Clash(4)

By yelling at him and throwing him out of the dressing room.

Throwing the rest of my clothes on like I was declaring war on them, I stuffed my costume into my bag at the same time I threw it over my shoulder. I didn’t bother letting my hair out of its headache inducing bun. I didn’t care to wash off the three layer deep pancake makeup covering my face.

I had to get to him. I couldn’t get there fast enough.

Lunging across the room, I threw the door open.

Leaning against the opposite wall, Jude was every shade of tormented. The emotion expressing itself on his face was the exact emotion I was sweltering in.

One side of his mouth curved up as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Dropping my bag, I threw myself against him, wrapping both arms around him so tightly I could feel every one of his ribs hard against my chest. A heartbeat hadn’t passed before his arms dropped around me with just as much urgency and maybe even more relief.

“I’m sorry,” I said, inhaling the boy who, even in scent, exuded a hint of trouble just barely masked by a reluctant sweetness.

Tucking my head under his chin, he exhaled. “I’m sorry, too.”





CHAPTER TWO


“Why won’t you tell me where we’re going?” I asked, pressed so tightly against Jude on the bench seat of his old truck every inch of me ran against most every inch of him.

He smiled at the dark road we were bouncing over. Wherever we were going, I doubted there would be modern conveniences like hot water and cell phone reception.

“Because I’m enjoying your attempts to pull it from me far too much,” he answered, glancing over at me. His eyes dripped with wicked joy.

My heart did the sputter to a stop thing. Right before it restarted like it was trying to take flight. “Is that so?”

He made a noise of agreement, wetting his lips.

Against every instinct that had been overthrown by desire, I snapped out of my belt and slid across the bench seat until I was pressed up against the passenger side window. “Still enjoying yourself?”

He looked over at me, his face lined with contemplation, right before he reached across the seat for me. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, sliding me back across the seat, but he didn’t stop there. Grabbing my right thigh, he lifted it, shifting me until my hips had successfully pivoted right over his lap. The truck didn’t slow, it sped up, evening out the bouncing so that my body vibrated above Jude’s.

“I guess I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered, lacing my fingers behind his neck, feeling the press of the steering wheel against my back, feeling the firmness of his body everywhere else.

Keeping one eye on the road and one hand on the steering wheel, he gave the rest of his body’s attention to me. “Damn right, you’re not,” he said, his mouth curving into a smile that disappeared when my mouth covered his.

It wasn’t quite a moan, it went deeper than that, but the sound that came from his chest when my lips parted his and my tongue crept into his mouth was all Jude. I wasn’t paying the truck that much attention, but I thought I might have detected another increase in speed.

Jude kissed me back, matching every slide of my tongue and movement of my lips with one of his own. His free hand slid beneath my sweater, smoothing up the plane of my back. His hand was warm, slightly rough from days spent working in the garage and on the football field, and they were capable.

The truck hit a particularly nasty bump, pounding my lap down hard against his. Heat spread from the area between my legs, and this time it was me who made a noise that had yet to be named. The reality of us driving down a dark, gravel country road at thirty to forty miles an hour didn’t register with me when my hands left his neck to tug at the hem of my sweater. If he wasn’t going to do it, I was. Throwing the sweater over my head, I tossed it across the bench seat.

“Luce,” Jude said, his voice just enough strained to let me know I was doing something very right. “I’m trying to drive here.”

He’d put the brakes on this too many times before, metaphorically speaking‌—‌I wasn’t letting him this time. I was planting my feet beneath that brake before he could slam down on it.

Moving my mouth just outside his ear, I whispered, “Me too,” right before I took his earlobe into my mouth, sucking it softly.

Another sound slid up his throat, this one so loud it vibrated my chest. “Hell with it,” he said, no amount of hesitation or uncertainty in his voice. It was as firm and resolute as his body thrumming beneath mine.

With one flick of his fingers, my bra snapped free from my back, sliding down my arms until it landed on the floor beside Jude’s feet. His mouth covered mine again, hot and unyielding. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to if it meant not being able to kiss Jude like he was kissing me right now. How he could make me feel his passion, his love, and his possession in one kiss was inexplicable. But he could. Jude’s body expressed his feelings, more often than not, better than his words.