Chapter thirty-three
Hardin’s blazing eyes don’t leave mine as I make my way to him. I prop my knee up on the bed and push myself onto it. At the same time, Hardin lifts himself up so his back is against the headboard and holds his hand out for mine. The second I place my small hand in his, he wraps his fingers around it and pulls me onto him. My knees go around his sides and I am straddling his lap. I’ve done this before with him, but never wearing so little clothing. I hold myself up using my knees so we aren’t touching, but Hardin isn’t having it. He positions his hands on my hips and gently pushes me down. His T-shirt bunches at my sides, baring my thighs completely, and I am suddenly glad that I shaved my legs this morning. The second our bodies touch my stomach begins to stir. I know this happiness that I feel isn’t going to last, and I feel like Cinderella, waiting for the clock to strike and end my blissful night.
“Much better,” he says and gives me a crooked smile.
I know he’s drunk and that’s why he is being so nice—well, nice for him—but right now I will take it. If this is truly my last time around him, then this is how I want to spend it. I keep telling myself that. I can behave however I want tonight with Hardin because when the daylight comes, I am going to tell him never to come near me again, and he will oblige. It’s for the best, and I know that is what he will want when he isn’t intoxicated. In my defense, I am just as intoxicated by Hardin as he is by the bottle of scotch he consumed. I keep telling myself that, too.
As Hardin continues to stare into my eyes, I begin to feel nervous. What should I do next? I have no idea where he wants to take this and I don’t want to make a fool out of myself by trying to do something first.
He seems to notice my uncomfortable expression.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, and brings a hand to my face. His finger traces over my cheekbone and my eyes involuntarily close at his surprisingly gentle touch.
“Nothing . . . I just don’t know what to do,” I admit and look down.
“Do whatever you want to do, Tess. Don’t overthink it.”
I lean back a little to create about a foot of space between our torsos and bring my hand up to his bare chest. I look at him for permission and he nods. I press both hands against his chest softly and he closes his eyes. My fingers trace the birds on his chest and down to the dead tree on his stomach. His eyelashes flutter as I trace the scripture on his ribs. His expression is so calm, but his chest is moving up and down quicker than it was a few moments ago. I’m unable to control myself as I bring my hand down and run my index finger along the waistband of his boxers. His eyes shoot open and he looks nervous. Hardin, nervous?
“Can I . . . um . . . touch you?” I ask with the hope that he gets what I mean without me having to say it. I feel detached from myself. Who is this girl straddling this punk boy and asking to touch him . . . down there? I think back to what Hardin said earlier about me being my true self with him. Maybe he is right. I love the way I feel right now. I love the electricity shooting through my body when we’re like this.
He nods. “Please.”
So I lower my hand, keeping it on top of his boxers, and slowly I reach the slight bulge in the fabric. He sucks in a breath as I graze my hand over him. I don’t know what to do, so I just keep touching it, running my fingers up and down. I am too nervous to look up at him, so I keep my eyes on his growing crotch.
“Do you want me to show you what to do?” he asks quietly, his voice shaky. The usual cocky demeanor has shifted into something mysterious.
I nod and he puts his hand over mine, bringing it down to touch him again. He opens my hand and makes my fingers cup around his length. When he sucks a breath between his lips, I look up at him through my lashes. He takes his hand off mine, giving me full control.
“Fuck, Tessa, don’t do that,” he growls. Confused, I still my hand and am about to jerk it away when he speaks up. “No, no, not that. Keep doing that—I mean don’t look at me that way.”
“What way?”
“That innocent way—that look that makes me want to do so many dirty things to you.”
I want to throw myself back onto the bed and let him do whatever he wants. I want to be his—to be freed for a moment from whatever it is that makes me so scared sometimes. I give him a small smile and begin to move my hand again. I want to take his boxers off, but I’m afraid to. A moan escapes his lips and I tighten my grip; I want to hear that sound again. I don’t know if I should move my hand faster or not, so I keep my movements slow and tight, and he seems to like it. I lean in and press my lips against the clammy skin of his neck, causing him to moan again.
“Fuck, Tess, your hand feels so good wrapped around me.” I give him a little tighter squeeze and he winces. “Not that hard, baby,” he says in a voice that’s soft and sounds like it could never be the same one that mocked me before.
“Sorry,” I say and kiss his neck again. My tongue runs over the skin beneath his ear and his body jumps. His hands go to my chest and he cups my breasts beneath his hands.
“Can I. Take. Off. Your . . . bra?”
His voice is so uncontrolled and raspy; I’m amazed by the effect I am having on him. I nod and his eyes light up in excitement. His hands are shaky as he reaches under the shirt and up my back, unclasping my bra as soon as his fingers touch the strap with a dexterity that makes me think for a minute about how many times he has done this before. I force the thoughts to the back of my mind, and Hardin slides the straps down my arms, making me let go of him. Tossing my bra off the bed, he returns his hands up under my shirt and grabs hold of my breasts again. His fingers lightly pinch my nipples as he leans forward to kiss me. I moan into his mouth and reach down and grab his length again.
“Oh, Tessa, I’m going to come,” he says, and I feel the wetness growing in my panties even though he is only touching my chest. I feel like I may come, too, from his moans and his gentle assault against my breasts alone. His legs tense under me and his kiss becomes sloppier. His hands drop down by his sides, and I feel a wetness spread through his boxers and pull my hand away. I have never made anyone else come before. My chest heats, filling with a strange new sense that I’m now one step closer to being a woman. Staring down at the wet spot on Hardin’s boxers, I love the control I feel over him. I love that I could bring his body pleasure the way he does mine.
Hardin’s head rolls back and he takes a few deep breaths while I sit on his thighs, unsure what to do. After a moment, his eyes open and he lifts his head back up to look at me. A lazy smile crosses his face and he leans forward to kiss me on my forehead.
“I have never come like that before,” he says, and I am back to being embarrassed.
“It was that bad?” I ask and try to move off his legs. He stops me.
“What? No, you were that good. It usually takes more than someone just grabbing me through my boxers.”
A pang of jealousy hits me. I don’t want to think about all the other girls that have made Hardin feel this way. He takes in my silence and cups my cheek, brushing his thumb along my temple. I am comforted by the fact that the others had to do more than I did, but I still wish there weren’t any others. I don’t know why I bother to feel this way; Hardin and I are still unresolved. We are never going to date or be anything other than this, but right now, I just want to live in the moment, just the two of us. I laugh a little as the thought crosses my mind. I am not a “live in the moment” type of person at all.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, but I shake my head. I don’t want to tell him about my jealous thoughts. It’s not fair, and I don’t want that conversation.
“Oh come on, Tessa, just tell me,” he says, and I shake my head again. In a very un-Hardin move he grabs hold of my hips and begins to tickle me. I scream with laughter and fall off him and onto the soft bed. He continues to tickle me until I can’t breathe. His laughter booms through the room—and it’s the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. I have never heard him laugh this way, and something tells me hardly anyone has. Despite his flaws, his many flaws, I consider myself lucky to see him in this moment.
“Okay . . . okay! I will tell you!” I screech and he stops.
“Good choice,” he says. But looking down, he adds, “But hold that thought. I need to change my boxers.”
I blush.
Chapter thirty-four
Hardin goes over to his dresser and opens the top drawer, pulling out a pair of blue-and-white plaid boxers, and holds them up in the air with a disgusted look on his face.
“What?” I ask, and prop my head up on my elbow and look at him.
“These are hideous,” he says.
I laugh, but I’m also pleased that the earlier secret about whether or not there were clothes in the dresser is now settled at least. Landon’s mother or Hardin’s father must have purchased all the clothes in the room for Hardin. Which is sad, really, that they would buy clothes and fill the dresser in hopes that Hardin would come around sometime.
“They aren’t so bad,” I tell him, and he rolls his eyes. I doubt anything will look as good as Hardin’s usual black boxer briefs, but then again I can’t imagine anything looking actually bad on him.
“Well, beggars can’t be choosers. Back in a minute,” he says and walks out of the room wearing only his wet boxers.
Oh God, what if Landon sees him? I will be humiliated. I need to find Landon first thing in the morning to explain the turn of events. But, really, what am I going to say? It’s not what it looked like. We were just talking and then I agreed to stay the night, and somehow I ended up in my panties and a T-shirt, and then gave him the closest thing to a hand job that I know of? That sounds terrible.
I lay my head onto the pillows and stare at the ceiling. I consider getting up and checking my phone but decide against it. The last thing I need right now is to read texts from Noah. He is probably panicking, but, honestly, as long as he doesn’t tell my mother, I don’t care as much as I should. If I’m completely honest with myself, I haven’t felt the same about Noah since I kissed Hardin for the first time.
I know I love Noah; I have always loved Noah. But I’m beginning to question whether I really love him as a boyfriend and someone I could spend my life with, or if I love him because he has always been such a stable person in my life. He’s always been there for me—and on paper we’re perfect for each other—but I can’t ignore the way I feel when I’m with Hardin. I’ve never had these types of feelings before. Not just when we’re on top of each other, but the way he gives me butterflies just by looking at me, the way I find myself desperately wanting to see him even when I’m fuming mad at him, and, mostly, the way he always invades my thoughts even when I try to convince myself that I hate him.
Hardin has gotten under my skin no matter how hard I try to deny it. I’m in his bed instead of with Noah. On cue, the door opens and I am snapped from my thoughts. I look up and see Hardin in the clean plaid boxers and giggle. They are a little too big, and much longer than his briefs, but they still look great.
“I like them.” I smile and he glares at me before turning out the light and switching on the television. He climbs back onto the bed and lies down close to me.
“So, what were you going to tell me?” he asks, and I cringe. I was hoping he wouldn’t bring it up again.
“Don’t be shy now, you’ve just made me come in my boxers,” he jokes and then pulls me closer to him. I bury my head in the pillow, and he laughs.
I pull my head up and Hardin tucks my hair behind my ear before giving me a soft kiss on my lips. It’s the first time he has kissed me that tenderly, and yet it feels more intimate than when we kiss with tongue. He lays his head back on the pillow and changes the channel. I want him to hold me until I fall asleep, but I get the feeling Hardin is not a cuddling type of guy.
I want to be good for you, Tess. Hardin’s words from earlier tonight play in my head and I wonder if he meant them or if he was just really drunk.
“Are you still drunk?” I ask and lay my head on his chest. His body stills but he doesn’t push me off.
“No, I think our little screaming match in the yard sobered me up,” he says. One of his hands is holding the remote and the other is hanging in the air awkwardly as if he doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Oh, well, at least something good came out of it.”
He turns his head and looks down at me. “Yeah, I guess so,” he says, and finally puts his hand on my back. It’s an amazing feeling having him hold me. No matter what terrible thing he says to me tomorrow, he can’t take this moment away from me. This is my new favorite place to be, my head on his chest and his arm on my back.
“I think I actually like drunk Hardin better.” I yawn.
“Is that so?” he says and turns to look at me again.
“Maybe,” I tease and close my eyes.
“You’re terrible at distractions; now, tell me.”
I might as well just tell him. I know he isn’t going to drop it.
“Well, I was just thinking of all the girls you’ve . . . you know, done things with.” I try to hide my face in his chest, but he drops the remote on the bed and tilts my chin up to look at him.
“Why were you thinking about that?”
“I don’t know . . . because I have literally no experience and you have a lot. Steph included,” I answer. The image of the two of them together makes me nauseous.
“Are you jealous, Tess?” His voice is full of humor.
“No, of course not,” I lie.
“So you don’t mind if I tell you a few details, then?”
“No! Please don’t!” I beg, and he chuckles and wraps his arm a little tighter around me.
He doesn’t say anything else about it, and I could not be more relieved. I couldn’t bear to hear the details of his flings. I feel my eyes getting heavier and try to focus on the television. I am so comfortable lying here in his arms.
“You’re not going to sleep, are you? It’s still early,” he says, barely breaking through my haze.
“Is it?” It feels like it has to be at least two in the morning. I arrived here around nine.
“Yeah, it’s only midnight.”
“That isn’t early.” I yawn again.
“To me it is. Plus, I want to return the favor.”
What?
Oh.
My skin is starting to tingle already.
“You want me to, don’t you?” he purrs, and I gulp. Of course I do. I look up at him and try to hide my eager smile. He notices and with a swift, delicate motion flips us over so he is hovering above me. He supports his weight with one arm while his other hand reaches lower. I bring my leg up to his side, and when my knee bends he runs his hand from my ankle to the top of my thigh.
“So soft,” he says and repeats the motion. He gives my thigh a light squeeze and my skin is covered in goose bumps within seconds. Hardin leans over and places a single kiss on the side of my knee, causing my leg to jerk. He grabs it and laughs, hooking his arm around it.
What is he going to do? The anticipation is driving me crazy.
“I want to taste you, Tessa,” he says, eyes locked on mine to gauge my reaction.
My mouth is instantly parched. Why is he asking to kiss me, when he knows he can do that anytime? I part my lips and wait for him.
“No. Down here,” he corrects me, bringing his hand in between my legs. My lack of experience must astound him, but he at least tries to fight his smile. I frown at him and his finger touches me over my panties, causing me to suck in a breath. His finger makes soft strokes over my sex as he continues to look into my eyes.
“You’re already wet for me.” His voice is raspier than usual. His hot breath stings my ear and he runs his tongue along my earlobe.
“Talk to me, Tessa. Tell me how badly you want it.” He smirks and I squirm as he applies more pressure to my sensitive area.
I can’t find my voice because my body is on fire from his touch. After a few more seconds he pulls his hand away and I whimper.
“I didn’t want you to stop,” I whine.
“You didn’t say anything,” he snaps, and I recoil. I don’t want this Hardin. I want the laughing, playful Hardin.
“Couldn’t you tell?” I ask him and move to sit up.
He pulls himself up and sits on my thighs, holding his weight on his parted knees. He brushes his fingers across the tops of my thighs and my body instantly reacts, shifting my hips to meet his.
“Say it,” Hardin instructs. I know that he is well aware that I do; he just wants to make me say it aloud. I nod and he waves his finger back and forth in front of me.
“No nodding, just tell me what you want, baby,” he says, and climbs off of my knees. I mentally weigh the pros and cons of this situation. Is the humiliation of telling Hardin that I want him to . . . kiss me down there worth the feeling I will get from him doing it? If it feels anywhere near as good as what Hardin did to me with his fingers the other day, then I know it’s worth it. I reach out and grab his bare shoulder to stop him from moving any farther away from me. I’m overthinking this, I know I am, but my mind won’t stop racing.
“I want you to.” I move closer to him.
“Want me to what, Theresa?” He has to be kidding me; he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You know . . . to kiss me,” I say and his smile grows. He leans over and plants a kiss on my lips. I roll my eyes and he kisses my lips again.
“Is that what you wanted?” he says with a smirk and I swat his arm. He is going to make me beg him.
“Kiss me . . . there.” I blush and cover my face with my hands. He pulls them away, laughing, and I frown at him. “You’re embarrassing me on purpose.” I scowl. His hands are still on mine.
“I’m not meaning to embarrass you. I just want to hear you say what you want from me.”
“Never mind, Hardin,” I say and sigh loudly. Because I am embarrassed and maybe my hormones are going haywire and messing with my emotions but now the moment has passed and I’m annoyed with his ego and constant need to goad me. I roll over and lie on my side, facing away from him, and cover myself with the blanket.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says, but I ignore him. I know part of me is just annoyed at myself that being around Hardin has turned me into a typical hormonal teenager.
“Good night, Hardin,” I snap and hear him sigh. He mutters something under his breath that sounds like “fine,” but I don’t ask him to repeat it. I force my eyes closed and try to think of anything besides Hardin’s tongue or the way his arm just draped across my body as I fall asleep.
Chapter thirty-five
I am hot, too hot. I try to pull the covers off me, but they won’t budge. When my eyes open, the night before comes flooding into my mind: Hardin screaming at me in the yard, the scotch on his breath, the broken glass in the kitchen, Hardin kissing me, Hardin moaning as I touched him, his wet boxers. I try to lift myself, but he’s too heavy, his head lying across my chest and his arm wrapped around my waist, his body cloaking mine. I’m surprised we ended up like this; he must have moved this way in his sleep. I do admit, I don’t want to leave this bed, leave Hardin, but I have to. I have to get back to my room. Noah is there. Noah. Noah.
I gently push Hardin off by his shoulder, rolling him onto his back. Then he rolls onto his stomach and groans but doesn’t wake.
I hurry to my feet and grab my scattered clothes off the floor. Being the coward that I am, I want to be out of here by the time he wakes. Not that he’ll mind; at least he won’t have to invest his energy in hurting me on purpose if I leave on my own. This way is better for both of us. Regardless of how we laughed together last night, nothing is the same in the light of day. Hardin will remember how we got along pretty well last night and then will feel the need to be extra hateful to make up for it. It’s what he does, and I will not be around this time. For a second last night, the thought had crossed my mind that maybe our night together would change his mind, make him want to have more with me. But I know better, really.
I fold his T-shirt neatly on the dresser and zip my skirt up. My shirt is wrinkled from lying on the floor last night, but that’s really the least of my worries at the moment. I slip my feet into my shoes and as I grab hold of the door handle, I think, One more look back won’t hurt.
I look back to the sleeping Hardin. His messy hair is sprawled onto the pillow, and his arm is now draped over the side of the bed. He looks so peaceful, so beautiful despite the pieces of metal in his face.
I turn back around and turn the door handle.
“Tess?”
My heart drops. I slowly turn back around to Hardin, expecting to see his harsh green eyes glaring at me. But instead, they are closed; a frown is set on his face, but he is still asleep. I can’t decide if I’m relieved that he is asleep, or somber that he called out my name. Is that what he did, or am I hearing things now?
I jump out of the room and gently close the door behind me. I have no idea how to get out of this house. I walk straight down the hall and I am relieved to find the stairs easily. I pad down the stairs and nearly collide with Landon. My pulse quickens as I try to think of something to say. His eyes scan my face and he stays silent, waiting for an explanation, I assume.
“Landon . . . I . . .” I have no idea what to say.
“Are you okay?” he asks with concern.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I know you must think—”
“I don’t think anything. I really do appreciate you coming. I know you don’t like Hardin, and it means a lot to me that you would come here to help get him in control.”
Oh. He is so nice, too nice. I almost want him to tell me how disgusted he is that I stayed the night with Hardin, that I left my boyfriend alone in my room all night after I took his car and ran to Hardin’s rescue, just so I feel as bad as I should.
“So are you and Hardin friends again?” he asks, and I shrug.
“I have no idea what we are. I have no idea what I’m doing. He just . . . he . . .” I break into sobs. Landon wraps his arms around me in a warm and comforting hug.
“It’s okay. I know he can be so terrible,” Landon says softly. Wait . . . he must think that I’m crying because Hardin did something terrible to me. He would probably never assume that I’m crying because of my feelings for Hardin.
I need to get out of here before I ruin Landon’s good opinion of me and before Hardin wakes up. “I have to go. Noah is waiting,” I say, and Landon gives me a sympathetic smile before saying goodbye.
I get into Noah’s car and drive back to my dorm as fast as I can, crying most of the way there. How will I explain this all to Noah? I know I have to—I can’t lie to him. I just can’t imagine how much this will hurt him.
I’m a terrible person for doing this to him. Why couldn’t I just stay away from Hardin?
I’ve calmed myself as much as I can before I pull into the student lot. I walk as slow as I can, unsure how I’m going to face Noah.
When I open the door to our room, I find Noah lying back on my small bed, staring at the ceiling. He jumps up when he sees me come in.