Chapter 18 Gracie #2
Immediate, nervous heat bolts through me as my eyes snap to all the photos of couples kissing.
There isn’t a single picture of a couple not locked at the mouth.
I look up at Jude, heart thumping wildly.
There’s no way we’re going to do this, right?
But Betty is already holding the camera up to her eye.
Jude quickly glances from me, to the door, and back, clearly asking, Do you want to make a run for it?
I swallow hard, giving him the tiniest head shake to say that it’s fine.
I’ll just give him a quick peck. Friends pretending to be engaged do this sort of thing all the time, right?
“Okay, on three, you kiss,” Betty instructs with a smile behind the clunky camera.
“One…”
Jude’s hold around me tightens. Is this actually happening?
“Two…”
My toes strain to lift me a little higher as Jude’s hand comes to cradle my upturned jaw. Is face-touching a form of foreplay?
“Three!”
He leans down, close enough for me to reach his mouth, but pauses just short of my lips to give me a last, searching look. Is this okay?
It’s his perpetual concern that finally breaks me. Body trembling, I tilt my face to brush my lips against his in a single, chaste kiss.
But I don’t count on the way it feels. In an instant, I realize I’ve grievously miscalculated how warm and deliciously soft his lips would be.
How precious and wanted his hand on my face would make me feel.
I need to pull away, but then his thumb is stroking my cheekbone, his mouth pressing so tenderly to mine that my heart is convinced he’s adored me this whole time.
My arms come up to drape around his neck, and a low sound emanates from the center of his chest. It travels directly into mine, and I’m pressing closer, needing this to never end.
Vaguely, I hear the click of the camera, but it only occupies one percent of my awareness as all the feelings I’ve worked so hard to repress stage a mutiny.
Jude breaks the kiss for half a breath before his lips are pressing back to mine at a new angle, like he needs to feel that moment of first contact again.
My hand slides to the back of his powerful neck, and I realize I’ve never felt this kind of ache before—the kind that melts walls and denial like they’ve been tossed into the sun.
The camera clicks again, and Betty is saying something, but I don’t hear it because Jude is pulling his mouth away, breath ragged as his bewildered eyes find mine. I can’t let go of him. If I do, it means it’s all over.
Betty’s knowing chuckle reaches me like I’m hearing it underwater. “I’m going back to the kitchen, but call me when you’ve made your choices, lovebirds. I took an extra photo for you to keep.”
She leaves, and my eyes shut as I try coming back to myself. But then Jude takes hold of my chin, and I’m forced to look directly at him. His eyes are desperate, and my vision goes dark around the edges when his other hand slides to my lower back.
“You’ve got a little something. Just here,” he says hoarsely, bringing his thumb to the edge of my bottom lip.
The stroke is slow and feather-light. When he brings the pad of his thumb to his own mouth, sucking off the offending jam, I cease being a person and accept my new identity as one giant nerve-ending.
I run my tongue quickly over the spot he touched, still tasting sticky sweetness. “I think you missed some.”
He nods like a serious miscarriage of justice has taken place, and then the backs of his fingers are gently stroking the underside of my jaw, sending a ripple of need through my entire body.
Goodbye, breathing. You were fun while you lasted.
Somewhere in the depths of my brain, I know this is a bad idea, but when his fingertips trace down the line of my neck, my brain shouts CONSEQUENCES, SCHMONSEQUENCES!
like it’s rallying an army of bad decisions.
“I promised I wouldn’t kiss you,” he says, but it sounds like he’s talking to himself, trying to summon any last vestiges of rational thought.
“But you already did,” I remind him, leaving the rest of my argument unsaid. What’s one more?
He nods, like my logic is irrefutable. “That’s true,” he agrees. “And Betty could come back. It would be suspicious if we jumped apart.”
There are definitely flaws to this logic. But my eyes are fixed on his decadent mouth, and I find myself nodding in agreement anyway. “So suspicious,” I whisper.
When his warm lips graze mine again, they’re low and off-center as he licks away the last traces of jam.
A small gasp escapes me, but then his mouth is lifting away.
No! My hands tighten in his collar, and his eyes lock with mine in silent understanding.
When I tug him back, he finally kisses me like I need him to and one thought obliterates all the others.
Chocolate.
He’s ruined it for me. I’ll never be able to eat so much as a single M&M again without becoming painfully aroused.
My hand slides into the back of his hair—thick, silky, and made for tugging, and I’m lost. The hot, delicious slide of his tongue against mine is better than any secret fantasy, because I didn’t know.
Had no idea a kiss could be like this—an untamed, living wildfire between two people.
With a groan, Jude takes my hips and turns me against the table, and it’s like every moment of frustration that’s built between us finally has a release valve.
I sink my teeth into the bottom lip that’s driven me to distraction countless times, and then he’s sucking my tongue, biting my lips, neither of us able to get enough.
A grunt issues from deep in his chest as he presses his hips harder against mine, needing to be closer.
When he lifts me onto the table, making room for himself between my legs, I whimper into his demanding mouth.
The size and heat of him turn any lingering fragments of self-restraint into an explosion of powdered sugar, scattering on the wind.
His fingers are stroking down my neck, lips and teeth following the trail, and my head falls back.
What have I been doing with my life if it wasn’t this and only, exactly, this?
With every hot press of his lush mouth on my skin, I feel more alive than I have in years.
With every groan of my name, I know I haven’t been the only one lying awake at night trying to deny what we clearly both want.
He’s completely wrong for me when I should be trying to find someone who wants the same things I do. Someone like—
“Henry!” I yelp.
Jude’s teeth release the earring he’s been tugging the same moment I fully realize I’m sitting on the cake-tasting table, and—according to the moisture seeping through the back of my skirt—a slice of cake as well. He lifts his head to stare at me in dazed, hurt confusion.
“I’m not—” he begins to say, but then the bucket of ice water I was hit with seems to drench him, too. “Fuck,” he rasps out.
We stare at each other, both mentally calculating how badly we’ve betrayed Henry. Guilt hits me like a ten-foot wave I’m not expecting, and Jude must see it all over my face.
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says quickly, but I’m pretty sure he’s incorrect, because I can still taste the chocolate from his mouth. I start shaking my head, but he cuts me off. “I’m his best friend, Gracie. I’m the asshole here.”
“Oh my god,” I say quietly, panic setting in.