After Ever Happy (After #4) (28 page)

“I could continue to be an idiot,” she whispers, and I move my hand slowly up and down the length of her arm.

“Stop thinking, just shut your mind off, and let your body control this. Your body wants me, Tessa, it needs me.”

She shakes her head, denying the simple truth.

“Yes, yes, it does.” I continue touching her, closer to her chest now, waiting for her to stop me. If she does, I will cease all contact. I would never push this on her. I’ve done a lot of fucked-up shit, but that’s never an option.

“See the thing is . . . is that I know every single place to touch you.” I look into her eyes for approval, and they’re flashing like a neon sign. She’s not going to stop me; her body still craves me as it always has. “I know how to make you come so hard that you’ll forget everything else.”

Maybe if I can please her body, her mind will follow suit. Then, once I can break through to both mind and body, her heart will follow their lead.

I’ve never been shy when it comes to her body and pleasing her: Why start now?

I take her silence and the way she can’t seem to take her eyes off mine for a yes and reach for the hem of her sweatshirt. Damn this thing, it’s heavier than it should be, and the damn string is tangled into Tessa’s hair. She swats at my bad hand and removes the sweatshirt and detaches her hair from the thing.

“I’m not forcing you into anything here, am I?” I have to ask.

“No,” she breathes. “I know it’s a terrible idea, but I don’t want to stop.” I nod. “I need an escape from everything; please distract me.”

“Shut your mind off. Stop thinking about all of the other shit and focus on this.” I run my fingers along her neckline, and she shivers under my touch.

She catches me off guard and presses her lips to mine. Within seconds the slow, unsure kiss vanishes and is replaced by us. The timid gestures evaporate, and suddenly we are in our own place. All the other bullshit’s gone, and it’s only me and Tessa and her lips crushing against mine, her tongue making hurried swipes across my own, her hands in my hair, tugging at the roots and driving me fucking wild.

I wrap my arms around her and press my hips into hers until her back reaches the mattress. Her knee is bent, lifted, level with my crotch, and I shamelessly rub myself against her. She gasps at my desperation and removes a hand from my hair to bring down to her own chest. I could burst at the feeling of having her under me again—it’s too fucking much, yet not enough, and I can’t form a thought aside from her.

She touches herself, gripping one of her large breasts, and I look down like I’ve forgotten how to do anything else except stare at her perfect body and the way she’s finally letting loose with me. She needs this even more than I do. She needs the distraction from the real world, and I will gladly serve in that role.

Our moves aren’t calculated—pure passion is fueling us. I’m the fire, and she’s the damn gasoline, and there’s no sign of stopping or slowing until something is sure to explode. I’ll be waiting then, ready to fight the flames for her, keeping her safe so she doesn’t get burned by me, again. Her hand travels down her body, and she grips me, rubbing her hand over me, and I have to concentrate not to come from her hand alone. I shift my hips, resting them between her parted legs as she tugs at the waistband of my shorts. I tug at hers with one hand until both of us are naked from the waist down.

The groan that escapes her lips matches my own when I rub against her, skin to skin. I shift slightly, entering her partially, and she groans again. This time she presses her mouth to my bare shoulder. She’s licking and sucking at my skin as I push farther inside her. My vision blurs as I try to savor every second of this, every moment that she’s willing to be with me in this way.

“I love you,” I promise her.

Her mouth stops moving, and her grip on my arms loosens. “Hardin . . .”

“Marry me, Tessa. Please.” I push my cock inside her, filling her, hoping to catch her in an unfair moment of weakness.

“If you’re going to say things like that, then we can’t do this,” she says softly. I can see the hurt in her eyes, the lack of self-control she has when it comes to me, and I instantly feel guilty for bringing up fucking marriage while fucking her.
Great fucking timing, you selfish asshole.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” I assure her with a kiss. I will give her this time to think, and I will lay off the heavy shit while I’m thrusting in and out of her hot, wet—

“Oh God,” she moans.

Instead of confessing my undying love for her, I’ll only say the things she wants to hear. “You feel so fucking tight around me. It’s been so long,” I say against her neck, and one of her hands presses against the bottom of my back, pressing me deeper into her.

Her eyes pinch shut, and her legs begin to tighten. I know she’s already close, and even though she hates me right now, she loves my filthy mouth. I’m not going to last long, but neither is she. I’ve missed this—not only the pure fucking perfection that it is to be inside her, but being close to her in this way is something I need, something she needs.

“Come on, baby. Come around me, let me feel you,” I say through gritted teeth.

She obeys, clenching one of my arms and whimpering my name as she pushes her head back into the mattress. She comes apart, stitch by beautifully constructed stitch, and I watch her. I watch her beautiful mouth fall open as she whimpers my name. I watch the way her eyes find mine just before they close in pleasure. It’s too much, the beauty of her coming for me, allowing me to have her. I push myself into her once more, grabbing onto her hip as I spill into her.

“Fuck.” I drop to my elbows next to her, careful not to crush her with the weight of my body.

Her eyes are closed, her lids heavy as she struggles to open them. “Mhmm,” she agrees.

I prop myself up onto my elbow and stare at her while she’s not looking. I’m afraid of what will happen when she comes to, when she begins to regret this and her anger toward me grows.

“You okay?” I can’t help but trace the curve of her bare hip with my finger.

“Yeah.” Her voice is thick and sated.

I’m so fucking glad she came to my door. I don’t know how much longer I could have gone without seeing her or hearing her voice.

“You’re sure?” I push. I need to know what this meant to her.

“Yes.” She opens one eye, and I can’t fight the stupid smile on my face.

“Okay.” I nod. As I look at her, relaxing in her afterglow, it feels so nice to have her back, even if only for a few moments. She closes her eyes again, and right then I remember something. “So, what did you come here for in the first place?”

Immediately the sated, sleepy look disappears from her beautiful face, and for a moment she opens both eyes wide before regaining her composure.

“What is it?” I ask, Zed’s face surfacing in my demented thoughts. “Tell me, please.”

“It’s Karen.” She rolls onto her side, and I force my eyes away from her perfect tits on display.

Why the hell are we discussing Karen while naked? “Okay . . . what about her?”

“She’s . . . well . . .” Tessa stops for a moment, and my chest fills with an unexpected panic for the woman, for Ken, too.

“She’s
what
?”

“She’s pregnant.”

What? The fuck?
“By who?”

This obliviousness amuses Tessa, and she laughs. “Your father,” she says, but quickly corrects herself, “by Ken. Who else?”

I don’t know what I was expecting to hear, but Karen’s being pregnant was sure as hell not it. “What?”

“I know it’s a little surprising, but they’re very happy about it.”

A little surprising?
This is more than
a little fucking surprising
.

“Ken and Karen are having a baby?” I speak the ridiculous words.

“Yes.” Tessa eyes me carefully. “How do you feel about it?”

How do I feel about it? I don’t fucking know. I barely know the man, we are just starting to build something here, and now he’s having a baby? Another kid he’ll actually be sticking around to help raise.

“I guess it doesn’t matter how I feel, does it?” I say in a vain attempt to shut both of us up. I lie on my back and close my eyes.

“Yes, it does. It matters to them. They want you to know that the baby won’t change anything, Hardin. They want you to be part of the family. You’ll be a
big brother again
.”

A big brother?

Smith and his weird, adultlike personality come to mind, and I feel nauseated. This is too much for anyone to handle, and it’s sure as hell too much for someone as fucked-up as me.

“Hardin, I know it’s hard to wrap your head around, but I think—”

“I’m fine. I need a shower.” I climb out of the bed and grab the shorts from the floor.

Tessa sits up, confused and hurt, as I pull the shorts up my legs. “I’m here if you want to talk about it. I wanted to be the one to tell you about all of this.”

It’s too much. She doesn’t even want me.

She refuses to marry me.

Why can’t she see what we are? What we are together?
We cannot be apart. Ours is a love of the novels, better than any Austen or Brontë she has memorized.

My heart is pounding out of my chest—I can barely breathe.

She feels as if she isn’t living? I can’t understand that. I just can’t. I only live when it comes to her. She’s the only breath of life inside of me, and without it I will be nothing. I will neither survive nor live.

I wouldn’t want to even if I could.

Fuck,
the dark thoughts are fighting their way back into my head, and I’m overwhelmed by the struggle to hold on to the little bit of light Tessa has given back to me.

When will this end? When will shit not keep popping up each and every fucking time I finally feel like I have a grasp on my own mind?

H
ere I am, here we are, in this endless loop of happiness, lust, passion, overwhelming love, and pain. The pain seems to win, it always wins, and I’m tired of fighting.

I watch, forcing myself not to care, as he crosses the room. The moment the door closes, I smack my hands to my forehead and rub at my temples. What is wrong with me that I can’t seem to see anything but him? Why did I wake up this morning ready to face life without him, only to find myself in his bed hours later?

I hate that he has this power over me, but for the life of me I can’t stop it. I can’t blame him for my weakness, but if I was going to, I would have to argue that he makes it difficult to see the clear lines of right and wrong. When he smiles at me, those lines blur and mix and it’s literally impossible to fight the sensation that pulls at my whole body.

He makes me laugh just as often as he makes me cry, and he makes me feel again when I was convinced that my fate was the nothingness inside me. I fully believed that I would never feel anything again, but Hardin pulled me out of that; he grabbed my hand when no one else seemed to care enough to do so, and he pulled me up onto the surface.

Not that any of this changes that we just can’t be together. We simply don’t work, and I can’t allow myself to get my hopes up again, only to be crushed when he pulls back again, when he takes back everything he has confessed, and I refuse to be ripped apart, again and again, by the only hand that helps me.

Here I am, face in hands, obsessively overthinking the mistakes made—my mistakes, his mistakes, our parents’ mistakes—and how mine seem to be eating away at me, refusing to allow me any peace.

I got a hint of it, a hint of serenity and calm when his hands were on me, his mouth hot on mine, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin covering my hips, but minutes later the fire’s extinguished, and I’m alone. I’m alone and hurt and embarrassed, and it’s the same story, only with an even more pathetic ending than the last installment.

I get to my feet, refasten my bra, and tug Landon’s sweatshirt over my head. I can’t be here when Hardin returns. I can’t spend the next ten minutes preparing myself for whichever Hardin decides to make an appearance. I’ve done this too many times, and I finally got myself to a place where my need for him wasn’t so overpowering. Where he wasn’t consuming my every thought, he wasn’t responsible for my every breath, and I was finally able to see a life after him.

This was a relapse. That’s all it was. This was a terrible lapse in judgment, and I’m harshly reminded of that by the silence of the room.

I’m dressed and in my room by the time I hear him opening the bathroom door. His footsteps grow louder as he passes by, and it only takes him a few seconds to realize that I’m no longer in his room.

He doesn’t knock—I knew he wouldn’t—before he enters my room.

I’m sitting on the bed, legs crossed and held in front of me, protecting myself. I must look pathetic to him: my eyes are burning with regretful tears and my skin smelling of him.

“Why did you leave?” His hair is wet, dripping water down his forehead, and his hands are resting on his bare hips, his shorts hanging too low.

“I didn’t. You did,” I stubbornly point out.

He blankly stares at me as a few seconds pass. “I guess you’re right. Come back?” He forms the demand like a question, and I fight myself not to get up from the bed.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I look away from his gaze, and he treads across the room to sit across from me on the bed.

“Why’s that? I’m sorry I freaked out, I just didn’t know what to think, and if I’m being totally fucking honest, I didn’t trust myself not to say the wrong thing to you, so I figured I would leave the room and clear my head.”

Why couldn’t he have behaved this way before? Why couldn’t he be honest and levelheaded when I needed him to be? Why did it take me finally pulling away for him to want to change?

“I wish you would have at least indicated that instead of just leaving me alone in there.” I nod, gathering the tiny scrap of strength inside me. “I don’t think we should be alone together.”

His eyes go wild. “What are you talking about?” he growls. So much for levelheaded.