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“Spill it,” I demand.
“I didn’t finish.”
“What?” I choke. Had I really been that consumed by my own pleasure that I didn’t notice when she didn’t come?
“You stopped right before . . .” she quietly explains.
“Why didn’t you say something? Come here, then.” I tug at her shirt to lift it over her head.
“What are you going to do?” she asks, excitement laced in her tone.
“Shh . . .” I don’t know what I want to do . . . I want to make love to her again, but I need a little more time to refuel.
Wait—got it.
“We’re going to do something that we’ve only done once.” I smirk at her, and her eyes widen. “Because, you know, practice makes perfect.”
“What’s that?” And just like that, her excitement has been replaced by nervousness.
I lie back on my elbows and beckon to her to come to me.
“I don’t get it,” she says.
“Come here; put your thighs here.” I tap the empty space on both sides of my head.
“What?”
“Tessa, come here, and then spread your thighs over my face, so I can get you off right and proper,” I explain slowly and clearly.
“Oh,” she squeaks. I see the hesitation in her eyes, and I reach over to turn the lamp off. I want her to be as comfortable as possible. Despite the darkness, I can still make out the soft planes of her body, the fullness of her chest, the sexy curve of her hips.
Tessa removes her panties, and within seconds she’s following my instructions and kneeling over me.
“This is quite the view I have here,” I tease her, and my vision disappears. She’s pulled my T-shirt down over my eyes.
“Well, this is much hotter, actually.” I smile against her thighs. She smacks me playfully on the head in response. “Really, though . . . it’s really fucking hot,” I add.
I hear her laugh in the darkness, and I bring my hands to her hips, guiding her movements. Once my tongue touches her, she begins to move her hips on her own, tugging at my hair and whispering my name until she loses herself in the pleasure I’m giving her.
Chapter ninety-nine
TESSA
I come back to reality, slowly, unwillingly, but happy Hardin’s lying next to me.
“Hey.” He smiles, kissing me on my lips.
I laugh—it’s a lazy sound, not wanting to move. My body is slightly sore, but in the best way.
“I wish you weren’t leaving tomorrow,” I whisper while running my fingertips over one of the branches on his tattoo. The tree is dark, haunting and intricate. I wonder: If Hardin were getting this tattoo now, would he get the dead tree again? Or would there be just a few leaves on the branches, now that he’s happier, more lively?
“Me, too,” he answers simply.
I can’t mask the desperation behind my plea when I say “Then don’t.”
Hardin’s fingers spread across my back, and he presses my naked body closer to his. “I don’t want to, but I know you’re only saying that because I just made you come repeatedly.”
A horrified scoff falls from my lips. “That’s not true!” Hardin’s body shakes gently with an amused chuckle. “It really isn’t the only reason . . . Maybe we could be with each other on the weekends for a little while and see where it goes from there?”
“You expect me to drive here every weekend?”
“Not every one. I’ll come there, too.” I tilt to my head to look into his eyes. “It’s working for us so far.”
“Tessa . . .” He sighs, “I already told you how I felt about the long-distance shit.” My eyes flicker to the ceiling fan slowly spinning around and around in the dimness of the room. Rachel is pouring marinara sauce into Monica’s handbag on the television screen.
“Yes, yet here you are,” I challenge him.
He sighs and tugs gently at the ends of my hair, forcing me to look at him once more. “Touché.”
“Well, I think there’s some sort of compromise that can be reached here, don’t you?”
“What’s your offer?” he asks softly, briefly closing his eyes to take a deep breath.
“I don’t know exactly . . . give me a moment,” I say.
What exactly am I offering him? It’s in the best interest of both of our sanities to stay somewhat distant from each other for now. As much as my heart forgets all the terrible things that Hardin and I have been through in the past, my brain won’t allow me to give up all of my remaining dignity.
I am in Seattle, following my dream, alone, with no apartment because of Hardin’s possessive nature and the unwillingness of both of us to compromise over even the most trivial details.
“I don’t know, really,” I finally say when I can’t come up with a solid suggestion.
“Well, do you want me around still? Just for the weekends, at least?” he asks. His fingers twist and twirl my hair.
“Yes.”
“Every weekend?”
“Mostly.” I smile.
“Do you want to talk on the phone each day like we did this week?”
“Yes.” I loved the simple way Hardin and I spoke on the phone, neither of us even noticing the minutes and hours as they ticked by.
“So everything will be the same as it was this week, then. I don’t know about that,” he says.
“Why not?” It’s seemed to work for him so far, so why would he object to continuing the same way?
“Because, Tessa, you’re here in Seattle without me, and we aren’t actually together, you could see someone else or meet someone—”