“Come on, baby,” he whispers.
I notice his hand reach down between his legs, and I can’t hold it any longer. I watch his hand stroking his hard cock, bringing himself to orgasm with me. I will never get used to the way his actions make me feel. Watching him touching himself, feeling the hot puffs of air against me as his breathing grows heavier . . .
“You taste so fucking good, baby,” he moans against me, his hand moving quicker between his legs. I barely feel my teeth sinking into my palm as I ride out my high, still pulling at his hair.
I blink. And blink some more, lazily.
As I come back to consciousness, I feel him adjust his weight and lay his head on my stomach. I open my eyes to find him with his closed, his chest moving up and down, his breath shallow.
I lift him by his shoulder and attempt to move between his legs.
He stops and looks at me. “I . . . um, I’m already done,” he says.
I stare at him.
“I already came . . .” His voice is thick with exhaustion.
“Oh.”
He smiles a lazy, half-drunk smile and stands up from the bed. He strides over to the dresser and opens his bottom drawer, grabbing a pair of white gym shorts.
“I need to shower and change, obviously.” He points to the crotch of his jeans, where, despite their dark color, the wet spot is evident.
“Just like old times?” I smile, and he looks at me, smiling back.
Hardin comes over and places a kiss on my forehead, then one on my lips. “Good to know you haven’t lost your touch,” he says, walking to the door.
“It wasn’t my touch,” I remind him, and he shakes his head, leaving the room.
I reach for my clothes at the end of the bed, praying that my father is still asleep on the couch, and that if by chance he is awake, he doesn’t stop Hardin on his way to the bathroom. Seconds later the bathroom door closes, and I stand to get dressed.
When I’m done I check my phone for a voicemail from Sandra, but there’s nothing. What I do see is the small envelope in the corner of my screen indicating a new text message; maybe she’s busy and decided to text me.
I click it open and read: I need to talk to you.
I sigh when I next read the sender’s name: Zed.
I delete the message and set my phone back on the desk. Then curiosity gets the best of me, and I look around for Hardin’s phone. My heart pounds as I remember the last time I went snooping through it. That didn’t end well.
But this time I know he’s not hiding anything. He wouldn’t be. We’re in a completely different place now than we were before. He got a tattoo for me . . . he just won’t move for me. I have nothing to worry about. Right?
I check the dresser after not seeing it on the desk, then figure he must have taken it with him to the bathroom. Because that’s normal, right?
I have nothing to worry about; I’m just stressed and paranoid, I remind myself.
Before I continue down the rabbit hole of worry, I remind myself that I shouldn’t be going through his cell phone anyway, that I would be furious if he did that to me.
He probably does, though. I just haven’t caught him.
The bedroom door clicks open, and I jump as if I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t be. Hardin strides in, shirtless, barefoot, wearing the gym shorts, the black line of his boxers showing.
“You okay?” he asks, rubbing a white towel over his soaked hair. I love the way his hair appears black when it’s wet; the contrast with his green eyes is something one can only dream about.
“Yeah. That wasn’t a long shower.” I sit down on the chair. “I should have gotten you dirtier,” I say, trying to distract him from the slight quaver in my voice.
“I was in a hurry to see you,” he says unconvincingly.
I smile. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he admits with an amused grin. “I got hungry.”
“Thought so.”
“Your dad’s still asleep—is he going to stay here while we’re gone?”
Excitement overtakes any worry I had. “You’re coming?”
“Yeah, I guess. If it’s as lame as I know it will be, I’m only staying one night.”
“Okay,” I say with understanding. But inside I’m beaming, knowing that he won’t leave early. He just has to keep up appearances by complaining about this sort of thing.
He licks his lips, and I think back to him between my thighs. “Can I ask you something?” I say.
His eyes meet mine, and he nods. “Yeah?” He sits on the bed.
“When you . . . you know, was it because I was pulling your hair?”
“What?” He laughs lightly.
“When I pulled at your hair, you liked it?” I flush.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Oh.” I can’t imagine the shade of red I’m turning right now.
“Is that weird to you? That I liked it?”
“No, I’m just curious,” I tell him truthfully.
“Everyone has certain things they like during sex; that’s one of mine. I didn’t know it until just now, though.” He smiles, completely unfazed that we’re talking about this.
“Oh yeah?” I get excited at the thought that he learned something new while with me.
“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, my hair’s been pulled on by other girls, but it’s different with you.”
“Oh,” I say for the tenth time, but this one leaves me feeling flat.
Likely unaware of my reaction, Hardin looks at me with curiosity gleaming in his green eyes. “Is there something you like that I haven’t done?”