Page 50 of A Summer Thing

“Grateful. Without a doubt. But a bit disappointed if I’m being honest. I couldn’t be further from home, and home is where I want to be. With my family, my friends. With you.”

I duck my head and smile, before asking, “Can’t you stay longer than two days?”

“If I could, I would. Believe me, I would.” He wraps his hands around my knees and edges me closer. “What has been the best part of your year so far?”

“You, here. Finally.” He bites the corner of his smile as I ask, “What about you? What’s the best part of yours?”

“Me. Here. Finally.” The subtle storm of his gaze settles over mine, and I’ve never blushed so hard. It doesn’t matter that we’re so familiar with each other now, I just do.

We continue to expel truth after truth after truth, until somewhere along the way, he finally picks Dare.

It starts off innocently enough— I dare you to eat a spoonful of hot sauce; I dare you to moon the next person who walks by your window; I dare you to sing My Heart Will Go On at the top of your lungs while kneeling at the edge of my bed and keeping your arms splayed wide like Jack and Rose.

And then my latest brilliant idea— “I dare you to kiss me. But like, as horribly as you can.”

“Horribly?” He presses a hand to his chest like he’s offended. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m capable of a bad kiss, Declan.”

“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 my nose, 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 did not end 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 circle that only takes me a few seconds to complete because our dorm is so tiny, and then I spot mine and Addy’s Clueless Halloween 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 into perfection 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 mean nothing, 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.

Awareness settles between us like an ignited fire, sparking and burning until I can feel its flames licking at my skin and dipping down into my center.

Jude clears his throat, drawing my attention back up to his eyes.

His fingers coast down my cheekbones and grasp my chin, holding my gaze to his.

“What are you thinking about right now?” he asks, but then he shakes his head.

“Fuck that, I can practically see what you’re thinking, Dec, and it’s making me hard as fuck. ”

He isn’t lying. I can see him growing through his boxer-briefs and the layers of my skirt.

I swallow, and lick my lips, and his gaze tracks every movement as I lift my shoulders in a small shrug.

“I think I like you in my skirt,” I admit.

Pressing my palms to his muscled thighs, I slowly slide them upward.

“Knowing exactly what’s hiding underneath.

” I rub my palm over him, and he hardens further against my hand.

His head dives back as he groans out my name.

The rustling of the skirt fabric scratching against his thighs, the groan that digs its way from the back of his throat, the way his ab muscles ripple, tightening with the anticipation of pleasure—every detail of this future memory etches itself into my mind.

I pull his boxer-briefs down his tattooed legs, leaving him bare beneath the skirt.

“Fuck. Put your mouth on me, yeah?” His eyes blaze brightly, begging the question, too.

I lift the hem of the skirt, and his thick length bobs in the air.

My mouth waters for him, saliva pooling around my tongue as I grip him, hard, and dip my head down to lick the head of his cock, moaning around him.

The sound tangles with his heavy groan, and I watch as his head falls back with his next deep sound.

His hand dives into my hair, sliding across my scalp and through my strands, gripping them tight and tugging just hard enough to guide me up and down his length.

Arousal pools in my belly, soaking my underwear. Precum explodes on my tastebuds, and I squeeze my legs tighter together.

I love the way Jude tastes.

The way he feels in my mouth.

I work my hand at the base of him, stroking as I swallow around him, taking him deeper, bringing him to the back of my throat and moaning around his girth.

When his eyes meet mine, he loses all control.

His mouth falls open, and his movements become erratic, his hands rough and desperate, his thrusts chasing only his pleasure, and I love every moment of it, of experiencing him like this—out of control and losing his mind, his head tipped back and his chest heaving with violent breaths, his lip caught in the viscous grip of his teeth.

And then Jude is—beautifully, blissfully—coming.

Spurts of cum shoot down my throat, and I swallow them down as quickly as I can.

I’ve never particularly liked swallowing, but for Jude, I’m learning that I do.

My center aches, growing wetter with every swallow.

The salty tang of him is intoxicating—but even more so, the guttural sounds he makes, the way his grip tightens in my hair, fisting, the smooth skin of his cock swelling and jerking in my mouth as he comes.

“Fuck, Little D. You take my cock so well. Look at those beautiful lips stretched around me.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in the thick column of his throat, his head still tilted back. I moan before freeing him from my mouth with an audible pop. And when his head moves back down, and his eyes meet mine once again, they’re scorching—a sated relief and rekindling desire comingling in his stare.

He takes my chin in his hand, slips his thumb into my mouth, and presses down against the saliva and cum still coating my tongue. “Fuck, baby. You swallowed my cum so fucking good. But it’s my turn now, yeah?”