After We Collided (The After Series) (69 page)

“You can’t go around kissing people every time you’re angry. It’s fucked up and I won’t have it. You would lose your shit if I did that.”

I lift my head from Hardin’s chest to look at his hostile face.
My fingers unwrap from around the thin material of his T-shirt and I thread them through his soft curls.

His gaze is harsh, but the way his lips are parting slowly lets me know he won’t stop me when I tug at his hair to bring his face down to mine. If it weren’t for his height, this would be much easier. Hardin sighs into the kiss; tightening his grip around my waist, his fingers move to my hips and back around me again.

My tears are mixed with his harsh breathing into the most lethal combination of love and lust. I love him a thousand times more than I lust for him, but the two mix and intensify as he removes his mouth from mine to trail his warm lips down my jaw and neckline. He bends at his knees to get better contact with my skin, and I can barely stand on my feet as he bites down softly just above where my collarbone would show if I were as thin as society wanted me to be.

I begin to walk back toward the bed and tug at his shirt when he tries to protest. He gives in with a huff and a firm kiss to my neck; we reach the bed and stop to look at each other.

I don’t want either of us to speak and ruin what we’ve started, so I grab ahold of the hem on my shirt and pull it up over my head. His breathing is deepening again, this time out of need, not anger.

When my shirt hits the floor, I reach in front of me to undress him. He lifts his own shirt, and as my nervous but quick fingers fumble with his belt and tug his jeans down his legs, he grows impatient and uses the leg I’m not holding to push them to the floor.

I climb back onto the bed as he does the same, his fingers constantly running along my bare skin. Hardin shifts his weight as his lips find mine again, his tongue pushing through my lips slowly as he hovers over me, using his arms to support his weight.

I can feel him getting hard just from our kissing, so I lift my hips slightly off of the bed to meet his in order to create friction between us. He groans and tugs his boxers down with one hand,
leaving them at his knees. My hand immediately grips his length, and he hisses into my ear. My hand pumps slowly up and down him. I lean down, tracing my tongue over the tip of his cock, wanting to elicit more sounds from him. I lift my head back up to face him and wrap my hand around him again.

“I love you,” I remind him as he moans into my neck.

He moves one hand to my chest and tugs carelessly at the cups of my bra to expose my breasts to him.

“I love you,” he finally says.

“Are you sure you want to do this? What with everything going on, and we aren’t together right now . . .” he explains, and I nod.

“Please,” I beg.

His mouth meets my chest, and his hands travel behind my back to unclasp my bra so he can remove it fully. His fingers are cold against my hot skin, but his tongue is warm and needy as he flicks it over my nipple, grazing the skin with his teeth.

I tug at his hair, and I’m rewarded with a low moan as his mouth moves to my other breast.

O
ne look at her while she’s undressing and I’m ready to bury myself inside of her. I know all of our issues haven’t been resolved, but I need this,
we
fucking need this.

I push my jeans down over my ankles and climb back onto the bed to meet her, the infuriating girl who has stolen every ounce of me, body and soul, and I never want it back. I don’t even care what she does with it. It’s hers. I’m hers.

I’m already hard just from looking at her naked body. I tear my mouth away from her beautiful tits just long enough to grab a condom from the dresser. She lies down on her back, legs spread open.

“I want to be able to see you,” I tell her.

She tilts her head to the side slightly in confusion, so I gently hold on to her arms and pull her on top of me. Her body feels so damn good on top of mine; she was made for me.

Tessa’s thighs part farther, and she moves her hips, rubbing her wetness against my hard cock. I’m already fucking anxious and ready, but this, the way she glides over my length with a teasing roll of her hips, is driving me fucking crazy.

I reach my hand down between us and rub my thumb over her clit. She gasps and wraps her hand around the back of my neck.

She lowers herself down onto me, and we both hiss as I enter her. Fuck, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed us.

“You feel so good with me filling you.” I praise her and watch as her eyes roll back in pleasure. Her hips begin to move in slow circles as I take in the sight in front of me. She’s beautiful and so damn sexy, exquisite really. I’ve never seen anything or anyone like her. Her chest is full, pushing out each time her hips move. I love watching her ride me.

She’s getting better and better at this, being on top. I can remember the first time she tried. She wasn’t bad, but she was so nervous the entire time. Right now she’s taking full control, and it couldn’t be any fucking better. She’s getting more and more comfortable in her body, and that makes me happy. She’s fucking sexy, and she should own it.

I lift my hips from the bed and meet her movements. She moans, her eyes widening.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, baby? You’re fucking amazing,” I encourage her.

I gently tug at Tessa’s arm to bring her down to me. As much as I want to look at her as her body owns mine, I want to kiss her even more. My mouth finds hers, and I love the way she whimpers into my kiss.

“Tell me how it feels,” I say into her mouth and cup her ass, pushing my cock deeper inside of her.

“Good . . . so good, Hardin,” she whimpers. Her hands rest on my chest to support her weight.

“Move faster, baby.” I reach up and take one of her tits in my hand. I squeeze, and she fucking loves it.

“Mm-hmm . . .” she agrees.

Seconds later she winces and stills. Her eyes meet mine.

“What’s wrong?” I try to sit up with her against my chest without removing myself from her.

“Nothing . . . it just felt . . . deeper or something. I can feel you so much deeper.” She flushes, her voice soft with wonder.

“Good or bad?” I lift my hand to push her hair back behind her ear.

“Oh, it’s good,” she says as her eyes roll back.

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.

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.

N
o,” 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.