After We Fell (64 page)

“Hey.” Tessa's smile lights up the dim room, and Kimberly covertly slides off the high stool she's sitting on and leaves us alone. Which means she's set a new record for not annoying me.

“How long have you been up?” I ask Tessa.

“Two hours. Christian said I could have an extra hour, since you weren't awake.”

“You should have woken me up earlier.” My eyes greedily rake down her body. She's dressed in a deep red button-down shirt tucked into a solid black, knee-length pencil skirt. The material hugs her hips in a way that makes me want to bend her over the stool, push her skirt up to reveal her panties—lace panties, perhaps—and take her right here, right now . . .

She calls me out from my thoughts. “What?”

The front door closes, and I'm relieved that we're finally alone in the massive house.

“Nothing,” I lie and walk over to the half-full coffeepot. “You'd think they'd have a Keurig, rich bastards.”

Tessa laughs at my remark. “I'm glad they don't. I hate those things.” She leans on her elbows on the kitchen island, and her hair falls down to frame her face.

“Me, too.” I glance around the spacious kitchen and back to Tessa's chest as she stands up straight. “What time do you have to leave?” I ask. She crosses her arms in front of her chest, blocking my view.

“Twenty minutes.”

“Dammit.” I sigh, and we both bring our coffee mugs to our mouths at the same time.

“You should have woken me up. Tell Vance you're not coming in.”

“No!” She blows at the steaming cup of coffee in her hand.

“Yes.”

“No,” she says with a firm voice. “I can't take advantage of my personal relationship with him like that.” Her choice of words sends an unwelcome annoyance through me.

“It's not a ‘personal relationship.' You're staying here because you're friends with Kimberly, and ultimately because I introduced you to Vance in the first place,” I remind her, fully aware of just how annoyed she gets when I bring this up with her.

Her blue-gray eyes roll back dramatically, and she strides across the rich hardwood flooring, her heels clicking loudly as she passes me. My fingers hook around her elbow, halting her dramatic exit.

I pull her to my chest and press my lips against the base of her throat. “Where do you think you're going?”

“To my room to grab my bag,” she says. But the heavy rising
and falling of her chest completely contradicts her cool tone and cooler gaze.

“Tell him you need more time,” I demand, barely brushing my lips over the flushed skin below her neck. She tries to appear unaffected by my touch, but I know better. I know her body better than she does.

“No.” She makes a minimal effort to pull away, just to be able to tell herself that she did. “I don't want to take advantage of him. They're already letting me stay here for free.”

I'm not budging. “I'll call him, then,” I say. He doesn't need her at the office today. He already has her three days a week. I need her more than Vance Publishing does.

“Hardin . . .” She reaches for my hand before I can dig into my pocket to retrieve my cell phone. “I'll call Kim.” She frowns, and I'm surprised and very grateful that she gave in so quickly.

K
im. Hey, it's Tessa. I was—”

“Go ahead.” She cuts me off. “I already told Christian you probably wouldn't be in today.”

“I'm sorry for asking. I—”

“Tessa, it's fine. We get it.” The sincerity in her voice makes me smile despite my annoyance with Hardin. It's nice to finally have a female friend. The weight of Steph's betrayal is something I'm having a hard time lifting from my chest. I look around my temporary bedroom and remind myself that I'm hours away from her, from that campus, from all the friends I thought I had made during my first semester at college, all of them fakes. This is my life now. Seattle is where I belong, and I'll never have to see Steph or any of them again.

“Thank you so much,” I tell her.

“You don't have to thank me. Just remember that all the main rooms in the house are under surveillance.” Kimberly laughs. “I'm sure that after the gym incident you wouldn't forget that.”

My eyes dart up to Hardin as he enters the bedroom.

His expectant grin and the way those dark blue jeans hang low on his hips distract me from Kimberly's words. I have to scramble to remember what she said only seconds ago.

The gym? Oh God.
My blood runs cold, and Hardin stalks toward me.

“Um, yeah,” I mumble, holding my hand up to stop Hardin from coming any closer.

“Have fun.” Kimberly ends the call.

“They have cameras in the gym! They saw us!” I say, panicking.

Hardin shrugs as if it's no big deal. “They turned them off before they saw anything.”

“Hardin! They know we . . . you know, in their
gym
!” My hands fly through the air in front of me. “I'm so mortified!” I cover my face with my hands, but Hardin quickly removes them.

“They didn't see anything. I spoke to them already. Calm down. Don't you think I would've lost my shit if he'd actually seen anything on tape?”

I relax, slightly. He's right; he would've been much more upset than he appears to be right now, but that doesn't mean that I'm not completely humiliated by the fact that they
know,
even if they did stop the tape.

But wait, what does “tape” even mean here—everything's digital. And they could have just
said
they stopped the cameras but really all they did was just look away . . .

“The footage . . . it's not saved anywhere or anything, right?” I can't help but ask the question. My fingertip traces over the small cross tattoo on Hardin's hand.

Hardin lowers his eyes at me defensively. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Hardin's . . . old hobbies flash through my mind. “That's not what I meant,” I say quickly. Maybe too quickly.

“You sure?” he asks. I watch as his features harden and his eyes fill with guilt. “I mean, how would you know what I was worried you were thinking about if you hadn't already been thinking about it yourself?”

“Don't,” I say strongly and close the small space between us.

“Don't what?” he asks.

I can read his thoughts in this moment; I can see him reliving
the terrible things he has done. “Don't do that; don't go back there.”

“I can't help it.” He rubs his hand down his face in a slow yet frenzied motion. “Is that what you were thinking? That I knew about the tape, and that I let him watch it?”

“What? No!
I would never think that,” I say honestly. “I only connected the tape from the gym to . . . to what happened before when you said something. It just
reminded
me of that—I never thought you were doing that now.” My fingers wrap around the tattered neckline of his black T-shirt. “I know you would never show anyone a tape of me.” I stare into his eyes, willing him to believe me.

“If anyone ever did something like that to you . . .” He takes a long pause and a deep breath. “I don't know what I would do to them, even if it was Vance,” he grimly admits. Hardin's temper is something I've grown very familiar with over the last six months.

I stand on my tiptoes so I can look him in the eyes. “It won't happen.”

“Something terrible almost did, though, only last week with Steph and Dan.” A shudder shakes his shoulders, and I desperately search for the right thing to say to him to pull him out of this dark place.

“Nothing happened.” The irony of my being the one to comfort him now, when the trauma was actually something that happened to me, isn't lost on me; but this role reversal speaks true to the nature of our relationship and Hardin's need to blame himself for things he can't control. Just like his mother, just like me. I can see this now.

“If he had been inside you . . .”

The words bring back vague flashes of memory from that night, images of Dan's fingers running up my thigh, of Steph pulling at my dress.

“I don't want to discuss the hypothetical.” I lean into him, and his arms wrap around my waist, caging me, protecting me from bad memories and nonexistent threats.

He glowers. “We've barely discussed it at all.”

“I don't want to. We talked about it enough at my mother's house, and this is not how I want to spend my newly cleared afternoon.” I give him the best smile I can manage in a failed attempt to lighten the mood.

“I couldn't bear anyone hurting you like that. I hate the thought of him violating you. It makes me murderous—all I see is red. I can't handle it.” Hardin's angry expression has not lightened, only intensified. His green eyes burn into mine, and the rough grip of his fingers tightens on the span of my hips.

“Let's not talk about it, then. I want you to try and forget it, like I have.” I caress his back with my fingers, gently begging him to forget the whole thing. It won't do either of us any good to harp on it. It was terrible and disgusting, but I won't let it rule me. “I love you—I love you so, so much.”

His mouth catches mine, and I wrap my fingers around his arms, pulling him closer to me.

Between breaths, I say, “So focus on me, Hardin. Only on m—”

I'm interrupted by the pressure of his mouth on mine again, possessing me, proving his commitment to both me and himself. His tongue is hard, pushing through my lips to massage mine. Hardin's fingertips dig into my hips even further, and I whimper as his hands glide up my stomach to my chest. He cups my breasts, and I push into his body harder, filling his greedy hands.

“Show me that it's only me,” he whispers into my mouth, and I know exactly what he wants, what he needs.

I drop to my knees in front of him and hastily tug at the lone button on his jeans. The zipper proves to be more of a problem, and I briefly consider ripping the jagged metal lining and destroying it altogether. However, I can't bring myself to do this, considering
how hot he looks in the tight blue jeans. My fingertips slowly graze over the light dusting of hair leading from his navel to the waistband of his boxers, and he groans impatiently.

“Please,” he begs, “no teasing.”

I give a small nod and pull down his boxers, letting them pool at his calves atop the bunched-up jeans. Hardin groans once more, this time much louder, much more primal, and I take him into my mouth. Slow movements and flicks of my tongue say the things that I try to instill in his paranoid mind, reassuring him that these acts of pleasure are different from anything someone could force me into.

I love him. I'm aware that what I'm doing now may not be the healthiest way to handle his anger and anxiety, but my need for him is stronger than my moral compass, which, at the moment, is smugly waving a self-help book in front of my face.

“I fucking love that I'm the only man who has had your mouth,” he groans as I use one hand to take what my mouth cannot. “Those lips have only been wrapped around me.” A quick movement of his hips makes me gag, and he reaches down to run his thumb along my forehead. “Look at me,” he instructs.

And I happily comply. I'm enjoying this just as much as he is. I always do. I love the way his eyelids fall closed with each long stroke of my tongue against him. I love the way he grunts and groans when I add more suction.

“Fuck, you know exactly . . .” His head rolls back, and I can feel the muscles in his legs tightening under my hand, which I've rested on him to steady myself. “I'm the only man who you'll ever be on your knees in front of . . .”

I press my thighs together to relieve some of the tension his filthy mouth arouses in me. Hardin uses one hand to steady himself against the wall as my mouth brings him closer and closer to his high. I keep my eyes on his, knowing that it drives him absolutely
crazy to watch me as I enjoy pleasuring him so much. His free hand moves down from the top of my head to my mouth, and he runs the pad of his thumb across my top lip, moving in and out of my mouth at a quickening pace.

“Fuck, Tess.” His body goes rigid as he tells me how good it feels, how much he loves me, while he climbs closer to release. I take all of him, moaning while he's filling my mouth—and he groans, emptying himself on my tongue. I keep sucking, milking every drop of his release as he softly rubs my cheek with his thumb.

I lean into his touch, reveling in its tenderness, and he gently helps me to my feet. The moment I'm standing next to him, he's pulling me into his arms, hugging me in an intimate gesture that almost overwhelms me.

“I'm sorry for dragging all that shit up,” he whispers into my hair.

“Shh,” I whisper back, not wanting to backtrack to the dark conversation we left behind only minutes ago.

“Bend over the bed, baby,” Hardin says, and it takes me a moment to register his words. He doesn't give me an opportunity to respond before he's gently pushing his palm against the small of my back, guiding me to the edge of the mattress. His hands grip my thighs, pushing my skirt up my legs until my entire behind is bared to him.

I want him so badly that it physically hurts. An ache that only he can soothe. As I move to step out of my shoes, he presses his palm against my back again.

“No, leave them on,” he growls.

I groan as my panties are pushed to the side and he slides a finger inside of me. He steps closer, his legs nearly touching mine, his cock softly teasing the back of my legs.

“So soft, baby, so warm.” He adds another finger, and I groan,
leaning all my weight onto my elbows on the mattress. My back arches when he finds a rhythm, steadily entering me, dragging his long fingers into and out of me.