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“Haha,”I deadpan. “Give me your worst.”
Large palms grasp the sides of my face, gray eyes glinted with humor as they meet mine, and then he darts out his tongue and sweeps it up my cheek. He then closes his mouth over mynose, followed by the heavy drag of his lips over my eyelids, my forehead, my chin, before he sucks my cheek into his mouth, taking the corner of my bottom lip with it.
He’s making out with my face, and I’m laughing my ass off.
It’s a horrible kiss. The worst.
But maybe the best, ever.
My endless laughter—and my rapidly beating heart—certainly echo feelings of the latter.
“Okay! Okay!”I attempt to push him away with two hands at his chest, but he comes back stronger.
“No, no, no. You asked for this, baby,” he hums. “And I’m a man who delivers.”
My top lip takes the brunt of his next messy, sloppy, wet kiss, and I only crack up that much harder.
He continues to make out with my face, his tongue sweeping over my features in a haphazard, chaotic stream of kisses that can’t be considered kisses at all, until somewhere along the way, his lips meet mine, and they slow, softening, meeting me in an actual kiss, and then we’re actually making out, our mouths moving in together earnest, our tongues dancing in an eager rhythm.
I drag him closer with his shirt fisted in my hands, and then I push him away. “You are such a cheater.”
“Me? A cheat?” He tries to act innocent, but our heavy breaths and flushed cheeks give him away.
“That may have started out as a bad kiss,” I say, catching my breath, “but it didnotend that way.”
He licks the corner of his grin before it pulls sideways into a smirk. “Fair enough.”
“So I get another dare, then.”
He laughs, nods, and shrugs. “Again, fair.”
Standing up, I take a short trip around my room, tapping my finger against my chin. “I dare you to…” I travel another circlethat only takes me a few seconds to complete because our dorm is so tiny, and then I spot mine and Addy’sCluelessHalloween costumes hanging in the closet. More specifically, my short, pink, plaid skirt. Pulling the outfit from my hanger, I spin on my heel toward Jude, and a wide smile splits my lips. “I dare you to wear this for the rest of the night.”
He throws his head back in a deep laugh, the thick column of his throat exposed with his laughter. With a simple shrug, he says, “Hand it over, Little D.” And he doesn’t hesitate for a moment. Unbuckling his belt, he shoves his pants down his legs and slides the skirt up. The stretchy waistband is pushed to its full limit when it reaches his hips, and I crack another broad smile.
He tugs his shirt off next, and rows of impossibly hard, defined abs greet me, wiping my smile clear away. They’re so much more defined now that they look chiseled, etched into his skin. I’ve watched him bulk up and strengthen and tone even more than he already was over last year, but it’s an entirely different thing to see it up close, in person.
Because a bit of full transparency while I’m here… Jude and I have hooked up throughout the year—over the phone, through video calls and dirty pictures and filthy texts.
But once again, Jude on display in the flesh is a completely different experience.
He slides the stretchy crop top over his head, and it barely fits him. The jacket doesn’t fit him at all, so he tosses it onto the bed.
With his arms held out at his sides, he turns in a full circle for me to see. “Well? What do you think?”
Tattoos paint every spare inch of his skin now, which is an almost impossible feat with how covered he was before. The few spots he had left last summer are now inked with even more pictures, more words, more hues of black and gray. Every single one of his muscles has been strengthened and crafted intoperfection beneath them, and I don’t bother trying to pretend I’m not outright gawking at the utter beauty that is Jude and his stunning body.
And then I see the full picture of him.
And he glances down at himself in the same moment, too.
And we both crack the hell up.
Nothing, and I meannothing,has ever been funnier than Jude—tall, muscular,tattooed,ripped as fuck,Jude—in a skimpy plaid skirt and a crop top that’s stretched to the point of nearly ripping across his chest, his package tenting the front of the pleated skirt without even trying.
Heat crawls up my neck, and then drags itself between my legs.
The laughter between us dies off and drifts away, and the moment grows quiet, still.