by Anna Todd
“Are you mad that I’ve been seeing him?” he asks, and I put my hand on his back to try to comfort him.
“Oh, Hardin, I would never be upset with you for having a relationship with your father. I’m just surprised, that’s all. You could have told me.” She blinks rapidly to avoid tears. “I have wanted you to let go of that anger for so long. That was a dark time in our lives, but we got through it, and it’s in the past. Your father isn’t the same man he was then, and I’m not the same woman.”
“It still doesn’t make it okay,” he says quietly.
“No, it doesn’t. But sometimes you have to choose to let things go, to move on. I really am happy that you’ve been seeing him. It’s good for you. The reason I sent you here . . . well, one of the reasons, was for you to forgive him.”
“I didn’t forgive him.”
“You should,” she says sincerely. “I have.”
Hardin leans on his elbows on the counter and drops his head while I rub my hand up and down his back. Noticing the gesture, Trish gives me a knowing smile. Even more than before, I admire her so much. She’s so strong and loving despite the lack of emotion from her son. I wish she had someone in her life, the way Ken has Karen.
Hardin must have been thinking the exact same thing, because he drops his head and says, “But he lives in this big-ass house and has expensive cars. He has a new wife . . . and you’re alone.”
“I don’t care about his house or his money,” she assures him. Then she smiles. “And what makes you think I’m alone?”
“What?” He raises his head.
“Don’t sound so surprised! I’m quite the catch, son.”
“You’re seeing someone? Who?”
“Mike.” She blushes and my heart warms.
Hardin’s mouth gapes. “Mike? Your neighbor?”
“Yes, my neighbor. He’s a very nice man, Hardin.” She laughs and looks at me knowingly. “And it’s convenient having him live just next door.”
Hardin waves that off. “For how long? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“A few months, it’s nothing serious . . . yet. Besides, I don’t think I should be asking you for relationship advice,” she teases.
“Mike, though? He’s sort of a . . .”
“Don’t you say a bad word about him. You’re not too old for a spanking,” she scolds with a wry grin.
He raises his arms playfully. “Fine . . . fine . . .”
He’s much more relaxed than he was this morning. The tension between us has disappeared, mostly, and watching him joke with his mother makes me so happy.
Trish announces cheerfully, “Excellent! I’m going to go pick the movie—don’t come in there unless you bring cookies.” She smiles and leaves us alone in the kitchen.
I walk back over to the bowl of ingredients and finish mixing the cookie dough. When I lick a glob of it off my finger, Hardin oh-so-helpfully notes, “I don’t think that’s very sanitary.”
I dip my finger back into the bowl, collecting the sticky dough and walk over to him. “Have some,” I tell him. I hold up my hand and try to transfer the dough to his fingers, but he opens his mouth and wraps his lips around my finger. I gasp at the contact and try to convince myself this is just his method of removing the cookie dough . . . regardless of how he’s looking at me with dark eyes. No matter how he’s flicking his warm tongue over my finger. No matter how many degrees the temperature of the kitchen has seemed to have risen. No matter how my heart is beating out of my chest and my insides are igniting.
“I think that’s enough,” I croak and pull my finger from his mouth.
He gives me a wicked smirk. “Later, then.”
THE PLATE OF COOKIES is devoured within the first ten minutes of the movie. I have to admit I’m proud of my newly acquired baking skills; Trish praises me and Hardin eats over half of the batch, which is praise in and of itself.
“Is it bad that these cookies are my favorite thing about America so far?” Trish laughs as she takes the last bite.
“Yes, very sad,” Hardin teases her, and I giggle.
“You may have to make these every day until I leave, Tessa.”
“Sounds good to me.” I smile and lean into Hardin. One of his arms snakes behind me at my waist, and I fold my legs up so I can move even closer to him.
Trish falls asleep toward the end of the movie, and Hardin turns the volume down a bit so we can finish without waking her. By the end, I’m a sobbing mess and Hardin doesn’t try to hide his humor at my despair. That was one of the saddest movies I’ve seen in my entire life; I have no idea how Trish fell asleep.
“That was terrible, amazing but terribly sad,” I sob.
“Blame my mum. I requested a comedy, yet somehow we ended up with The Green Mile. I warned you.” He moves his arm to my shoulder, pulling me closer and placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. “We can turn on Friends when we get to the room to get your mind off of him dy—”
“Hardin! Don’t remind me!” I groan.
But he just chuckles before standing up off of the couch and pulling me by the arm to join him. When we get to the room, Hardin switches on the lamp and then the television.
When he goes over and locks the door, then turns to me with those bright green eyes and evil dimples, my insides quiver.
chapter thirty-five
HARDIN
I’m going to change,” Tessa tells me and disappears into the closet, tissue still in hand.
Her eyes are red from her breakdown during the movie. I knew it would upset her, though I have to admit that I was looking forward to her reaction. Not because I want her to be upset, but because I love how emotionally invested she becomes in things. She opens herself so fully to these fictional forces, whether in a movie or a novel, that she allows them to completely pull her in. It’s captivating to watch.
She emerges from the closet in only shorts and her white lace bra.
Holy shit. I don’t even try to be subtle with my staring.
“Do you think you could wear . . . you know, my shirt?” I ask her. I’m not sure how she’ll feel about that, but I miss seeing her wearing my shirts to bed.
“I would love to.” She smiles and pulls my used shirt off the top of the clothes hamper.
“Good,” I state, trying not to seem too excited. But I watch the way her breasts spill out of the top of the lace as she lifts her arms.
Stop staring. Slow, she wants to go slow. I can go slow . . . slowly . . . in and out of her. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me? Just when I consider looking away, she reaches under the shirt and pulls her bra through one sleeve . . . Christ.
“Something wrong?” she asks and climbs onto the bed.
“No.” I gulp and watch in awe as she pulls her hair out of the ponytail it was in. As it falls onto her shoulders in beautiful blond waves, she shakes her head slowly. She has got to be doing this on purpose.
“Okay . . .” she says and lies on top of the duvet. I wish she would get under it so she wouldn’t look so . . . exposed.
She gives me a quizzical look. “Are you coming to bed?”
I hadn’t realized that I was still standing by the door. “Yeah . . .”
“I know this is a little strange right now, you know, getting used to being together again, but you don’t have to be so . . . distant,” she says nervously.
“I know,” I respond and join her on the bed, holding my hands low and in front of me, to hide things.
“It’s really not as strange as I thought it would be,” she says in a near whisper.
“Yeah . . .” I’m relieved to hear that; I was worried that it wouldn’t be the same as before. That she would be guarded and not the Tess that I love so much. It’s only been a few hours, but I hope things stay this way. It’s so easy with her, so damn easy, yet difficult at the same time.
She lays a small hand on mine and leans onto my chest “You are being so weird. Tell me what’s on your mind,” she requests.
“I’m just glad
you’re still here, that’s all.” And I can’t stop thinking about making love to you, I add silently. It’s not just about getting off with Tessa like it always was before—it’s much more. So much more. It’s about being as connected and tied to her as I possibly can be. It’s about her trusting me fully. My chest aches when I think about the trust she had for me but that I shattered.
“That’s not all,” she says, calling me out.
I shake my head in agreement, and she draws a line against my temple and down to the metal in my eyebrow with one finger.
“It’s terrible what I’m thinking,” I admit. I don’t want her to think that she’s an object to me, that I just want to use her. I really don’t want to tell her what’s on my mind, but I can’t continue to keep things from her, I need to be honest with her now and always.
As she looks down at me, her worried expression pains me. “Tell me.”
“I . . . well, I was thinking about . . . fucking . . . I mean making love to you.”
“Oh,” she says softly, her eyes wide.
“I know, I’m a dick,” I groan, wishing I would’ve just lied.
“No . . . no, you’re not.” Her cheeks color red. “I was sort of thinking about the same thing.” She takes her bottom lip between her teeth, taunting me further.
“You were?”
“Yeah . . . I mean it has been a while . . . well, not including Seattle, during which I was belligerently drunk.”
I search her face for the judgment she’s made about my lack of control when she came onto me last weekend, but there’s none there. I see the embarrassment as she recalls the events in her mind. My boxers are growing uncomfortably tight as I remember them, too.
“I don’t want you to think that I’m using you . . . because of everything,” I explain.
“Hardin, out of all the things I’m thinking right now, that isn’t one of them. Granted, it probably should be, but it’s not.”
I was afraid, so afraid that our intimate moments would be forever tainted by my foolishness. “You’re sure? Because I don’t want to fuck up again,” I say.
She answers me by taking my hand and placing in in between her thighs.
Fuck. I grab her waist with my other hand and pull her toward me. Within seconds I’m hovering over her, one knee between her legs. I kiss her neck first, my mouth feverish and quick against her soft skin. She tugs my T-shirt up and lifts her back enough for me to pull it off. My tongue leaves a wet trail behind as I kiss over her collarbone and the swell of her breasts. Her hands pull at my shirt and my sweats simultaneously, and I help her, leaving me in only my boxers.
I want to touch every part of her body, every inch of skin, every curve, every angle. God, she is beautiful. As I lower myself to kiss her stomach, her fingers disappear into my hair, tugging at the roots. I nip at her skin. Her panties and shorts are tossed to the floor. My tongue caresses the skin over her hips.
I explore her body as if it’s the first or last time, but she rushes me along with a “Hardin . . . please . . .”
I bring my mouth to her most sensitive area and slide my tongue across her slowly, savoring her taste as it consumes my senses.
“Oh God,” she pants and pulls harder on my hair.
Her hips buck up off of the bed and she presses herself against my tongue. I pull back and she whines. I love that she’s as desperate for me as I am for her. I quickly lean up and open the drawer on the nightstand, grabbing the foil packet and tear it open with my teeth.
She watches me and I watch her. I watch the way her chest rises and falls in anticipation. I push down my boxers and lean over to plant a small kiss on her cheek, my cock resting on her thigh for a couple of heartbeats.
I straighten up and put the condom on. “Stay still,” I instruct.
She obliges and I climb back between her legs. The anticipation is exhilarating. I’m so hard that it hurts.
“You’re always so ready for me, baby,” I muse, collecting her moisture on my fingers before bringing them to her mouth to have her taste. She’s shy but doesn’t protest as she wraps her tongue around my finger. The sensation causes me to ease into her. The feeling is exquisite and one I have missed so, so much. “Christ,” I curse as she moans in relief.
All of my previous heartache dissolves as I bury myself into her, filling her up completely. Her eyes roll back in her head, and I deliberately circle my hips slowly before pulling out and pushing back in repeatedly.
“More . . . please, Hardin.”
Fuck, I love to hear her beg. “No, baby . . . I want to go slow this time.” I rotate my hips again. I want to savor every second of this. I want it to be slow and I want her to feel how much I love her, how sorry I am for hurting her, and how I’m willing to do anything for her. I bring my mouth to hers and caress her tongue with mine. I groan when her fingernails dig into my biceps with a force sure to leave crescent marks in their wake.
“I love you . . . I love you so much,” I tell her and increase my pace slightly. I know I’m torturing her with my teasing, slow movements.
“I . . . I love you,” she moans, and her legs begin to shake, telling me she’s almost there.
I would love to see what we look like in this moment, molded together yet so separated. The contrast of her smooth, clear skin and the black ink covering mine as she runs her hands up and down my arms must be quite the sight. It’s dark meets light; it’s chaotic perfection; it’s everything I fear, want, and need.
Her moans become louder, and I bring my hand to her mouth so she can bite on it. “Shhh . . . let go, baby.”
My thrusts quicken as her soft body goes rigid under mine and she calls my name into my hand. Within seconds I’m joining her, getting high off her. She’s the perfect drug. “Look at me,” I breathe. Her eyes meet mine and I’m done for. I spill out all of me, and her body relaxes, leaving us both a panting mess. I roll off the condom and toss it into the bin next to the bed.
When I move to climb off, she grabs my arms to stop me. I smile down at her and stay still. I use my elbow to prop me up and keep most of my weight off of her. Tessa’s hand touches my cheek, she uses the pad of her thumb to draw small circles against my damp skin.
“I love you, Hardin,” she says quietly.
“I love you, Tess,” I respond and lay my head against her chest.
My eyes are heavy as I feel her breathing slow, and I fall asleep listening to the steady thrum of her heartbeat.
chapter thirty-six
TESSA
Hardin’s head is heavy on my stomach when the sound of my phone vibrating on the table wakes me up. I lift him gently, as gently as I can, and retrieve the annoying object. The screen flashes with my mother’s name, and I groan before answering it.
“Theresa?” my mother chimes through the receiver.
“Yes.”
“Where are you, and what time will you be here?” she asks.
“I’m not coming there,” I tell her.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Tessa, I know you are upset over this thing with your father, but you need to spend Christmas with me. You shouldn’t be at some hotel alone.”
I do feel slightly guilty for not spending the holidays with my mother. She isn’t the nicest woman, but I’m all she has. Still, I say, “I’m not driving all the way there, Mother. It’s snowing out and I don’t want to be there.”
Hardin stirs and lifts his head. Just as I’m about to tell him not to speak, he opens his mouth. “What’s wrong?” he says, and I hear my mother gasp.
“Theresa Young! What are you thinking?” she shouts.
“Mother, I’m not doing this right now.”
“That’s him, isn’t it? I know that voice!”
This is a terrible way to wake up. I move Hardin off me and sit up, covering my naked body with the blanket. “I am getting off the phone now, Mother.”
“Don’t you dare hang—”
But I do hang up. And then put my phone on silent. I knew she would find out sooner
or later; I was just hoping it would be later. “Well, she knows we’re back to doing . . . us. She heard you, and now she’s freaking out,” I say and hold my phone up to him to show the two calls from her in the past minute.
He curls around behind me. “You knew she would, so really it’s almost better that she found out this way.”
“Not really. I could have told her instead of her just hearing you in the background.”
He shrugs. “It’s the same thing. She would’ve been mad either way.”
“Still.” I’m slightly annoyed by his reaction. I know he doesn’t care for her, but she’s still my mother, and I didn’t want her to find out like this. “You could be a little nicer about the whole thing.”
He nods and says, “Sorry.”
I expected him to have a rude comeback, so that was a pleasant surprise.
Hardin smiles and pulls me back down to him. “Would you like me to make you some breakfast, Daisy?”
“Daisy?” I raise my eyebrow.
“It’s early, and I’m not at my best to quote literature, but you’re grumpy, so . . . I called you Daisy.”
“Daisy Buchanan wasn’t grumpy. And neither am I.” I harrumph, but can’t help smiling.
He laughs. “Yes, you are. And how do you know which Daisy I’m talking about?”
“There are only a few, and I know you well enough.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, and your attempt at insulting me failed miserably,” I tease.
“Yeah . . . Yeah . . . Mrs. Bennet,” he fires back.
“I assume that since you said Mrs., you are talking about the mother, not Elizabeth, which means you are trying to call me obnoxious. Then again, you have been off this morning, so maybe you’re saying I’m charming? I just don’t know with you anymore.” I smile.
“All right . . . all right . . . Christ.” He laughs. “A man makes one bad joke around here and he’s condemned.”
My earlier irritation dissolves as we continue our banter and climb out of bed. Hardin says to stay in pajamas, since we aren’t leaving the house. It’s a strange idea to me, though. If I were at my mother’s house, I would be expected to be dressed in my Sunday best.