I have fucked this girl so many times now and she’s still basically clueless about all things sex, except giving me head. She’s great at that.
I move her hips again in an attempt to find that spot, the spot that will have her screaming my name in seconds. I love the way she looks when she rolls her hips; the shape of them is beyond fucking perfect. Her nails dig into my bare chest, and I know that I’ve found the spot. She covers her mouth with her hand and bites down on her palm to quiet herself as I lift my hips to meet her movements, to thrust faster in and out of her.
“I’m going to make you come this way,” I breathe.
She’s too perfect. Her eyes screw closed and her movements grow slower.
“You’re going to come now, aren’t you? You’re going to come for me, baby?”
“Hardin . . .” She moans my name, and it’s the perfect answer.
“Holy shit.” I can’t help but curse as her back arches and her blue-gray eyes close again. The fingernails on the hand she isn’t using to cover her mouth dig into my chest, and I feel her tighten around me. Fuck, she feels so good. I change the pace and move slower, but I’m sure to hit as deep inside of her as I can with each thrust of my hips.
I know how much she loves hearing my voice while I fuck her, and she screams into her hand when I let out an “Oh God” and spill into the condom.
“Hardin . . .” she whines and lays her head on my chest in a panting mess.
“Baby,” I say, and she looks up at me with a sleepy smile.
I match my breathing to hers and run my fingers through the mess of blond hair sprawled across my chest. I’m still pissed at her, and at Zed, but I love her and I’m trying to prove to her that I’m changing for her. I can’t deny that our communication is one thousand times better than it used to be.
She’s going to be pissed at me at least one more time because of Zed, but he needs to know that she’s mine and that if he fucking touches her again, he’s dead.
chapter one hundred and fifteen
TESSA
I lie on top of Hardin’s chest to catch my breath. Both of our bare chests are moving slowly up and down in our postcoital bliss. It doesn’t feel as foreign as I had believed it would, not at all. I was desperately missing being intimate with him; I know that making love so soon, before anything has been determined, may not have been the best idea, but right now, as his fingers trail up and down my spine, it sure feels like it.
I can’t stop picturing the way his body looked underneath mine as he lifted his hips off the mattress to fill me completely. We’ve slept together many times, but this time goes down as one of the best. It was so intense and sincere and full of want—no, need—for each other.
Hardin’s temper got the best of him only a short while ago, but as I stare up at him his eyes are closed and his lips are slightly upturned.
“I know you’re staring at me, and I have to take a piss,” he finally says, and I can’t help but giggle. “Up you go.” He lifts my body at my hips to lay me beside him.
Hardin’s hands run through his hair and he pushes the loose fringe back to bare his forehead while he retrieves his clothing from the floor. He remains shirtless and disappears from the room, leaving me to get myself dressed. My eyes dart to his worn T-shirt on the floor, and out of habit I bend down to pick it up but then drop it again. I don’t want to push things or make him angry, so I should just stick to my own clothing for now.
It’s nearly eight, so I go ahead and pull on a pair of loose sweats and a plain T-shirt. The wreckage from Hardin’s outburst covers the floor, so I take it upon myself to begin putting everything back in its place; the clothes from my drawers are my first task. Hardin enters the room as I’m zipping my suitcase full of novels.
“What are you doing?” he asks. He holds a glass of water and a muffin in one of his large hands.
“Just straightening up,” I say quietly.
I’m slightly nervous that we’ll slide back into fighting again, so I’m unsure of how to behave. “Okay . . .” he says, placing the glass and snack on the dresser before walking over to me.
“I’ll help,” he offers and picks up the broken chair from the floor. We work in silence to get the room back to its normal state. Hardin grabs the suitcase and walks toward the closet with it, nearly tripping over a decorative pillow from the bed.
I don’t know if I should speak first and I’m not sure what to say; I know he’s still angry, but I keep catching his eyes on me, so he must not be too angry.
He steps out from the closet holding a small bag and a medium-sized box. “What’s this?”
Oh no. “Nothing.” I hurry to my feet in an attempt to take the items from him.
“Are these for me?” he asks with a curious expression.
chapter one hundred and sixteen
HARDIN
No,” she lies and stands up on her toes to try to reach for the box in my left hand. I lift it higher.
“The tag right here says my name,” I point out, and she looks down.
Why is she so embarrassed?
“I just . . . well, I got you a few things before, but now they seem so silly; you don’t have to open them.”
“I want to,” I tell her and sit down on the edge of the bed. I really shouldn’t have broken that hideous chair.
She sighs and keeps her position on the other side of the room as I pull at the taped edges of wrapping paper. I’m slightly irritated by the amount of tape she used for this one box, but I’ll admit I’m a little . . .
. . . excited.
Not excited, exactly, but happy. I can’t remember the last time I received a birthday gift from anyone, even my mum. I made it a point at a young age to despise birthdays, and I was such an asshole over whatever ridiculous gift my mum would buy me that she just stopped buying them before I was sixteen.
My father would send some shitty card with a check inside every year, but I’d get a kick out of burning the damn thing. I even took a piss on the one that arrived on my seventeenth birthday. When I finally get the box open, there are multiple things inside.
First is a tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice, which, when I take it in my hands, prompts Tessa to walk over and grab it from me.
“This is stupid . . . just ignore this one,” she says, but obviously that’s the last thing I’m going to do.
“Why? Give it back to me,” I demand, holding my hand out.
When I stand to my feet, she seems to remember that she obviously isn’t going to win this battle, so she places the book back in my hands. As I skim through the pages, I notice bright yellow markings throughout the entire thing.
“You know how you told me about highlighting Tolstoy?” she asks, her cheeks as red as they’ve ever been.
“Yeah?”
“Well . . . I sort of did that, too,” she admits, and her eyes meet mine.
“Really?” I ask her and open to a page that’s nearly covered in markings.
“Yeah. Mostly this book, though; you don’t have to reread or anything. I just thought . . . I’m terrible at giving gifts, I really am.”
She’s not, though. I would love to see the words in her favorite novel that remind her of me. This is the best gift anyone could have possibly given me. These are the simple things, the things that give me hope that somehow we can make this work, the fact that both of us were doing the same thing, reading Jane Austen, when neither of us was aware of the other.
“You’re not,” I tell her and sit back on the bed.
I tuck the novel under my leg to keep her from trying to take it from me again. A low chuckle leaves my mouth when another item from the box is revealed.
“What’s this for?” I ask with a grin, holding up the leather binder.
“Your work, that thing you use, is tearing at the seams and it’s so unorganized. See, this one has tabs for each week—or subject, you can decide.” She smiles.
This gift is humorous because I always take note of the way she cringe
s when I shove papers into my old binder. I refuse to let her organize it for me despite her multiple attempts, and I know that drives her insane. I don’t want her to see what’s inside.
“Thanks.” I laugh.
“That one wasn’t really a birthday gift. I got it a while ago and I was going to just toss your old one, but I never found an opportunity,” she admits with a laugh.
“That’s because I kept it by my side. I knew what you were up to,” I tease. The small bag is left to open, and once again I’m laughing at her choice.
Kickboxing is the first word I catch on the small ticket.
“It’s a week’s worth of kickboxing at the gym by our . . . your apartment.” She smiles, clearly proud of her witty gift.
“And why do you think I’d be interested in kickboxing?”
“You know why.”
To let out some of my anger is the obvious reason she got this. “I’ve never done it before.”
“It could be fun,” she says.
“Not as fun as kicking the shit out of someone without padding,” I tell her, and she frowns.
“I’m teasing,” I say and grab the CD that’s still left in the bag. My inner asshole wants to tease her for buying a CD when I could easily download the album. I’ll enjoy hearing her hum along to it; I’m assuming it’s the second one by the Fray.
I’m sure she already knows each word to every song and she’ll be delighted to explain the meaning of them to me as we drive and listen.
chapter one hundred and seventeen
TESSA
Stay with me tonight?” Hardin asked, his eyes scanning my face. I nod eagerly.
So now that he’s pulling his shirt over his head, I grab at it greedily and bring it to my chest. He watches me as I change, but stays silent. Our relationship is so confusing—it always is—but now especially. At the moment, I’m not sure who holds the upper hand. Earlier I was upset with him for standing me up on his birthday, but now I’m pretty convinced he had nothing to do with that, so I’m back where I was days ago when he so sweetly took me ice skating.
He was so upset with me over Zed, but now I can barely tell how he felt, given the smiles and sarcastic humor he keeps throwing at me. Maybe his anger is overpowered by the fact that he missed me and he’s happy that I’m no longer upset with him? I don’t know the reasoning, but I know better than to question it. I do wish he’d let me talk about Seattle. How will he react? I don’t even want to tell him, but I know that I have to. Will he be happy for me? I don’t think so; actually, I know he won’t be.
“Come here.” He coaxes me onto his chest as he lies back on the bed. His hand finds the remote to the television on the wall, and he flicks through channel after channel before pausing on some sort of historical documentary.
“How was it seeing your mom?” I ask him a few minutes later.
He doesn’t respond, and when I look up at his face, he’s fast asleep.
IT’S HOT. WAY TOO HOT, when I come back to consciousness. Hardin is lying on top of me, nearly all his weight pinning me down to the mattress. I’m on my back and Hardin’s on his front, his head on my chest; one of his arms is wrapped around my waist and the other stretched across the space next to him. I’ve missed sleeping this way and even waking up sweating from Hardin’s body blanketing mine. When I glance at the clock, I see that it’s seven twenty—my alarm is set to go off in ten minutes. I don’t want to wake Hardin, he looks so serene; a soft smile plays on his sleeping lips. He usually frowns, even in his sleep.
In an attempt to move him without waking him up, I lift his arm from around my waist.
“Mm-hmm . . .” he whines as his eyes flutter and his body stirs, gripping me tighter.
I stare at the ceiling and debate whether or not to just roll him off of me.
“What time is it?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep.
“Almost seven-thirty.” I tell him quietly.
“Dammit. Can we play hooky today?”
“No, but you can.” I smile and gently run my fingers over his hair, massaging his scalp softly.
“We could go to breakfast?” He turns his face to look at me.
“You drive a hard bargain, but I can’t.” I really want to, though. He slides his body down slightly so his chin rests just under my chest. “Did you sleep well?” I ask him.
“Yes, very. I haven’t slept like that since . . .” He trails off.
I feel so happy suddenly and smile wide. “I’m glad you got some sleep.”
“Can I tell you something?” He doesn’t seem quite awake yet; his eyes are glossy and his voice is raspier than ever.
“Of course.” I go back to massaging his scalp.
“When I was in England, at my mum’s, I had a dream . . . well, nightmare.”
Oh no. My heart sinks. I knew his nightmares had come back, but it still hurts me to hear about it.
“I’m sorry those dreams came back.”
“No, they didn’t just come back, Tess. They were worse.” I swear that I feel his body shiver, but his face holds no emotion.
“Worse?”
How could they possibly be worse?
“It was you, they were . . . doing it to you,” he says, and ice replaces the warm blood in my veins.
“Oh.” My voice is weak, pathetic.
“Yeah. It was . . . it was so fucked up. It was so much worse than before because I’m used to the ones with my mum, you know?”
I nod and bring my other hand to his bare arm to caress it like I’m doing to his scalp.
“I didn’t even try to sleep after that. I purposely stayed awake because I couldn’t bear to see it again. The thought of someone hurting you drives me mad.”
“I’m so sorry.” His eyes are haunted, and mine are full of tears.
“Don’t pity me.” He reaches up and captures the tears before they fall.
“I’m not. It makes me upset because I don’t want you to be hurt. I don’t pity you.” It’s true, I don’t pity him. I feel terrible for this broken man who has nightmares about his mother being violated and abused, and the thought of my face replacing Trish’s kills me. I don’t want those thoughts tainting his already anguished mind.
“You know I would never let anyone hurt you, don’t you?” His eyes meet mine.
“Yes, I do, Hardin.”
“Even now, even if we never get back to where we were before. I’d kill anyone who even tried, okay?” His tone is clipped yet soft.
“I know,” I assure him with a small smile.
I don’t want to appear alarmed by his sudden threats, because I know that he means them in a loving way.
“It was nice to sleep.” He lightens the mood slightly, and I nod in agreement.
“Where do you want to go for breakfast?” I ask him.
“You said no, that you—”
“I changed my mind. I’m hungry.”
After his being so open with me about his nightmares, I want to spend the morning with him; maybe he’ll continue the open line of communication. I usually have to fight him for any type of information, but he confessed this willingly and that means the world to me.
“So easily persuaded by my pathetic story?” He raises a brow.
“Don’t say that.” I scowl.
“Why not?” He sits up and climbs off of the bed.
“Because it’s not true. It wasn’t what you told me that changed my mind, but that you shared that with me. And don’t call yourself pathetic. That’s certainly not true.” My feet hit the floor as he pulls his jeans up over his legs. “Hardin . . .” I say when he doesn’t reply.
“Tessa . . .” He mocks me in a high-pitched voice.
“I mean it, you shouldn’t think of yourself like that.”
“I know,” he says quickly, abruptly ending the conversation.
I know Hardin is far from perfect and he has his flaws, but so does everyone else, especially me. I wish he was able to see past his flaws; maybe that would help resolve his issue
s about the future.
“So anyway, do I have you all day or just for breakfast?” He bends down to push his foot into his shoe.
“I like those shoes, I’ve been meaning to tell you.” I point to the solid black tennis shoes he’s putting on.
“Um . . . thanks . . .” He laces them and stands back up. For someone with such a big ego, he’s terrible at accepting compliments. “You still didn’t answer me.”
“Just breakfast. I can’t miss all my classes.” I pull his shirt over my head and replace it with one of my own.
“Okay.”
“I just need to pull my hair back and brush my teeth,” I say after I’m finished getting dressed. As I begin to scrub my tongue, Hardin knocks at the door.
“Come in,” I mumble through the paste in my mouth.
“It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” he tells me.
“Had sex in the bathroom?” I ask. Why did I just say that?
“Nooooo . . . I was going to say ‘brushed our teeth together.’ ” He laughs and opens one of the packs of toothbrushes from the cabinet. “However, if bathroom sex is something you want . . .” Hardin teases, and I roll my eyes.
“I don’t know why I said that, it was the first thing that came to my mind.” I have to laugh at my stupidity and quick tongue.
“Well, that’s good to hear.” He dips the brush under the faucet and doesn’t say another word. After both of us brush our teeth and I attempt to comb my hair into a ponytail, we head downstairs. Karen and Landon are in the kitchen, talking over bowls of oatmeal.
Landon gives me a warm smile; he doesn’t seem too surprised by seeing Hardin and me together. Karen doesn’t either. If anything, I think she looks . . . pleased? I can’t tell, because she brings her coffee cup to her mouth to hide her smile.
“I’m taking Tessa to campus today,” Hardin tells Landon.
“Okay.”
“Ready?” Hardin turns to me, and I nod.
“I’ll see you in Religion.” I tell Landon before Hardin drags me, literally, out of the kitchen.
“What’s the rush?” I ask him once we’re outside.