Prick Tease (Tangled Desires Book 1) (4 page)

I giggle as he slides my underwear down, tickling my sensitive skin with his breath. “You say the strangest things.”

“Maybe.” He smirks. “Now promise you won’t get loud.”

I don’t even have time to utter a word as he darts the tip of his tongue over my clit, then he’s licking me everywhere, thrusting into me, and all I can do is hold his head to my pussy while I arch off the bed, close to cumming in his mouth. 

“Are you going to sleep all day or are you going to join us for breakfast?”
Razer yells through the door, abruptly breaking me out of the most vivid dream I’ve ever had.

I groan and roll to my side, pressing my thighs together in the hopes of easing how aroused I am. I used to have dreams about him all the time, although eventually they’d dwindled to nothing. I thought I was over them, but seeing him again apparently brought them back with a vengeance. “Get lost.”

“Still a morning person, Little Bit?”

Normally, yes. But not when I’m about to spontaneously combust over a sex dream featuring the man on the other side of the door. Well, unless he wants to join me and finish what my imagination started, he better go the hell away. I toss my pillow across the room and it hits the wall with a thud before landing on the floor. “Don’t call me that, Rooster.”

“Rooster? Shit, Claire. That’s a low blow.” His rumbling chuckle belies his words, and I imagine he’s remembering the day our little bantam rooster kicked him in the balls. The boys had taken to calling him Rooster for months afterward. But then we’d only been kids. Things like that kept us amused.

“Fine. Do you want coffee?” he asks.

“Yeah, but I’ll doctor my own. Now go away.” I toss an arm over my eyes. How am I supposed to face him when my body betrays me even in my sleep? When his footsteps fade into the distance I slip my hand into my panties and through my wetness. As virginal as I am, I’m not a complete prude. It doesn’t take me long to take the edge off, and then I make a dash for the bathroom.

“What? Are you everywhere?” I scowl as I cross my arms over my chest.

He stands there with his toothbrush hanging from his mouth, a foamy glower on his face as he runs his gaze over me. The way he looks at me in those first couple of seconds before he remembers I’m staring at him is practically indecent. My nipples pebble under the intensity. “Is that my T-shirt?”

“Th-this?” I glance down, smoothing my hands over the front of it. “No. I found this at Oxfam. It’s comfortable.”

“I had one just like it. Last time I was here, actually.” His brow creases. “It was my favorite.”

He’s going to call me a stalker in a minute, or psycho. Apparently I am. I mean, it’s been seven years and I’m wearing his T-shirt and having blasted sex dreams about him. That’s got to be some kind of psychiatrist’s wet dream. The virgin who has sex dreams featuring her much older brother’s best friend. No wonder I pick dick heads like Henley to date instead. “Shower?”

He glances at the shower and then at me, adjusting his stance as though he’s suddenly uncomfortable. “Don’t you think you’re old enough to turn the water on yourself?”

I sneak a peek down the length of his body as he turns to spit in the sink. The outline of his cock is a bulge that fills the space behind his zipper. I drag my gaze from him to the shower, and back again.
Interesting.
Last night when I half-assed considered seducing him, it had been pure fantasy. But now? Has the idea of me showering turned him on?
Oh great! Now I’m getting turned on.

Tapping my foot impatiently, I ignore the rush of sensation to my core and focus on death-staring him out of the bathroom. “I need to take a shower, if you don’t mind. Will you be much longer?”

He wipes his mouth on a towel then plucks his shirt from where it hangs over the towel rack. “You never used to be this much of a pain in the ass about bathroom time.”

“You never used to take more than three and a half minutes,” I snap.

“Whatever.” He brushes past me, and that little bit of contact is enough to have me on edge again. I hate that I turn into this bitch in heat with the slightest attention from him. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic. There has to be some psychological issue I’m not aware of. Once I sort out Henley’s mess, I’m going to seek counselling. 

“And, Little Bit.” He smirks, goading me, or more likely trying to shove me back in the box I’m not supposed to escape from. “I’ll be taking my shirt when I leave.”

I’m not sure what to make of it. His boner, that is. He’s once again tagged me as the kid he left behind. Maybe I’m wrong, and he didn’t get a hard on at the idea of me showering. Perhaps that’s just a normal consequence of it being morning. What do they call it,
morning wood
? Or maybe he’s weird and brushing his teeth turns him on. How the heck would I know? Seven years with him not even acknowledging my existence ought to tell me one thing. He has never been and never will be interested in me. “Over my naked body.” Sticking out my tongue, I slam the door in his face.  

Razer

“It’s dead body,” I mutter at the closed door, which is exactly what I’m going to be if I don’t keep this situation under control. The way my threadbare T-shirt stretched over her taut nipples, and rode her hips to show the tiniest sliver of pink panty had me wanting to lift her onto the counter and put my mouth on her. All over her. I think she knew it, too.

I caught her staring at my erection, and the twitch of her lips before she told me to get out. Any other girl and I’d be in that shower with her, but not Claire. Even if I could overlook how much younger than me she is, I still can’t fucking touch her. Her brothers would never forgive me. Mace would probably never speak to me again. Being with her isn’t worth the damage I’d cause, but that doesn’t stop me from imagining slipping into the shower with her, sliding my hands over every inch of her creamy skin, and finding out just how hard those nipples can get for me while I bury my face between her legs. 

***

While I’m talking to Tom, Claire glides into the kitchen and lifts up on tiptoe to snatch my cap from my head. It’s a game we used to play a lot when we were younger, but having her body press up against mine is torture. Her hair’s still wet from the shower and little drops glide down the side of her throat, making it almost impossible not to dart my tongue over her silky skin and gather them up. Not fucking likely.

With a mental headshake I drag myself back to the conversation I’m having with her brother. “I’m only in town for a week. I need to go out to the old house today and work out what I’m going to have to do to get it ready for sale.”

“You wouldn’t consider keeping it? Moving back here?”

Claire’s eyes widen, though she pretends she isn’t listening, busying herself with the coffeepot and more sugar than is possibly warranted for one cup of coffee.

“No. I’ve got a friend doing security in Lanston. I’ll head up there once I put the house on the market.”

“How much work do you think it’ll need?” Tom places his mug in the sink.

“A fair bit. The old man never did any maintenance.”

“Hey, Raze. Have you heard from Mace recently?” Claire scoops eggs out of the pot on the stove and butters a piece of toast.

I rub at a rough spot on my jaw while I consider how long it’s been since the last time he contacted me. But there’s no point in worrying Claire, until I’ve tried to get hold of him. It’s not the first time Mace has gone dark. On rare occasions there’s been months of radio silence with him in Recon, and the same for my time in Special Ops. “No. But you know how it is. No news is good news.”

She turns a stool and sits on it backwards, my cap still covering her hair. My gaze drops, catches the way her thighs spread on either side of the bars. Jail bait. Well, not exactly. Not anymore. But she’s still too young. Her brothers would kill me.
Off-limits.
The seam of her jeans draws me further, to where it runs vertically up to buttons that my fingers itch to undo. My imagination has travelled this path many times before. Taking its time on the buttons, slipping a hand inside the waist to cup her hip while I sneak a peek at her cotton panties.

“Did you hear me?” She’s blushing. Her cheeks heat, a sexy shade of scarlet. I like that on her. The way she reacts to me.

I rip my gaze back to her face and offer her a wide grin. “Sorry. Go on.”

“I renovate houses for charity. We do them up and sell them off, and the money goes to kids in need. If you need a hand with your grandfather’s house, I’m your girl.”

My cock twitches at the idea of her being my girl. But she’ll never be my girl. I’m a fucking pervert, but that doesn’t mean I plan on acting on it.

“Maybe you two can go over there after we pick up your car, Little Bit,” Tom mumbles, his mouth full of eggs.

Claire rests her elbow on the back of the chair, the flash of a metal heart on a twist of leather makes my mouth dry. I reach out to finger the thin piece of metal, inadvertently grazing her wrist. “You still have that?”

There’s a jolt of something that passes between us while she whips around and a small smile lights up her face. “Of course I do. You gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday.”

“I know.” She has no idea I gave her my literal heart for her sixteenth birthday. That it belonged to her then. Still does. My gaze lifts to the necklace around her neck. “I figured you would have given up childish stuff like that.”

Her brow draws together, and she pulls her hand away from mine to finger the chain around her throat as she gets up from the table. “It’s not childish. They’re some of my most precious memories.”

When she stalks out of the room, I dart a glance at Tom and then follow after her. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She spins around, the small group of disks hanging from the chain between her fingers. “What did you mean? I’ve grown up, but that doesn’t mean I forgot where I come from.”

“Of course not.” I reach out to slip the disks from her fingers. All of us boys left around the same time, except Tom. She had an extra two years with him before he took to the competition circuit. I brush my thumb over the first one. The one with Mace’s name on it, behind it is mine, and then Rush’s, and finally Tom’s. All of them shiny from careful cleaning, but worn and dented around the edges. “I can’t believe you still have them is all.”

“Because they’re childish, like I am? I’m not the little kid you left behind.”

I am definitely aware of how grown up she is. I lay the disks flat against her flushed skin and trace my fingers up the chain, pretending to straighten it, using it as an excuse to touch as much of that creamy skin as I dare. Her lips part a little as I glide my fingers up the side of her neck. The column of her throat moves under my touch, and then she reaches up and runs trembling fingers along my jaw. “Razer?”

For a minute I get lost in her. The soft beat of her pulse beneath my fingers and the way she smells of honey and vanilla. In the fact that she’s kept the things I gave her. That they mean something. I
still
mean something to her.

Holy shit! I can’t be doing this.
Flashing her a shit-eating grin, I ignore the confusion in her gaze and knock my cap off her head to ruffle her hair with my knuckles. “Tom and I will go get your car. Are you going to be all right to look after yourself while we’re gone?”

Her glare burns into my back while I stroll back into the kitchen. It’s nothing compared to the internal combustion I’ve got going on over letting her creep under my skin like that. I left her behind for a reason, and she damn well needs to stay there. Even if my body is trying to convince me otherwise.

Chapter Four

Claire

“Hot damn.” All I can do is stare at his back as he saunters back down the hallway, my heart pounding in my ears. My fingertips tingle from where they ran along the angle of his jaw, his pulse beating hard and rhythmic under them for that split second before he turned it into a moment from our past. I smooth my hair down with my palm.

“Stay out of trouble while we’re gone.” He calls out, and then the front door bangs shut. A moment later Tom’s car starts up. He’s tricked up the old beast, and it rattles the windows as he backs outs of the driveway.

Stay out of trouble.
The only damn trouble I’ve ever had has come from people like him. I’ve always been the good one. Even when I’d wanted to rebel, Razer had a sixth sense for knowing my actions before I did and thwarting them all. Prick. Staying out of trouble has gotten me nowhere, while people like him, like Henley, do whatever they want. I don’t even know why after all these years he still has such an effect on me. I should know better. The night of my sixteenth birthday replays in my head.

“I’ve got something for you.”
Razer takes my hand and drags me down the stone steps to the back of the garden, where we’re alone, away from the party.

He’s so much taller than me, already harder than he was when he left two years earlier, but there’s still a softness to his jaw as he pulls me to face him. One side of his mouth raises, as he stares down at me. Damn, that one-sided smile makes my heart beat funny. For the past two years he’s been all I can think abo
ut. Wondering where he is and what he’s doing. Whether he’s safe and if he’ll come back to me. I know I don’t have the right to think like that, but I’ve loved him forever. First like a brother, then as a friend, but while he was gone it changed into something far more scary and intense.

He stares into my eyes for a beat. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“I know.” I want to tell him it’s okay. That I’ll be waiting for him to come back. That I’ll wait as long as he needs. “I’ll miss you.”

Shoving his hand in his pocket he pulls out this thin strip of leather with a metal heart twined into it and takes my hand, slowly winding it around my wrist before doing up the clasp. “I’ll miss you too, Claire.”

He brushes a few strands of my hair from the side of my face, cupping my cheek, his gaze lingering over my lips. Butterflies flap their enormous wings in my chest, and my heart is pounding as I stretch up, leaning into his hand. His head dips, barely a fraction, his fingers tightening around my wrist, those gray eyes staring so seriously into mine. “Write me?”