My hands moved from his neck to the bottom hem of his shirt. Skimming my fingers inside, I played with the skin trailing along his jeans. Our tongues tangled as my thumbs skimmed lower. Moaning into my mouth, Jude dug his hands into my backside, pushing himself up against me.
Okay, yeah. If he kept pressing and moving against me like that I was about two hot seconds away from ripping both of our clothes off.
As he picked me up, I wrapped my legs around him. Pressing my back up against the truck, he bowed my neck over the hood to give him better access. His mouth moved from mine to my neck, kissing and sucking the sensitive skin until I couldn't breathe.
Somewhere in the back of my sex-crazed mind, I realized the truck's owner probably wouldn't be down with Jude and me going at it, having clothed sex on the hood, but I was long past words . . . and caring.
So when the snaps and clicks of cameras started to grow louder, I paid them no attention. All I felt was Jude's mouth and body moving over me. It was obvious that was all he cared about, too, because it wasn't until the people and cameras were a few cars away that either of us took notice.
"Jude! Jude!" they were shouting. "Lucy! Lucy!" More shouting and snapping, so much it shot us both out of our makeout haze.
Jude's muscles tensed over me, and, when his face lifted over mine, I saw a familiar expression I hadn't seen in a long time. Dr. Jekyll, meet Mr. Hyde.
"Jude," I begged. "Chill out," I coaxed as he set me down.
The photographers continued to yell things at us. Some comments were too vulgar to repeat. Their cameras never stopped snapping.
Angling himself in front of me, Jude stiffened further.
Shit. This would not turn out well for all the parties involved if I couldn't talk King Kong down from the Empire State Building.
"Jude," I said, grabbing his arm and trying to turn him around. He didn't budge. "It's fine. They're just pictures."
God, the muscles in his arm felt like they were going to burst through his shirt.
"They're pictures of you and me, Luce," he replied, seething as the cameras continued to go off. "Pictures of you and me doing something I don't want everyone else to see."
Why was he just standing there, letting them get more photos of him about to blow his lid?
"This is not the first time we've been under public scrutiny," I said. "And it won't be the last. And I sure as heck am not going to stop letting you kiss me like that whenever and wherever the mood strikes, so we might as well start getting used to it now." I don't know where I was finding the sense to be so reasonable.
"How's she in bed, Jude?" one of the photographers, who had no sense of self-preservation, called out.
"What did you just say, dickhead?" Jude charged a few steps forward. I didn't let go of him, so he had to drag me right along.
"Jude, stop. Think!" I yelled, realizing he'd only gotten stronger in the weeks of summer training. "Stop and think!"
My body couldn't stop him, but my words could. Coming to an abrupt stop, Jude glanced at me. It was the shortest of looks, but his whole face morphed in that silent exchange. He closed his eyes and took in a few breaths before looking back at the photographers.
Giving his shoulders an anger-defusing shake, he slid his phone from his pocket. Holding it up, Jude took a picture. "There. I've got all your faces on my camera now," he said, his voice controlled. Just barely. "If I see or hear about any one of those pictures being printed, I'll come after each and every one of you." Jude pointed his finger at the photographer who'd been stupid enough to ask about my skills in the sack. "Starting with you."
After they'd picked their jaws up from the ground, the photographers started to disperse. One chanced snapping one more, but rethought that when murder flashed over Jude's face. Only when the last one was out of sight did Jude's shoulders relax. Turning around, he had the good grace to at least look sheepish.
"Sorry?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
I nudged him, proud of his restraint. "If I had a quarter for every time I've said-no, I've shouted-'Jude!' and, 'Stop!' in the same breath, I'd be a rich woman."
Picking my bags back up, he hung an arm over me. "You already are a rich woman," he said, making my stomach drop. I wasn't a rich woman. He was rich.
"And if I had a quarter for actually listening to you when you've yelled the words 'Jude!' and 'Stop!' in the same breath . . ." He grinned down at me. "I'd be middle-class."
"What do you think the owner would say if he knew what we'd just done on the hood of his new truck?" I said as Jude steered me around the side of it.
"He'd probably ask for a repeat performance."