge bubbled up in my belly, and since following all the ones that had come before it seemed to be working out well, I decided to keep up that trend and follow this one, too. Stamping down any nervousness before it could take root and grow, I pushed the fabric down over his ass with firm, decisive hands.

  Clay leaned back on the bed to give me room to maneuver.

  I grasped his dick firmly in my hand, wrapping my fingers around the shaft and squeezing gently. It was throbbing, like it had its own heartbeat, and I recognized the rhythm. It was the same one I felt low in my belly every time Clay put his hands on me. Or looked at me.

  I moved my fist upward and then down again, slowly at first but gradually building up speed. I paid close attention to even the tiniest reactions. It was like an experiment, and Clay’s body was giving me all the data and feedback I needed.

  Clay stripped off the rest of my clothes, and I rushed to help him, our fumbling fingers running into each other as we scrambled and most likely made the job take longer than it needed to. That didn’t matter, though. The desperation itself felt hot. Plenty hot enough to make up for the slowdown.

  When I was completely naked, he wrapped me up in his arms tenderly, like I was a precious package, and laid me back on the bed.

  He moved his hands over my body, every inch, leaving no small part unexplored. I kept my eyes glued to his, loving the heat that flared in them every time he looked at a new curve or plane of my skin.

  He trailed his fingertips over my sensitive, shivering body using the lightest touch imaginable. Like feathers trailing their way over my body, they left tingles in their wake that danced on the surface of my skin long after they’d moved on to new explorations.

  Finally, I couldn’t stand it one instant longer. This gentle, tender build-up felt good, of course, but it had done its job too well. It had built me up, and now I wanted to move on…no, needed to move on.

  I grabbed Clay’s face, turning it until he was looking directly into mine. No distractions. “I want you inside me. Now. Please. Now.”

  Clay didn’t hesitate. He snatched the condom off of the nightstand, ripped it from its packaging, and slid it over his hard cock. The whole thing happened so fast I barely had time to think. I liked it that way. I liked the feeling of being carried along by a swift current.

  Clay positioned himself between my legs and thrust into me. My inner walls stretched wide, accepting the sweet intrusion and sending a firestorm of sensation racing through my body.

  His hard thrusts formed a rhythm that my hips matched, and before I knew it, we were moving like one entity. It felt like fate, that perfect synchronization. Like our bodies had been created to move together like this, like our motions had been choreographed before the beginning of time and now we were just dancing to music that only our souls could hear.

  I felt the buildup instinctively before my brain processed it and put a name on it—the pressure of a balloon getting ready to burst, or a volcano about to explode. As soon as I realized what was happening, I whispered it in Clay’s ear. “I think I’m gonna come. I’m close.”

  Hearing my own voice saying the words was like a magic key unlocking a floodgate. Sensation rushed through me like a dam bursting, and I clung to Clay’s body as I rode it out.

  He tensed completely at the same time and buried his face in my neck as he pulled me up tightly to him. I loved that it was his natural reaction to coming—to pull me as close to him as he possibly could. It felt like being encircled in warm, strong protective hands that kept me anchored as the storm of sensation beat against me in wave after wave, and he didn’t let go until both of our climaxes were fully spent.

  Sweating, panting, head still spinning, I collapsed back on the bed. I felt wanton. That wasn’t a word I’d thought of since SAT prep, and it damn sure wasn’t a word I’d thought would ever apply to me when I’d studied it. But, sure enough, that’s how I felt—wild, wicked, and wanton. A whole ‘W’ trifecta that, up until now, I’d envied when I’d seen it in characters in books or movies but never hoped to achieve myself.

  I looked at Clay. He seemed to be in that “sweating, panting, head spinning” stage, too.

  I smiled to myself. I’d put him there. I was responsible for every bead of that sweat and every gasp of breath into his lungs. Me.

  Brandy the Sexpot.

  It had a nice ring to it. Yeah. I liked it.

  “So, are you still going to respect me in the morning?” I joked.

  He turned his eyes to me earnestly. “Absolutely,” he answered, and there was so much raw honesty in his voice that I couldn’t bring myself to tell him I’d just been kidding around.

  “Good. Thanks.”

  Wow, Bran. Way to bring things to a crashing halt in a hurry.

  He pulled me to him, wrapping me up in his arms and stroking my hair. It felt so peaceful. I felt calmer and more centered in that moment than I’d felt since I could remember, which was strange since my circumstances were so up in the air.

  Since I couldn’t explain it,
I decided to just enjoy it. After all, the worst thing I could do would be to analyze it to death. I’d killed enough good moods by waiting so anxiously for the other shoe to drop that I’d sent it metaphorically crashing to the floor before circumstances could. I’d never been able to stop myself from doing that, but I’d done it enough that I at least recognized the pitfall.

  I knew why this time was different. I knew what’d been added to the mix that gave me the strength to avoid falling into my old self-sabotaging ways.

  Clay.

  Being here, wrapped up in his arms, was the secret ingredient that’d calmed me and helped me feel at peace.

  I drifted off, then, and enjoyed something that was, for me, a rarity—a good night’s sleep.

  Chapter 13

  Clay

  Brandy opened her eyes and stretched her arms above her head, stretching luxuriously, like a cat in a beam of sunlight. The curtains were closed, so there was no beam for her to be framed in, but even the soft glow of morning light that illuminated the curtains and made them glow white made her look even more beautiful than I’d seen her yet.

  She turned her head as she stretched and as soon as her eyes landed on me, a broad smile lit up her entire face. That hit me right in the gut.

  To think that her first reaction on seeing me—one that she would’ve been struck by before her thought process even kicked into gear—was to smile sent me into the stratosphere. That meant I had really succeeded in making her feel safe and protected.

  Not only that, but she also pretty clearly liked me, and more than just a little.

  It didn’t get much better than that.

  The grin that’d been pretty much permanently attached to my face since the minute I’d seen her showed up once again.

  “Morning, beautiful,” I murmured, brushing her sleep-rumpled hair back from her gorgeous face.

  As if suddenly realizing who we were and where she was, her hands flew up to cover her eyes. “Oh, no! Oh, God.”