After We Collided (After 2)

“Oh, it’s good,” she says as her eyes roll back.

I have fucked this girl so many times now and she’s still basically clueless about all things sex, except giving me head. She’s great at that.

I move her hips again in an attempt to find that spot, the spot that will have her screaming my name in seconds. I love the way she looks when she rolls her hips; the shape of them is beyond fucking perfect. Her nails dig into my bare chest, and I know that I’ve found the spot. She covers her mouth with her hand and bites down on her palm to quiet herself as I lift my hips to meet her movements, to thrust faster in and out of her.

“I’m going to make you come this way,” I breathe.

She’s too perfect. Her eyes screw closed and her movements grow slower.

“You’re going to come now, aren’t you? You’re going to come for me, baby?”

“Hardin . . .” She moans my name, and it’s the perfect answer.

“Holy shit.” I can’t help but curse as her back arches and her blue-gray eyes close again. The fingernails on the hand she isn’t using to cover her mouth dig into my chest, and I feel her tighten around me. Fuck, she feels so good. I change the pace and move slower, but I’m sure to hit as deep inside of her as I can with each thrust of my hips.

I know how much she loves hearing my voice while I fuck her, and she screams into her hand when I let out an “Oh God” and spill into the condom.

“Hardin . . .” she whines and lays her head on my chest in a panting mess.

“Baby,” I say, and she looks up at me with a sleepy smile.

I match my breathing to hers and run my fingers through the mess of blond hair sprawled across my chest. I’m still pissed at her, and at Zed, but I love her and I’m trying to prove to her that I’m changing for her. I can’t deny that our communication is one thousand times better than it used to be.

She’s going to be pissed at me at least one more time because of Zed, but he needs to know that she’s mine and that if he fucking touches her again, he’s dead.

Chapter one hundred and fifteen

TESSA

I lie on top of Hardin’s chest to catch my breath. Both of our bare chests are moving slowly up and down in our postcoital bliss. It doesn’t feel as foreign as I had believed it would, not at all. I was desperately missing being intimate with him; I know that making love so soon, before anything has been determined, may not have been the best idea, but right now, as his fingers trail up and down my spine, it sure feels like it.

I can’t stop picturing the way his body looked underneath mine as he lifted his hips off the mattress to fill me completely. We’ve slept together many times, but this time goes down as one of the best. It was so intense and sincere and full of want—no, need—for each other.

Hardin’s temper got the best of him only a short while ago, but as I stare up at him his eyes are closed and his lips are slightly upturned.

“I know you’re staring at me, and I have to take a piss,” he finally says, and I can’t help but giggle. “Up you go.” He lifts my body at my hips to lay me beside him.

Hardin’s hands run through his hair and he pushes the loose fringe back to bare his forehead while he retrieves his clothing from the floor. He remains shirtless and disappears from the room, leaving me to get myself dressed. My eyes dart to his worn T-shirt on the floor, and out of habit I bend down to pick it up but then drop it again. I don’t want to push things or make him angry, so I should just stick to my own clothing for now.

It’s nearly eight, so I go ahead and pull on a pair of loose sweats and a plain T-shirt. The wreckage from Hardin’s outburst covers the floor, so I take it upon myself to begin putting everything back in its place; the clothes from my drawers are my first task. Hardin enters the room as I’m zipping my suitcase full of novels.

“What are you doing?” he asks. He holds a glass of water and a muffin in one of his large hands.

“Just straightening up,” I say quietly.

I’m slightly nervous that we’ll slide back into fighting again, so I’m unsure of how to behave. “Okay . . .” he says, placing the glass and snack on the dresser before walking over to me.

“I’ll help,” he offers and picks up the broken chair from the floor. We work in silence to get the room back to its normal state. Hardin grabs the suitcase and walks toward the closet with it, nearly tripping over a decorative pillow from the bed.

I don’t know if I should speak first and I’m not sure what to say; I know he’s still angry, but I keep catching his eyes on me, so he must not be too angry.

He steps out from the closet holding a small bag and a medium-sized box. “What’s this?”

Oh no. “Nothing.” I hurry to my feet in an attempt to take the items from him.

“Are these for me?” he asks with a curious expression.

Chapter one hundred and sixteen

HARDIN

No,” she lies and stands up on her toes to try to reach for the box in my left hand. I lift it higher.

“The tag right here says my name,” I point out, and she looks down.

Why is she so embarrassed?

“I just . . . well, I got you a few things before, but now they seem so silly; you don’t have to open them.”

“I want to,” I tell her and sit down on the edge of the bed. I really shouldn’t have broken that hideous chair.

She sighs and keeps her position on the other side of the room as I pull at the taped edges of wrapping paper. I’m slightly irritated by the amount of tape she used for this one box, but I’ll admit I’m a little . . .