After We Fell (77 page)

“Very.” He nods.

“So you're telling me if I hadn't been a virgin, you wouldn't have dated me?” This topic isn't one we typically discuss, and I'm nervous to find out where it will lead.

His eyes narrow as he regards my expression before muttering, “That's exactly what I'm saying. If you recall, I didn't really want to date you anyway.” He grins, but I scowl.

I press my feet to the floor to lift myself off of his lap, but he holds me in place. “Don't pout,” he coaxes and attempts to press his lips against mine, but I quickly turn my head.

I glare at him. “Maybe you
shouldn't
have dated me, then.” I feel overly sensitive, and my feelings are hurt.

I add gasoline to the fire and wait for the explosion: “Maybe you should have just ended it after you won the bet.”

I stare into his green eyes, waiting for a reaction. Still, it doesn't come. He throws his back in laughter, and my favorite sound fills the room.

“Don't be such a baby,” Hardin says and hugs me tighter, taking both of my wrists in one hand to prevent me from wiggling off his lap. “Just because I didn't want to date you in the beginning doesn't mean that I'm not glad I am.”

“It's still not nice to say, and you said you wouldn't be with me now if I'd been with someone else. So if I had slept with Noah before I met you, you wouldn't have dated me?”

He flinches at the words. “No. I wouldn't have. We wouldn't have been in that . . . situation . . . if you weren't a virgin.” He's treading lightly now. Good.

“ ‘Situation,' ” I repeat, still irritated. It comes out harsher than I intended.

“Yes, situation.” He abruptly turns me around and lays me
back against the mattress. He moves his body on top of mine and pins my wrists up over my head using only one hand and his knees to push open my thighs. “I wouldn't be able to stand it if you'd been touched by another man. I know it's fucking crazy, but that's the damn truth, whether you want to hear it or not.”

His breath is warm against my face, coming out in hot puffs. Momentarily I forget why I'm annoyed with him. He's being honest, I'll give him that, but it's an obnoxious double standard that he's describing.

“Whatever.”

“ ‘Whatever'?” He chuckles, tightening his hand around my wrists. He flexes his hips, pressing his boxer-clad body between my thighs. “Stop being ridiculous, you know how I am.” I feel so exposed right now, and his dominating behavior is turning me on more than it should.

He continues. “And you know you've given me new experiences. I've never loved anyone, romantically, or even family, really . . .” His eyes drift off to ponder what I guess is a painful memory, but then he quickly returns to me. “And I've never lived with anyone. I never gave a fuck about losing anyone before, but when it comes to you, I wouldn't survive it. That's a new experience.” His lips ghost over mine. “Is that enough ‘new experience' for you?”

I nod, and he smiles. If I lift my head up just a centimeter, my lips will touch his. He seems to read my thoughts and pulls his head back a bit. “And don't throw that bet shit in my face again,” he threatens, rubbing himself against me. A treacherous moan escapes his mouth, and his eyes darken. “Got it?”

“Sure.” I defiantly roll my eyes at him, and he frees my wrists, running his hand down my body, stopping on my hip and squeezing gently.

“You're being a brat today.” He draws circles on my hip, putting more weight on my body.

I feel like a brat today; I'm hungover and hormonal. “You're being an ass, so I guess we're even,” I fire back.

He bites the inside of his cheek, then dips his head down to me. Hardin's lips are warm as he kisses me along my jawline, sending a direct line of electricity to my groin. I wrap my legs around his waist and close the small space that's left between our bodies.

“I've only loved you,” he reminds me again, soothing the small ache from his earlier words. His lips reach the base of my neck, and one of his hands cups my breast while he uses the other to hold his body up. “I'll always only love you.”

I don't speak. I don't want to ruin this moment. I love when he's candid about his feelings for me, and for once I can see this all in a new light. Steph, Molly, and half of the dang campus of WCU may have fooled around with Hardin, but none of them, not one single girl, has ever gotten to hear him say “I love you.” They haven't had, and will never have, the privilege of knowing him, the real him, the way that I do. They have no idea how wonderful and incredibly brilliant he is. They don't get to hear him laugh and watch his eyes screw shut and his dimples pop. They'll never get to hear the snippets of his life or hear the conviction in his voice when he swears that he loves me more than breathing. And for that, I pity them.

“I've only loved you,” I tell him in return. The love I had for Noah wasn't anything beyond family. I know that now. I love Hardin in that all-consuming, incredible way that I know, deep down, I will never feel again.

I feel Hardin's hand move to his boxers. He tugs them down, and I use my feet to help him get rid of them. In a gentle motion, he slides into me, crying out as he plunges through the slick opening.

“Again,” he begs.

“I've only loved you,” I repeat.

“Fucking Christ, Tess, I love you so much.” The words are a raw confession as they push through his gritted mouth.

“I will always only love you,” I promise him. I send a silent prayer that we'll find a way to work through all of our problems, because I know what I just said is true. It will always be him. Even if something drove us apart.

Hardin's thrusts are deep, filling and claiming me as he bites and sucks at the skin on my neck with his warm, wet mouth.

“I can feel you, every single inch . . . you're so fucking warm . . .” he groans, making it known that he hasn't put a condom on. Even through the euphoric trance, warning bells go off in my head. I blink the sensation away and revel in the feeling of Hardin's strong muscles straining under my hands as I run my hands over his broad shoulders and inked arms.

“You have to put one on,” I say, though my actions are the opposite of my words; I tighten my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. My stomach begins to coil, tightening . . .

“I . . . can't stop . . .” His pace quickens, and I think I'll snap in two if he stops now.

“Don't, then.” We're both insane, not thinking clearly, but I can't stop raking my nails down his back, encouraging him.

“Fuck, come, Tessa,” he instructs me as if I have a choice. As I reach the brink of orgasm, I'm afraid I may pass out from the amount of pleasure I feel when his teeth graze across my chest, tugging, marking me there. With another groan of my name and a declaration of his love for me, Hardin halts his movements, and he pulls himself out of me, releasing himself onto the bare skin of my stomach. I watch in awe as he touches himself, marking me in the most possessive way while never breaking eye contact.

He collapses onto me, shaking and out of breath. We lie in silence, neither of us needing to speak to know what the other is thinking.

“WHERE DO YOU
want to go?” I ask him. I don't even want to leave the bed, but Hardin offering to take me out in Seattle, during the day, is something that hasn't happened in the past, and I'm not sure if or when it will happen again.

“I don't give a shit, really. Maybe, like, shopping?” His eyes roam my face. “Do you need to go shopping? Or want to?”

“I don't really need anything . . .” I answer. When I look up and see how nervous he looks lying there next to me, I backtrack. “Yeah, sure. Shopping is fine.”

He's making such an effort. Simple things that couples usually do are completely out of Hardin's comfort zone. I smile at him, remembering the night he took me ice skating to prove that he could, in fact, be a regular boyfriend.

It was so much fun, and he was so charming and playful, much like he's been the past week and a half. I don't want a “regular” boyfriend—I want Hardin, with his crude humor and sour attitude, to take me on simple dates every once in a while and make me feel secure enough in our relationship that the downs will be washed away by the ups.

“Cool.” He shifts uncomfortably.

“I just need to brush my teeth and tie my hair back.”

“And maybe get dressed.” He cups the overly sensitive area between my thighs. Hardin has already used one of his shirts to wipe me clean, something he used to do all the time.

“Right. Maybe I should rinse off in the shower.” I gulp, wondering if Hardin and I will go another round before we leave. Frankly, I don't know if either of us could handle it.

I stand up from the bed and wince. I knew I was going to be starting my period any day now; why did it have to come right now, of all days? I suppose it works in my favor, though, since it'll be gone by the time we leave for England.

Leave for England . . . it doesn't seem real.

“What?” Hardin says with a questioning look.

“I'm . . . it's that time . . .” I look away from him, knowing that he's had an entire month to store up his jokes.

“Hmm . . . and what time is that?” He smirks, looking at his bare wrist as if there's a watch there.

“Don't . . .” I whine, pressing my thighs together so I can hurry and put on enough clothes to make it to the bathroom.

“Would you look at that? A hangover and a bloody attitude!” he taunts.

“Your jokes are terrible.” I pull his T-shirt over my head and catch the languid smile he shoots at me as he takes in the sight of me wearing his shirt again.

“Terrible, huh?” His green eyes dance with amusement. “Maybe so terrible that you want to pull the plug on them?”

I hurry and exit the room while he's still laughing to himself.

I
didn't even know you two were here. I thought Tessa had classes today,” Kimberly says to me when I enter the kitchen. Why is she even here?

“She wasn't feeling well,” I reply. “Aren't you supposed to be at work . . . or is staying home another perk of fucking your boss?”

“Actually, I don't feel well either, you ass.” She tosses a wadded-up piece of paper at me but misses.

“You and Tessa should really learn how to hold your champagne,” I tell her.

She flips me off.

The microwave sounds, and she pulls out a plastic bowl filled with something that looks and smells like cat food, then sits down at the countertop. She inhales forkful after forkful. I lift my fingers to safeguard my nose.

“That smells like pure shit,” I remark.

“Where's Tessa? She'll shut you up.”

“Wouldn't count on it.” I grin. I have sort of come to like taunting Vance's fiancée. She has a thick skin, and she's obnoxious enough that I'm provided with plenty of ammunition.

“Wouldn't count on what?” Tessa joins us in the kitchen dressed in a sweatshirt, tight jeans, and those slipper things she swears are shoes. Really, they're nothing but overpriced cloth wrapped around a piece of cardboard, using the pretense of charity
to rip off stupid consumers. She disagrees, of course, so I've learned to keep this opinion to myself.

“Nothing.” I dig my hands into my pockets to fight the urge to nudge Kimberly's smug ass off the stool.

“He's mouthing off, nothing new.” Kim takes another bite of her cat food.

“Let's go, she's annoying,” I say just loud enough for Kim to hear.

“Be nice,” Tessa scolds me. I take her hand in mine and lead her out of the house.

When we get into the car, Tessa shoves a handful of plugs into my glove compartment. An idea strikes me. “You need to get on birth control,” I tell her. I've been so careless lately, and now that I've felt her without a condom, there's no going back.

“I know. I keep meaning to make a doctor's appointment, but it's hard to get an appointment with student insurance.”

“Sure, sure.”

“Maybe later this week I can get in. I need to do it soon; you're careless lately,” she says.

“Careless? Me?” I scoff, trying not to panic. “You're the one that keeps catching me off guard, and I can't think straight.”

“Oh please!” She giggles and leans her head back against the headrest.

“Hey, if you want to ruin your life by having a child, go for it, but you sure as hell aren't taking me down with you.” I squeeze her thigh, and she frowns. “What?”

“Nothing,” she lies, faking a smile.

“Tell me, now.”

“Children are something we shouldn't discuss, remember?”

“I agree . . . So let's cut out the middleman and get your ass on birth control so we don't have to ever talk or worry about children again.”

“I'll find a clinic to go to today so that your future isn't in jeopardy,” she flatly remarks.

I've made her upset, but there really isn't a nice way for me to tell her that she needs to get on birth control if she's going to be fucking me multiple times a day whenever we're near each other.

After making a few phone calls, she announces, “I have an appointment Monday.”

“Good.” I run my hand over my hair before placing it back onto her thigh.

I turn on the radio and follow the directions on my phone to the nearest mall.

BY THE TIME
we've walked around the mall once, I'm bored out of my mind with Seattle. The only thing keeping me entertained is Tessa. Even when she's quiet, I can read her thoughts just by watching her expressions. I watch her watch people as they rush through the mall. She frowns when an angry mother swats her child's ass in the middle of a store, and I guide her out before the scene—and her reaction to it—get out of hand. We have lunch at a quiet pizza parlor, and Tessa fills the entire meal with talk about a new book series she's been thinking about reading. I know how judgmental she can be about modern novels, so this surprises and intrigues me.