Page 32 of Steadfast
Sophie pressed even closer, and I felt my pulse kick up a notch. But this wasn’t supposed to happen anymore.Weweren’t supposed to happen.
It killed me, but I gentled the kiss. I wasn’t ready to pull away just yet, so we ended up forehead to forehead, our sorrowful gazes mirroring each other. “Goodnight, sweet girl,” I whispered. “Be well.”
She only blinked at me for a second before slowly straightening up. Without another word, Sophie opened the car door and got out.
The sound of the door closing again reminded me of a jail cell slamming shut.
Chapter Ten
Sophie
Internal DJ tuned to: “Pompeii” by Bastille
Iran through the rain, welcoming the drops that fell on my face. I needed the shock of their chill to slow down my thumping heart. My mind was a dance tune, loud and pulsing with energy. But when I ran up the walk toward our house, its brooding silence began to choke me before I even reached the door.
The porch light glowed the same warm yellow as the neighbors’. Appearances lie, though. There was nothing warm and cozy at our house. Just three people swimming through their own pain. When I closed the door behind me, I flicked off the porch light. I hung up my rain-spattered coat and kicked off my shoes.
I ran through the darkened kitchen and upstairs. In my room, I got ready for bed. Wearing an old T-shirt and flannel shorts, I climbed into my bed in the dark. The T-shirt I’d grabbed was Jude’s, of course. I’d stolen his Phish shirt a long time ago when we were still in high school. But it still reminded me of him.Everythingreminded me of him. I lay there, heart thumping, the taste of him still fresh in my memory.
It was just like high school. I used to come home from our dates all stirred up, my panties damp with unfulfilled desire.
Kissing Jude had been a terrible idea. It was bad enough that I missed having him in my life. I already had the guilt of pining for the guy who killed my brother. But now I found myself thinking about the feel of his rough hand around mine, and the scrape of his stubble against my chin while we kissed.
I rolled over, dropping my face into the pillow. The mattress was firm beneath my hips, and I wished it were Jude underneath me instead of foam and fabric.
Sophie is 17, Jude is 18
Sophie’s junior year of high school is all about kissing. They kiss in his car, as punk rock blares from Jude’s speakers. They make out until she’s gasping with need, her thighs clenching, her fingers stretching out his T-shirt as she clings to him.
This is the year when she realizes how sick she is of being a good girl. She would do anything Jude asks. The only thing that prevents her from stripping him down and fucking him is her own inexperience. She isn’t afraid of sex, but she’s afraid of doing it wrong.
It’s really a miracle that anyone survives her teenage years.
After a frustrating winter of making out in the car, spring arrives. They relocate their make-out sessions to the top of Tapps Hill. A gravel road winds to the top, where a “scenic area” is marked by a sign and a lonely picnic table. On the other side of the road is a clearing secluded by an unruly row of lilac bushes. Jude keeps a picnic blanket in his trunk, and now their make-out sessions go horizontal.
It’s glorious.
Sophie loves the press of his hips on hers when he rolls on top of her. She can feel the hard length of his erection through his jeans, and it’s both thrilling and terrifying.
They stay there for hours, kissing until their lips are bruised, listening to the peeper frogs singing their chorus in the vernal pools.
Still, things stay pretty civilized until the night she happens to wear a skirt instead of jeans. The costume change isn’t premeditated, but if she’d known that Jude would finally put his hands on her, she would have started dressing like the cheerleading team weeks earlier.
His hand starts on her knee, then winds slowly up her thigh as they kiss. It seems to take a lifetime until his fingers slip beneath her panties and cup her bottom, rubbing softly.
Sophie whimpers in encouragement. His fingers circle and tease. Then—praise Jesus—they dip between her ass cheeks and slide forward into the slickness that’s waiting there. She’s ridiculously, embarrassingly wet for him, and Jude makes a sound she’s never heard before—a moan so deep and low that her whole body shivers in tune with it.
Jude growls, pulling her body closer to his, rearranging his grip so he can touch her more easily. She’s trembling in his arms as his fingers begin to explore all her softest places. She grips his shoulders and pants into his mouth, too turned on to be embarrassed.
His fingertip circles lower and she thrusts her tongue into his mouth to show him how much she likes it. Her entire existence is reduced to bottomless kisses and his questing hand. It’s exquisite. With shaking hands she reaches for the button on his jeans and pops it open. Mr. Restraint seems to lose his tight grip on the situation for a moment. His kisses grow wild and clumsy as she lowers his zipper and slides her fingers down the hard length in his underwear.
The wildness of the moment makes her feel crazy. She whimpers into his mouth then breaks their kiss, bringing her lips to Jude’s ear and whispering, because some things are easier to say quietly. “Just do it,” she begs. “I want to feel you inside me.”
Jude groans, biting his lip until she’s sure he tastes blood. “We can’t yet. You know I want to.”
“Nobody has to know.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he rasps. “The chief already assumes the worst. I need to be able to look that fucker in the eye and know I didn’t have sex with his baby girl before she turned eighteen.” He pushes her hands away from his erection and sighs.
