Crave (Crave, #1)

by Tracy Wolff

the only thing I have been able to count on these past few weeks is that no matter how bad things are, they can always get worse…

bite my lip, keep my eyes squeezed firmly shut even as my heart threatens to burst out of my chest. If this is the end, I don’t need to see it coming.

I’ve learned that no one wants to say the words.

The closer we get, the more surreal everything feels. Like I’m trapped in a horror movie or Salvador Dalí painting.

He has the kind of face nineteenth-century poets loved to write about—too intense to be beautiful and too striking to be anything else.

“I think I like my version better.” “Even though it’s wrong?” “Especially because it’s wrong.”

“There’s not much to be afraid of when you’ve already lost everything that matters.”

“You’re a dork; you know that, right?” “I absolutely do, yes.”

He laughs, cutting me off. Then brings his thumb to his lips and—holding my gaze with his own—sticks his thumb in his mouth and slowly sucks off the blood. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I don’t even know why. I mean, shouldn’t this be totally creeping me out?

But even as I tell myself that, I know it’s a lie.

And the sad knowledge that no matter how adorable Flint is, he doesn’t make me feel anything close to what Jaxon does.

I’ve got better things to do than waste my time on a guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to everyone.

Something tells me this boy—and his world-famous disappearing act—is going to be the death of me.

mean, I suppose there are worse things in the world than being carried by a super-sexy guy instead of struggling along in terrible pain. Maybe.

His wildly sexy scent seems even stronger now than it did when he was carrying me. It fills my senses, makes my mouth water and my hands ache to touch him.

“I want him to look at me like it physically hurts him not to be touching me.”

“Baby, if that boy wanted you any more, he would spontaneously combust.”

That guy is way too hot for his own good…or my own peace of mind.

“Talking to your best friend about the worst thing that ever happened to you is excruciating. Talking to a stranger who doesn’t have any kind of vested interest…sometimes it doesn’t hurt so much.”

It’s pretty obvious Jaxon is the villain of his own story. I just wish I knew why.

Then nearly choke at the look in his eyes as he watches me. Because there’s a craving there, a dark and devastating desperation that has my breath stuttering in my chest and heat blooming deep inside me.

and it’s only as he moves away that I realize my heart is beating like a heavy-metal drummer.

“You’re a total weirdo. You know that, right?” “Know it? I own it, baby.”

wrap my arms around myself and start to rock, desperate to ease the pain. Even more desperate to find a way to hold myself together when everything inside me feels like it’s falling apart.

That’s what I should do. Of course, just because I should do it doesn’t mean I will.

move even closer to him, unable to stop myself. Unwilling to stop myself.

I want to reach for him, want to grab on—want to hold on—but I can’t.

I’m frozen, terrified of wanting too much. Needing too much, in a world where things can just disappear between one moment and the next.

“Have you ever wanted something so much that you were afraid to take it?”

“Like it’s right there, waiting for you to just reach out and grab it, but you’re so terrified of what will happen when you lose it that you never make the reach?”

“What did you do?”

“I decided to take it anyway.”

I’ve been kissed before. But no kiss ever made me feel like this.

remember Jaxon kissing me…and probably will for the rest of my life.

But I’ve learned enough about Jaxon to know that he will always cast himself in the most awful light. That he will always choose to see himself as the villain, even if he’s the victim. Especially if he’s the victim.

“I thought we already covered that motive doesn’t matter? Perception becomes truth eventually, even when it’s wrong.”

“Especially when it’s wrong. History is, after all, written by the winner.”

“You wear indifference like a mask; you wield coldness like a weapon—not because you feel nothing but because you feel too much. You’ve worked so hard to make everyone believe you’re a monster that you’ve begun to believe it yourself.

but I know how fleeting life can be,

How quickly things can just end, with no warning and no chance to put everything right.

You’re staying exactly where you were, drowning in grief, and until you decide to take the first step, you’re always going to be drowning.”

It takes longer than I thought it would, which, in my mind, proves the theory that you hold on until the other person pulls away because you never know what they’re going through and if they need the comfort.

“You don’t think it’s too obvious?” “What’s wrong with obvious?”

There’s nothing wrong with letting him know you dressed up for him.”

because for several long seconds, we don’t move at all. We just stare at each other, eyes locked, breaths held, fingers entwined.

“Come on.” He reaches a hand out to me, and I take it—how could I not? Right now, there isn’t anywhere I wouldn’t follow this boy.

He kisses me like he’s starving for me. Like his world depends on it. Like I’m the only thing that matters to him.

“And the truth is, it wasn’t a sacrifice. It was as selfish as I could get, because now that I’ve found you, I’m not okay with being in a world where you don’t exist.”

“I do love you,” he answers forcefully. “But sometimes love isn’t enough.”

“Be with me. Love me. Let me love you.”