the memory of how they sounded, how they made me feel.
“Say it again,” he whispers and turns me around to face him. In his eyes I see more vulnerability than I had thought possible for him. I move to my knees and take his face in my hands, rubbing my thumbs over the light stubble on his perfect face. I can tell by his expression that he needs me to say it, over and over again. I will say it as many times as I have to until he believes that he is worthy of someone loving him.
“I love you,” I repeat and cover his lips with my own. He hmms in appreciation as his tongue grazes gently over mine. Kissing Hardin feels new and different each time, and he is like a drug that I can’t get enough of. His hands press against the small of my back, bringing our chests together. My mind is telling me to take it slow, to kiss him gently and to savor each second of this gentle calm between us. But my body is telling me to grab a fistful of his hair and pull his shirt over his head. His lips travel down my jaw and attach themselves to my neck.
That does it. I can’t control myself anymore. This is us, all anger and passion and now love. An involuntary moan escapes my lips and he groans against my neck, grabbing my waist and flipping us over so he is hovering over me.
“I . . . have . . . missed you . . . so much,” he says in between sucking the skin on my neck. I can’t keep my eyes open; it feels too good. He unzips my jacket and looks down at me with hungry eyes. He doesn’t ask for my permission before tugging at the fabric, pulling my tank top up and over my head, and he sucks in a sharp breath as I arch my back so he can unclasp my bra.
“I have missed your body . . . the way you fit perfectly in my hand,” he growls as he palms my breasts. I moan again and he presses his lower body against mine so I can feel his arousal pressed against my lower stomach. Our breathing is rapid and uncontrolled, and I have never wanted him more. It seems the admission of our feelings hasn’t lessened the overwhelming passion between us. I am glad. His hand glides down over my bare stomach and pops open the button on my jeans. As his fingers slide into my panties he gasps into my mouth. “I have missed how wet you always are for me.”
His words do wicked things to me, and I lift my hips again, begging for contact.
“What do you want, Tessa?” He breathes heavily into the crook of my neck.
“You,” I answer before my mind can process what I just said. But I know it’s true: I want Hardin in the most primal, deep way possible. His finger slides easily into me and my head falls back against the pillow as he slips in and out.
“I love to watch you, to see how good I make you feel,” he says and I moan in response. My hands fist his T-shirt at his back. He has too many clothes on, but I can’t form a coherent sentence to demand their removal. How do we go from “I hate you” to “I love you” to this? I don’t care for the answer, though—all I care about is the way he is making me feel, the way he always makes me feel. His body slides down mine and he removes his hand from my pants. I whine from the loss of contact and he smiles.
As he pulls down my jeans and panties, I gesture at his fully clothed body. “Undress,” I say, and he chuckles.
“Yes, ma’am.” He smirks and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his inked skin. I want to run my tongue along every single line on every single tattoo. I love the way the infinity symbol above his wrist is so out of place among the flames inked below it.
“Why did you get this?” I ask, running the pad of my index finger over the mark.
“What?” He’s distracted, his eyes and hands focused on my breasts.
“This tattoo. It’s so different than the rest. So much . . . softer, and sort of feminine?”
His fingers roam across both breasts and he leans in, pressing his