Crash (Crash 1)

“I hope you like it,” Dad said as he placed the chicken piccata in front of Jude.

Looking over at me, his eyes all intentional again, Jude replied, “I already do.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I’d always loved a campfire. But a campfire at night, sharing a blanket with Jude squished up beside me, with a parent about to retreat to bed, went beyond love.

This was the campfire to top all campfires.

“Night, kids,” Dad said, stretching as he stood. Dinner had been a pleasant event, thanks to my mom staying locked in her office, giving someone a tongue thrashing through her cell. Dad, odd as he was, was pleasant to be around if you could get past the fact that reality escaped him. I’d managed to accept this as a fact of life, and Jude didn’t seem to have a problem with it either.

“Night, Dad.” My heart was already racing. I knew, once we were alone, something was going to happen. The tension had been that thick between us the past hour as expectant looks, hands playing finger hockey, legs brushing legs, and the unsaid words between us louder than had we spoken them ensued.

“Goodnight, Mr. Larson. Thanks again for dinner,” Jude called after my dad, his hand affixing above my knee.

“I like your dad,” he said as his thumb circled the inside of my leg.

It was impossible to offer any other response than a smile and a nod.

“The verdict’s still out on your mom,” he said, chuckling.

Another nod and smile.

“And I like you,” he said, his voice low. “In fact, I really like you.” Taking his hand from my leg, he lifted it to my face. And then the other. He held me so firmly I couldn’t look anywhere but at him, but gently enough that, had I tried, he would have released me.

“I like you, too.”

Cocking an eyebrow, he waited.

“I really like you,” I added, feeling so many damn sparks I could have ignited any moment.

Grinning, his thumb moved to my mouth. Brushing the line of my lower lip, he studied me like I was something he could possess.

I was all for woman empowerment and all that jazz, but standing in the heat of that touch, I wanted to be possessed in every way another person could possess you.

When I was sure more than a minute had gone by, but lost track of all time other than that, I opened my eyes. His were the lightest shade of gray I’d seen yet. “You can kiss me, Jude.”

I expected just about anything else than his forehead lining as his eyes darkened. “I know I can,” he said, his voice tight. “I’m just not sure if I should.”

The ache that originated at the very core of me began to spread. There was only one way to alleviate it. “You should kiss me, Jude.”

His eyes went another shade darker, but they never looked away from mine. “I shouldn’t,” he said, sliding a hand behind my neck, skimming a finger beneath the collar of my shirt. “But right now, I don’t give a damn.”

His words hadn’t settled on me before his lips did. They were as powerful as his hands, but as gentle at the same time. Parting his lips, his groan rumbled against my chest, and before I had time to process if I should or shouldn’t, I swung my leg over his lap because, beyond every rational reason, I couldn’t be close enough to him.

His tongue against mine, his chest pressed to mine, his hands holding me like they were as hungry as mine were, I wondered if this was one of those moments people looked back on in their darkest days and smiled on. I wouldn’t only be smiling, I’d be cartwheeling from this memory until the day I died.

My hands slipped beneath his shirt, scrolling up his stomach until there was nowhere left to go but down.

“Luce,” he breathed, when my fingers settled on his belt. “Stop.” His hands gripped my h*ps firmly, but his mouth kept pace with mine again.

“I’ll stop when you stop,” I whispered against his mouth.

“Dammit,” he sighed, pushing against me with his hands, but continuing to welcome me with his lips.

“If you’re done with her, can I have a turn?” a voice suddenly shouted at us from down the beach.

“Shit,” he hissed, lifting me to a stand in one seamless movement.

“What?” I whispered, running my fingers through my make-out hair.

“Go inside, Luce,” he said, situating himself in front of me. “Right now.”

“Why?” I wasn’t going anywhere. Not with a man that could do that to me out here. “Who are they?” I asked as a few dark figures walked up the beach towards us.

Spinning on me, his eyes were so disturbed I couldn’t determine if they were more frantic or manic. “Don’t why me, Lucy Larson. Get your ass inside that house right now.” Grabbing my shoulders, he spun me around, then shoved me in the direction of the cabin. “Right the hell now.”

He had a temper, not a good thing. Because I had one too.

Spinning back around, I glowered up at him. “Don’t you ever push me again!” I shouted. “And don’t you ever tell me what to do.”

Jude’s expression flattened before lining into desperation. “Please, Luce. Just go inside.”

His plea was so raw, his eyes so helpless, I almost did. But then the three figures were upon us.

“You been holding out on us, Jude?” one said, stepping into the firelight. He wasn’t as tall as Jude, but he was stocky. Running his eyes down me like he was peeling off my clothes in the same motion, he said, “You unearth some fresh piece of ass and don’t have the decency to share with your brothers?”

o;I hope you like it,” Dad said as he placed the chicken piccata in front of Jude.

Looking over at me, his eyes all intentional again, Jude replied, “I already do.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I’d always loved a campfire. But a campfire at night, sharing a blanket with Jude squished up beside me, with a parent about to retreat to bed, went beyond love.

This was the campfire to top all campfires.

“Night, kids,” Dad said, stretching as he stood. Dinner had been a pleasant event, thanks to my mom staying locked in her office, giving someone a tongue thrashing through her cell. Dad, odd as he was, was pleasant to be around if you could get past the fact that reality escaped him. I’d managed to accept this as a fact of life, and Jude didn’t seem to have a problem with it either.

“Night, Dad.” My heart was already racing. I knew, once we were alone, something was going to happen. The tension had been that thick between us the past hour as expectant looks, hands playing finger hockey, legs brushing legs, and the unsaid words between us louder than had we spoken them ensued.

“Goodnight, Mr. Larson. Thanks again for dinner,” Jude called after my dad, his hand affixing above my knee.

“I like your dad,” he said as his thumb circled the inside of my leg.

It was impossible to offer any other response than a smile and a nod.

“The verdict’s still out on your mom,” he said, chuckling.

Another nod and smile.

“And I like you,” he said, his voice low. “In fact, I really like you.” Taking his hand from my leg, he lifted it to my face. And then the other. He held me so firmly I couldn’t look anywhere but at him, but gently enough that, had I tried, he would have released me.

“I like you, too.”

Cocking an eyebrow, he waited.

“I really like you,” I added, feeling so many damn sparks I could have ignited any moment.

Grinning, his thumb moved to my mouth. Brushing the line of my lower lip, he studied me like I was something he could possess.

I was all for woman empowerment and all that jazz, but standing in the heat of that touch, I wanted to be possessed in every way another person could possess you.

When I was sure more than a minute had gone by, but lost track of all time other than that, I opened my eyes. His were the lightest shade of gray I’d seen yet. “You can kiss me, Jude.”

I expected just about anything else than his forehead lining as his eyes darkened. “I know I can,” he said, his voice tight. “I’m just not sure if I should.”

The ache that originated at the very core of me began to spread. There was only one way to alleviate it. “You should kiss me, Jude.”

His eyes went another shade darker, but they never looked away from mine. “I shouldn’t,” he said, sliding a hand behind my neck, skimming a finger beneath the collar of my shirt. “But right now, I don’t give a damn.”

His words hadn’t settled on me before his lips did. They were as powerful as his hands, but as gentle at the same time. Parting his lips, his groan rumbled against my chest, and before I had time to process if I should or shouldn’t, I swung my leg over his lap because, beyond every rational reason, I couldn’t be close enough to him.

His tongue against mine, his chest pressed to mine, his hands holding me like they were as hungry as mine were, I wondered if this was one of those moments people looked back on in their darkest days and smiled on. I wouldn’t only be smiling, I’d be cartwheeling from this memory until the day I died.

My hands slipped beneath his shirt, scrolling up his stomach until there was nowhere left to go but down.

“Luce,” he breathed, when my fingers settled on his belt. “Stop.” His hands gripped my h*ps firmly, but his mouth kept pace with mine again.

“I’ll stop when you stop,” I whispered against his mouth.

“Dammit,” he sighed, pushing against me with his hands, but continuing to welcome me with his lips.

“If you’re done with her, can I have a turn?” a voice suddenly shouted at us from down the beach.

“Shit,” he hissed, lifting me to a stand in one seamless movement.

“What?” I whispered, running my fingers through my make-out hair.

“Go inside, Luce,” he said, situating himself in front of me. “Right now.”

“Why?” I wasn’t going anywhere. Not with a man that could do that to me out here. “Who are they?” I asked as a few dark figures walked up the beach towards us.

Spinning on me, his eyes were so disturbed I couldn’t determine if they were more frantic or manic. “Don’t why me, Lucy Larson. Get your ass inside that house right now.” Grabbing my shoulders, he spun me around, then shoved me in the direction of the cabin. “Right the hell now.”

He had a temper, not a good thing. Because I had one too.

Spinning back around, I glowered up at him. “Don’t you ever push me again!” I shouted. “And don’t you ever tell me what to do.”

Jude’s expression flattened before lining into desperation. “Please, Luce. Just go inside.”

His plea was so raw, his eyes so helpless, I almost did. But then the three figures were upon us.

“You been holding out on us, Jude?” one said, stepping into the firelight. He wasn’t as tall as Jude, but he was stocky. Running his eyes down me like he was peeling off my clothes in the same motion, he said, “You unearth some fresh piece of ass and don’t have the decency to share with your brothers?”