After We Fell (60 page)

I snap my head up. “Sorry.”

Back in her pajamas, Tessa snuggles up next to me and, strangely, grabs the remote to the TV and starts flipping around trying to find something to watch. I'm a little dazed, so the
cooldown feels comfortable, but after a few minutes I realize she's sighed quite a few times. And when I look over at her, there's a deep scowl on her face, like finding a program to watch is more frustrating than it should be.

“Something wrong?” I ask her.

“No,” she lies.

“Tell me now,” I press, and she lets out a quick breath.

“It's nothing . . . I'm just a little . . .” Her cheeks flush. “Wound up.”

“Wound up? You should be anything but wound up after that.” I pull back a little and look at her.

“I didn't . . . you know, I—I didn't,” she stutters. Her shyness never fails to surprise me. One minute she's moaning into my ear to fuck her harder, faster, deeper, and the next she can't form a sentence.

“Spill it,” I demand.

“I didn't finish.”

“What?” I choke.
Had I really been that consumed by my own pleasure that I didn't notice when she didn't come?

“You stopped right before . . .” she quietly explains.

“Why didn't you say something? Come here, then.” I tug at her shirt to lift it over her head.

“What are you going to do?” she asks, excitement laced in her tone.

“Shh . . .” I don't know what I want to do . . . I want to make love to her again, but I need a little more time to refuel.

Wait—got it.

“We're going to do something that we've only done once.” I smirk at her, and her eyes widen. “Because, you know, practice makes perfect.”

“What's that?” And just like that, her excitement has been replaced by nervousness.

I lie back on my elbows and beckon to her to come to me.

“I don't get it,” she says.

“Come here; put your thighs here.” I tap the empty space on both sides of my head.

“What?”

“Tessa, come here, and then spread your thighs over my face, so I can get you off right and proper,” I explain slowly and clearly.

“Oh,” she squeaks. I see the hesitation in her eyes, and I reach over to turn the lamp off. I want her to be as comfortable as possible. Despite the darkness, I can still make out the soft planes of her body, the fullness of her chest, the sexy curve of her hips.

Tessa removes her panties, and within seconds she's following my instructions and kneeling over me.

“This is quite the view I have here,” I tease her, and my vision disappears. She's pulled my T-shirt down over my eyes.

“Well, this is much hotter, actually.” I smile against her thighs. She smacks me playfully on the head in response. “Really, though . . . it's really fucking hot,” I add.

I hear her laugh in the darkness, and I bring my hands to her hips, guiding her movements. Once my tongue touches her, she begins to move her hips on her own, tugging at my hair and whispering my name until she loses herself in the pleasure I'm giving her.

I
come back to reality, slowly, unwillingly, but happy Hardin's lying next to me.

“Hey.” He smiles, kissing me on my lips.

I laugh—it's a lazy sound, not wanting to move. My body is slightly sore, but in the best way.

“I wish you weren't leaving tomorrow,” I whisper while running my fingertips over one of the branches on his tattoo. The tree is dark, haunting and intricate. I wonder: If Hardin were getting this tattoo now, would he get the dead tree again? Or would there be just a few leaves on the branches, now that he's happier, more lively?

“Me, too,” he answers simply.

I can't mask the desperation behind my plea when I say “Then don't.”

Hardin's fingers spread across my back, and he presses my naked body closer to his. “I don't want to, but I know you're only saying that because I just made you come repeatedly.”

A horrified scoff falls from my lips. “That's not true!” Hardin's body shakes gently with an amused chuckle. “It really isn't the only reason . . . Maybe we could be with each other on the weekends for a little while and see where it goes from there?”

“You expect me to drive here every weekend?”

“Not every one. I'll come there, too.” I tilt to my head to look into his eyes. “It's working for us so far.”

“Tessa . . .” He sighs, “I already told you how I felt about the
long-distance shit.” My eyes flicker to the ceiling fan slowly spinning around and around in the dimness of the room. Rachel is pouring marinara sauce into Monica's handbag on the television screen.

“Yes, yet here you are,” I challenge him.

He sighs and tugs gently at the ends of my hair, forcing me to look at him once more. “Touché.”

“Well, I think there's some sort of compromise that can be reached here, don't you?”

“What's your offer?” he asks softly, briefly closing his eyes to take a deep breath.

“I don't know exactly . . . give me a moment,” I say.

What exactly
am
I offering him? It's in the best interest of both of our sanities to stay somewhat distant from each other for now. As much as my heart forgets all the terrible things that Hardin and I have been through in the past, my brain won't allow me to give up all of my remaining dignity.

I am in Seattle, following my dream, alone, with no apartment because of Hardin's possessive nature and the unwillingness of both of us to compromise over even the most trivial details.

“I don't know, really,” I finally say when I can't come up with a solid suggestion.

“Well, do you want me around still? Just for the weekends, at least?” he asks. His fingers twist and twirl my hair.

“Yes.”

“Every weekend?”

“Mostly.” I smile.

“Do you want to talk on the phone each day like we did this week?”

“Yes.” I loved the simple way Hardin and I spoke on the phone, neither of us even noticing the minutes and hours as they ticked by.

“So everything will be the same as it was this week, then. I don't know about that,” he says.

“Why not?” It's seemed to work for him so far, so why would he object to continuing the same way?

“Because, Tessa, you're here in Seattle without me, and we aren't actually together, you could see someone else or meet someone—”

“Hardin.” I lift myself onto my elbow to look down at him. His eyes bore into mine, and a lock of my unruly blond hair falls onto his face. Without breaking eye contact or even so much as a blink, his fingers move to tuck the fallen hair back behind my ear. “I'm not planning on seeing or meeting anyone else. All I want out of this is some independence and for both of us to be able to communicate.”

“Why is it so important to you to be independent all of a sudden?” he asks. His thumb and forefinger glide across the shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. If he's trying to distract me, he's succeeding.

Despite his gentle touch and burning jade eyes, I continue in my quest to make him understand where I'm coming from. “It's not a sudden thing. I've mentioned this to you before. I also hadn't noticed just how dependent on you I was until recently, and I don't like it. I don't like being that way.”

“I do,” he says quietly.

“I know you do, but I don't,” I say, refusing to allow the confidence in my voice to falter. A part of me pats myself on the back, then rolls her eyes at me because she isn't buying it.

“Well, how do I play into this independent shit?”

“Just keep doing what you're doing now. I have to be able to make decisions without thinking about having your permission or what you would think about them.”

“You definitely don't think about having my permission now, or you wouldn't do half the shit you do.”

I don't want to have a fight. “Hardin,” I warn him. “This is important to me. I need to be able to think for myself. We should be partners . . . equals, neither of us should hold more . . .
power
than the other.” I struggle to find the words, sifting through my mind for a better way to explain what I want . . . what I need. I have to do this. This is part of who I am, or who I want to be. I'm working hard to find myself, to find out who I am on my own, with or without Hardin.

“Equals? Power?
You
obviously have more power here. I mean, come on.”

“It's not only for me . . . it's been good for you, too. You know it has.”

“I guess so, but what does that say about us that we can only get along if we're in different cities?” he asks . . . putting into words the question that's been nagging at me since he arrived.

“Well, we'll figure that out later.”

“Sure.” He stubbornly rolls his eyes but softens the reaction by kissing my forehead.

“Remember what you said about there being a difference between loving someone and not being able to live without them?” I ask.

“I don't ever want to hear that statement again, really.”

I swipe his damp hair off of his forehead. “You're the one who said it,” I remind him. My fingertips graze along the outline of his nose, down to his swollen lips. “I've been thinking about it so much since then,” I admit.

Hardin groans in annoyance. “Why?”

“Because you said it for a reason, didn't you?”

“Out of anger, that's all. I didn't have a clue what it even meant. I was just being a dick.”

“Well, either way, I keep thinking about it.” I gently tap on the tip of his nose.

“Well, I wish you wouldn't, because there's no difference
between the two.” His words fall slowly between us, his tone thoughtful.

“How so?”

He gives me a small smile. “I can't live without you
and
I love you: they go hand in hand. If I could live without you, I wouldn't be as in love with you as I am, and I clearly cannot be far from you.”

“I'll say.” I bite back the giggle that's threatening to emerge.

He notices my lightness. “I know you aren't talking about me . . . You nearly busted your ass running to tackle me when I arrived.” Even in the darkness of the room, I can see his bright, widening smile, and my breath catches as I take in the raw beauty of him. When he behaves this way, unguarded and natural, there's nothing better in my world.

“I knew you were going to torture me for that!” I swat at his bare chest, and his hand flies up to catch my wrist between his long fingers.

“Are you trying to get rough with me again? Look what happened last time.” He lifts his head off the mattress, and the heat begins to spread down my body, resting between my already sore thighs.

“Can you stay one more day?” I dodge his remark about being rough. I need to know if I'm going to have more time with him tomorrow so we can spend the remainder of the morning hours . . . well . . . getting rough. “Please,” I add, snuggling my head into the crook of his neck.

“Fine,” he says. I can feel his jaw move as he smiles against my forehead. “But only if you blindfold me again.”

In one quick motion, he wraps his arms around my back and flips my body under his, and seconds later we're lost in each other . . . again and again . . .

K
imberly is sitting at the breakfast bar when I walk into the kitchen. Her face is free of makeup, and her hair is pulled back away from her face. I don't think I've ever seen her without a shit ton of crap on her face, and for Vance's sake I contemplate hiding the shit from her because she looks much better without it.

“Well, look who's finally awake,” she says in a chipper tone.

“Yeah, yeah.” I groan and walk straight past her to the coffee machine nestled in the corner of the dark granite countertop.

“What time are you leaving?” she asks while picking at a bowl of lettuce.

“Not until tomorrow, if that's okay. Or do you want me out now?” I fill a mug with the black liquid and turn to face her.

“Of course you can stay.” She grins. “As long as you aren't being an asshole to Tessa.”

“Actually, I'm not.” I roll my eyes as Vance enters the room. “You need to get a tighter leash on this one, perhaps even a muzzle,” I tell him.

A deep bellowing laugh comes from her fiancé just as Kimberly raises her middle finger to me.

“So classy,” I taunt her.

“You're in an awfully cheery mood.” Christian grins wickedly, and Kimberly shoots him a glare.

What the hell is that about?

“Wonder why that is?” he adds, and she elbows him.

“Christian . . .” she scolds, and he shakes his head. His hand lifts in defense to block her from repeating the playful assault.

“Probably because he's
missed
Tessa,” Kimberly suggests and eyes Christian as he circles around the oversized island to grab a banana from the fruit basket.

His eyes twinkle in amusement as he pulls down the peel of a banana. “I heard midnight workouts will do that.”

My blood turns cold. “What did you say?”

“Calm down . . . he shut the camera off before the good stuff,” Kimberly assures me.

Camera?

Fuck.
Of fucking course this asshole would have a camera in his gym . . . Hell, every main access room is probably equipped with security cameras. He's always been more paranoid behind that slick demeanor than he lets on.

“What did you see?” I growl, trying to keep my pulsing anger at bay.

“Nothing. Only that Tessa came into the room; he knew better than to continue . . .” Kimberly bites back a grin, and relief floods through me. I was too caught up in the moment, caught up in Tessa, to think about shit like security cams.