“Then do it.”
This time, there’s no hesitation as he latches onto my neck, the pain and pleasure spiraling through me, reminding me I’m supposed to be helping myself to the end, Trips’ hands fully occupied in keeping me from slamming my head against the headboard.
I swipe at my clit, and just that touch has me almost to the edge.
Then he shifts, latching onto the outside of one breast, gifting the delicate flesh there to the same treatment as my neck, but the burn more electric so close to my nipple. I circle my clit faster, scrabbling against his back as he moves to the center of my chest, snatching up the inside of the other swell into his mouth. This hickey has me shouting, a flood of pain and pleasure ricocheting through me, my body clenching him like it never wants to let go.
“Fucking shit, Crash,” he grunts, his rhythm failing him as he slams us together with no grace, no forethought, just chasing his pleasure as mine drags me away, my arms clenching him against me, my nipples rubbing against his chest as tremors wrack me.
With a strangled yell, he spasms inside me, his body arched back, the early morning light highlighting every dip and curve of muscle in stark relief.
“Fuck,” he whispers, his hair lank across his forehead as he gazes down at me. “Fuck.”
I open my arms, and after a moment, he collapses into them, our hearts thundering like an oncoming storm.
We stay wrapped together until Falk comes to get us, the silence between us finally not painful. Instead, it’s the place where we’ll hide our secrets, an ease built from another anchor point between us. A den in which our monsters get to meet, to mate, to lick their wounds and prepare for the hunt.
Because with this barrier down, the hunt can finally begin.
Chapter 71
Clara
Thursday morning, the tenor in the house changes, and I know with no one saying that the man of the house is back.
Falk’s black eye and ginger steps are another sign that he’s back. Apparently Trips and I getting that morning alone wasn’t a trap, but some strange gift given to us by the man who’s been Trips’ shadow for weeks.
Running my hand over the fading mark on my neck, I wonder if he knows how big of a gift that morning was. And if so, whether we should trust him with more.
How much has Trips already shared with the older man? So many questions hover around us, but I can’t get answers until I gain access to open communication with all the guys. Because the silence at the Westerhouse estate is just as frustrating as not being able to check in with Walker, RJ, and Jansen.
Both of us know the risks, though, so I don’t ask the questions cycling in my head, even while we’re seated beside each other in the car. Instead, I curl against Trips, his touch more familiar today as he plays with one of my curls. And as another gift, Falk gets us coffees again, despite Smith’s bitching.
We might have an ally.
Because good days come so rarely, I decide I’m well enough to take the risk I’ve been planning. Then I can finally check in on everyone.
After class, I don’t ask Smith to go to the bathroom. Instead, I meet Walker’s concerned gaze across the lobby as I turn away from him and towards the door.
The day is dreary, rain threatening, the bright scent of fresh grass competing with the hint of ozone warning of a big storm on its way. I don’t know how to signal to Walker what I’m doing, but he has to know that I need a way to communicate, that despite school starting I still don’t have the internet. But without a visual code—whydidn’t we learn sign language?—I’ll just hope that he can catch on.
When I step outside, I worry that I’ve timed it wrong, the blue sports car not parked illegally today. “What the fuck is in my shoe?” I mutter, ducking down to pretend to fish something out.
Walker steps around me, and the urge to grab onto his ankle, to jump up and fling myself into his arms, to just touch him, for one second, is so strong that I dig my fingers into my palms to keep them to myself.
But the screech of rubber has me standing, the hint of a grin on my face caught by him, and when I flick my eyes at Aiden Johnson’s ride, I hope I’ve successfully telegraphed my target.
It would be better if Jansen were here, but once again, he’s nowhere to be seen, making me worried about what’s happened since I last saw him. It’s only been a little over a week since hepeered at me through a crack in the bathroom ceiling, but a lot can change in a week.
Luckily, we practiced, drilled really, for months. None of us are at Jansen’s level, but we all have basic lifts down. So, when Walker bumps into Aiden, his apologies met with anger and annoyance, I know he’s done the lift. And when Aiden rushes past and Walker spins, bumping into me instead, Aiden’s keys, wallet, and cell phone in hand, I take the keys and phone, leaving the wallet for him to figure out.
“Sorry,” I say as Smith yells, ‘Watch it,’ pushing Walker to the side. I take a few more steps before dropping to the ground, the cellphone jammed into my bra and the keys in my hand.
“Did you drop this?” I call, causing both Aiden and Walker to turn back.
“What the fuck?” Aiden barks, stomping back to grab the keys, before rushing to class, even later than he usually is. Walker, meanwhile, crosses to the other side of the quad, but not before I see the hint of a grin.
It worked. I’ve got a phone, and hopefully I can find a safe way to use it.
