“That’s just it, Tessa,” he says, and looks out the window again. “I want to be the one to help you, not him.”
“Why? It’s not a competition, and you were the one who offered first, so thank you.” I want to ease his mind on this, even though I don’t understand why it matters.
He lets out an exasperated sigh and hugs his knees. Silence hangs between us as we both stare out the window. The wind has picked up, swaying the trees back and forth, and the lightning is more frequent now.
“Do you want me to leave now? I can call Steph and see if Tristan can pick me up,” I whisper. I don’t want to leave but sitting in silence with Hardin is driving me insane.
“Leave? How do you get that I want you to leave from me saying I want to help you?” He raises his voice.
“I-I don’t know. You aren’t speaking to me and the storm is getting worse . . .” I stutter.
“You are maddening, absolutely maddening, Theresa.”
“How?” I squeak.
“I try to tell you that I . . . that I want to help you and I hold your hand but that doesn’t do anything . . . you still don’t get it. I don’t know what else to do.” He puts his face in his hands. He can’t possibly mean what I think he does?
“Get what? I don’t get what, Hardin?”
“That I want you. More than I have ever wanted anyone or anything in my entire life.” He looks away from me.
My stomach flips over and over and my head starts to spin. The air between us has once again shifted. Hardin’s unguarded admission hits me hard. Because I want him, too. More than anything.
“I know you don’t . . . you don’t feel that way, but I . . .” he begins and this time I am the one to cut him off.
I move his hands off his knees and pull them, bringing him to me. He hovers over me, uncertainty clear in his green eyes. I hook my finger into the collar of his shirt and pull him down to me. Eye to eye. He rests his knee beside my thighs on the bench and I look up at him again. He takes a few breaths, his eyes shifting from my lips back to my eyes. His tongue swipes over his lower lip and I inch closer. I expected him to kiss me by now.
“Kiss me,” I beg.
And he moves his head closer, leaning into me. He snakes his arm around my back and guides me down so my back is lying flat on the cushioned bench. I open my legs for him, for the second time today, and he lays his body between them. His face is inches away from mine when I lift my head up to kiss him. I can’t wait any longer. As our lips brush, he gently pulls away, nuzzles his head in my neck, planting a small kiss there, then slowly brings his lips back up. He kisses the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, sending shivers of pleasure through me. His lips brush over mine once more and he runs his tongue over my bottom lip before closing his lips around mine and opening them again. The kiss is gentle and slow, as he laps his tongue around mine. One of his hands rests on my hip, fisted around the material of my dress where it has bunched up at my thighs. The other hand caresses my cheek as he kisses me; my arms wrap around his back, hugging him tightly to me. Every fiber of me wants to bite his lip, to pull his shirt over his head, but the soft and gentle way he is kissing me feels even better than the usual burn of fire.
Hardin’s lips mold to mine, and my hands travel up his back. His narrow hips grind down on mine, and a whimper escapes my lips. He swallows my gasps as his lips trace mine, movement for movement.
“Oh, Tessa, the things you do to me . . . the way you make me feel,” he whispers into my mouth. His words unravel me and I reach for the hem of his shirt. His hand travels down from my cheek, to my chest, and down my stomach, where goose bumps are forming on my skin. His hand moves to the small space between our bodies where my legs are parted, and I gasp as he rubs gently over the lace of my tights. He applies a little more pressure and I groan and arch my back off the bench.
No matter how angry or upset he makes me, one touch from him and I am under his control. But his calm and control seem to be faltering; he is trying to hold on to them, but I can see his resolve crumbling. He brushes his nose against my cheek as I pull his shirt up and over his head. It strains to get over his hair, but he reaches one hand up and tugs it as he lifts off me. He tosses the shirt and immediately dips his head back down and finds my lips once more. I grab his hand and move it back between my thighs; a small chuckle vibrates through him and he looks down at me.
“What do you want to do, Tessa?” His voice is hoarse.
“Anything,” I tell him and mean it. I will do anything with him, and I don’t care about the consequences that might come tomorrow. He said he wants me, and I am his to take. I have been since I kissed him that first time.
“Don’t say anything, because there are a lot of things I can do to you,” he groans and pushes his thumb against my tights and panties. My imagination runs wild with ideas.
“You decide,” I moan as he moves his thumb in a circle.
“You’re so wet for me I can feel you through the tights.” He licks his lips and I moan again. “Let’s get these tights off, okay?” he asks, but before I answer he moves off me. His hands slide up my dress and grab the tights, pulling them down, along with my panties at the same time. The cool air hits me and I buck my hips involuntarily.
“Fuck,” he mutters as his eyes rake my body and stop between my legs. Unable to stop himself, he reaches down and slides his finger down my spot. Then he brings his finger to his lips and he sucks on it with hooded eyes. Oh. Watching him sends heat through my whole body.