chapter

one hundred and thirty-nine

HARDIN

Tessa’s fingers rake through my hair, bringing my mouth to her flushed, already swollen skin. Touching her, tasting her this way, pushes everything else from my tortured mind.

She cries out as my tongue laps around her, pulling tightly at the roots of my hair. Her hips lift from the tile, meeting my mouth, desperate for more.

Too soon, I stand back to my feet and lift one of her legs to wrap around my waist, following with the other. She groans as I lift her, entering her slowly.

“Fuuuuck . . .” I draw the word out, my voice almost a hiss as I’m overwhelmed by the warmth, the wetness, of feeling her without the barrier of a condom between us.

Her eyes roll back into her head as I push forward, withdrawing and filling her again. I fight every urge to slam into her, to fuck her so hard that I forget everything around us. Instead, I move slowly but allow my mouth and hands to be rough on her skin. Her arms tighten around my shoulders as my lips latch on to the skin just above the curve of her full breast. I can taste the blood rising to the surface underneath my tongue, and I pull away in time to see the faint pink mark left in my wake.

Her eyes dart down between us, examining it herself. She doesn’t scold me or even frown at the bruise left by my lips; she only brings her lip between her teeth, staring almost adoringly at the mark. Tessa drags her fingernails down the slope of my back, and I press her harder against the tile wall. My fingers are pressed into her thighs, indenting her skin, and I thrust inside of her, repeating her name over and over.

Her legs tighten around my waist, and I push and pull, in and out, bringing both of us closer to our release.

“Hardin,” she softly moans, her breathing erratic as she comes around me. The realization that I can come inside of her without worry brings me to the edge, pushing me over. I spill into her with a shout of her name.

“I love you.” I press my lips against her temple before placing my forehead against hers to catch my breath.

“I love you,” she gasps, her eyes closed. I stay inside of her, allowing myself to simply enjoy the feeling of skin on skin.

On my back, I can feel the heat leaving the water; we won’t have more than ten minutes left of hot water. The idea of a cold shower in the middle of the night causes me to carefully help her back to her feet. As I withdraw from her, I watch shamelessly as the evidence of my orgasm seeps from between her legs. Fucking hell, that sight alone is worth waiting seven fucking months for.

I want to thank her, to tell her that I love her and that she brought me out of the darkness, not only tonight, but ever since the day she caught me off guard by kissing me in my old room at the frat house, but I can’t find the words.

I turn the hot water up and stare at the wall. I sigh in relief when I feel the soft washcloth on my back, continuing what she started only minutes ago.

I turn around to face her, and as she brings the cloth to my neck, I stay silent. My anger is still around, lurking and simmering below the surface, but she’s taken me beyond it in the way that only she can.

chapter

one hundred and forty

TESSA

My mum is so fucked up.” Hardin finally speaks after long minutes of silence. My hand jerks at the sudden noise, but I quickly recover and return to bathing him as he continues. “I mean this is some shit right out of Tolstoy.”

My mind scrambles through Tolstoy’s works before landing on The Kreutzer Sonata. I shiver despite the heat of the shower.

“Kreutzer?” I ask, hoping I’m confused or that he and I have interpreted the dark story differently.

“Yes, of course.” He’s becoming emotionless again, crouching down behind that damn wall.

“I don’t know if I would compare this . . . situation to something so dark,” I softly argue. That story is filled with blood, jealousy, and rage, and I’d like to think this real-life one will have a better ending.

“Not completely, but yes,” he answers as if he can read my mind.

I play the story line through my head, trying to see some connection to Hardin’s mother’s affair, but the only thing I can come up with has to do with Hardin himself and his beliefs about marriage. That causes me to shiver again.

“I didn’t plan to ever marry, and I still don’t, so no, it didn’t change anything,” he coldly responds.

I ignore the pain in my chest and focus on him. “Okay.” I run the cloth down one arm, then the other, and when I look up, his eyes are closed.

“Whose story do you suppose we’ll have?” he asks, taking the cloth from my hand.

“I don’t know,” I answer him honestly. I’d love nothing more than to know the answer to this question.

“Me neither.” He pours more body wash onto the cloth and runs it across my chest.

“Couldn’t we make our own story?” I look up into his troubled eyes.

“I don’t think we can. You know this is going to end one of two ways,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

I know he’s hurt and I know he’s angry, but I don’t want Trish’s mistakes to affect our relationship and I can see Hardin making comparisons behind the green of his eyes.

I try to take the conversation in another direction. “What is it about all of this that bothers you the most? It’s that the wedding is tomorrow . . . well, today,” I correct myself. It’s almost 4 a.m. now, and the wedding is, or was, supposed to start at two this afternoon. What happened after we left the house? Did Mike come back to talk to Trish, or did Christian and Trish finish what they started?

“I don’t know.” He sighs, dragging the cloth down my stomach and across my hips. “I don’t really give a fuck about that wedding. I guess I just feel like they’re both fucking liars.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“My mum is the one who’ll be sorry. She’s the one who sold her fucking house and cheated the night before her damn wedding.” His touch becomes rough as his anger builds.

I stay quiet but remove the cloth from his hands and hang it on the rack behind me.

“And Vance, what kind of fucking asshole has an affair with the ex-wife of his best friend? My father and Christian Vance have known each other since they were kids.” Hardin’s tone is bitter—threatening, even. “I should call my father and see if he knows what a backstabbing whore—”

I reach my hand and cover his mouth before he can finish the harsh words. “She’s still your mother,” I softly remind him. I know he’s angry, but he shouldn’t call her names.

I remove my hand from his mouth so he can speak. “I don’t give a fuck that she’s my mother, and I don’t give a fuck about Vance either. And the joke’s going to be on him, because when I tell Kimberly about them and you quit your job, he’ll be fucked,” Hardin proudly declares, as if this would be the best form of revenge.

“You will not tell Kimberly.” I look into his eyes, pleading. “If Christian doesn’t tell her himself, then I will, but you will not embarrass her or harass her about it. I understand that you’re angry at your mother and at Christian, but Kimberly is innocent here, and I don’t want her to be hurt,” I say firmly.

“Fine. You will quit, though,” he says while turning his body around to rinse the foamy shampoo from his hair.

Sighing, I reach for the shampoo bottle in Hardin’s hand but he pulls it away.

“I’m serious, you aren’t working for him anymore.”

I understand his anger, but this isn’t the time to discuss my job. “We’ll talk about it later,” I tell him and finally manage to get the bottle into my hands. The water is growing colder by the minute, and I’d like to wash my hair.