After We Collided

by Anna Todd

  “I—”

  “And you have to stop with the violence. You can’t just go around beating people up every time you get pissed off. It’s not right, and I don’t like it at all.”

  “I know.” He looks down at the concrete floor.

  I sigh and take his hands in mine. “We need to get you cleaned up; your knuckles are still bleeding.” I lead him to the bathroom to clean his wounds for what feels like the thousandth time since I met him.

  chapter forty-eight

  TESSA

  Hardin doesn’t even wince as I clean his wounds. I dip the towel back into the sink full of water, attempting to dilute the blood from the white fabric. He looks up at me as I stand over him. He’s seated on the edge of the bathtub, and I stand between his legs. He holds his hands up once more.

  “We need to get something to put on your thumb,” I tell him as I twist the towel to wring out the excess water.

  “It’ll be fine,” he says.

  “No, look how deep it is,” I scold him. “The skin is already mostly scar tissue, and you just keep tearing it back open.”

  He doesn’t say anything; he just studies my face. “What?” I ask him.

  I drain the pink water and wait for him to respond. “Nothing . . .” he lies.

  “Tell me.”

  “I just can’t believe you put up with my shit,” he says.

  “Me, either.” I smile. I watch as a frown takes over his face. “It’s worth it, though,” I add, meaning it. He smiles, and I bring my hand to his face, running the pad of my thumb over the pit of his dimple.

  His smile grows. “Sure it is,” he says and stands up. “I need a shower.” He removes his shirt before leaning down to turn the shower faucet.

  “I’ll be in the room, then,” I tell him.

  “Wait . . . why? Take one with me?”

  “Your mother is in the other room,” I explain quietly.

  “So . . . it’s only a shower. Please?”

  I can’t refuse him; he knows this. The smirk on his face as I sigh in defeat proves it.

  “Unzip me?” I request and turn my back to him.

  I lift my hair up, and his fingers find the zipper immediately. When the green fabric hits the floor, Hardin says, “I like that dress.”

  He removes his pants and boxers, and I try not to stare at his naked body as I slide the straps of my bra down my arms. When I’m completely naked, Hardin steps into the shower, holding his hand out for me. His eyes rake down my body and stop at my thighs with a scowl.

  “What?” I try to cover myself with my arms.

  “The blood. It’s on you.” He gestures to some faint red marks.

  “It’s fine.” I grab the loofah and rub it against my skin.

  He takes it from me and covers it with soap. “Let me.” Hardin kneels, and I can’t help the goose bumps that form on my skin at the sight of him on his knees in front of me. The loofah moves up and down my thighs, slowly circling around. The boy has a direct line to my hormones. He brings his face close to my skin, and I try not to squirm as his lips touch my left hip. He keeps one of his hands wrapped around the back of my thigh, holding me in place as he does the same to the right. “Hand me the showerhead,” he says, breaking me from my perverted thoughts.

  “What?”

  “Hand me it, the showerhead,” he says again.

  I nod and lift the piece from its hook and hand it down to him. Looking up at me with a gleam in his eye and water dripping from his nose, he turns the head in his hand, pointing it directly at my stomach.

  “What . . . what are you doing?” I squeak as he moves the object lower. The hot water pulses against my skin, and I watch in anticipation.

  “Does that feel good?”

  I nod.

  “If you think it feels good now, let’s see how it feels if we move it down, just a little lower . . .” Every cell in my body is awakened, dancing under my skin as Hardin teasingly tortures me. I jump as the water hits me, and Hardin smirks.

  The water feels so good, much better than I’d ever have assumed it could. My fingers wrap into his hair, and I pull my bottom lip between my teeth to stifle my moans. His mother is in the other room, but I can’t make him stop—it feels too good.

  “Tessa . . .” Hardin probes for an answer.

  “Same . . . stay there.” I pant, and he chuckles, pressing the water closer to me to add more pressure. When I feel Hardin’s soft tongue run across me just under the water, I nearly lose my balance. It’s too much, his tongue lapping with the water pulsing and my knees shaking.

  “Hardin . . . I can’t . . .” I’m not sure what I’m trying to say, but when his tongue moves faster, I pull his hair, hard. My legs begin to shake, and Hardin drops the showerhead and uses both of his hands to hold me up.

  “Fuck . . .” I curse quietly, hopeful that the noise of the shower will drown out my moans. I feel him smile against me before continuing to bring me over the edge. My eyes screw shut as I allow pleasure to take over my body.

  Hardin pulls his mouth from mine long enough to say, “Come on, baby, come for me.”

  I do just that.

  When I open my eyes, Hardin is still kneeling and his hand is wrapped around his cock. It’s hard and heavy in his grip. Still catching my breath, I drop to my knees. I wrap my hand around his, stroking him.

  “Stand up,” I quietly instruct. His eyes lower and he nods, getting to his feet. I bring his length to my mouth, licking the tip of him.

  “Fuck . . .” He sucks in a breath, and I lap my tongue around him. I wrap my arms around the back of his legs to keep my balance on the wet floor and take his cock down my throat. Hardin’s fingers dig into my wet hair, holding me still as he moves his hips, thrusting into my mouth. “I could fuck your mouth for hours.” He thrusts a little faster, and I groan. His dirty words make me tighten the suction of my lips around him, and he curses again. The animalistic way he’s completely claiming my mouth is new. He has total control, and I love it.

  “I’m going to come in your mouth, baby.” He pulls at my hair a little more, and I can feel the muscles in his legs tighten under my hands, and he curses my name repeatedly as he relieves himself down my throat.

  After a few ragged breaths, he helps me to my feet and kisses my forehead. “I think we’re clean now.” He smiles, licking his lips.

  “I’d say so,” I say with a ragged breath and grab the shampoo.

  Once both of us are actually clean and ready to get out, I run my hands along his abs, tracing the skull pattern on his stomach. My hand creeps lower, but Hardin’s fingers grip my wrist to stop me.

  “I know I’m hard to resist, but my mum is just in the other room. Have some self-control, young lady,” he teases, and I swat at his arm before climbing out of the shower and grabbing a towel.

  “This, coming from someone who just used . . .” I flush, unable to finish the sentence.

  “You liked it, didn’t you?” He raises his eyebrow, and I roll my eyes.

  “Go get my clothes from the room,” I tell him in a bossy tone.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He wraps the towel around his waist and disappears from the steamy bathroom. I swipe my hand across the mirror after wrapping my soaking hair in a towel.

  Today has been a hectic and very stressful Christmas. I should probably call Landon later, but first I want to talk to Hardin about this moving-back-to-England-after-college idea. He’s never mentioned it to me before.

  “Here.” Hardin hands me a pile of clothes and leaves me alone in the bathroom to get dressed. I’m amused to find the red lace bra and panties set along with the sweats and a clean black T-shirt. Clean, because the one from today is bloodied.

  chapter forty-nine

  TESSA

  Our last night with Hardin’s mom consists mostly of drinking tea and her telling embarrassing stories of when Hardin was little. That and about ten reminders that next year Christmas is in England, “No excuses.”

  The thought of celebratin
g Christmas with Hardin a year from now makes my stomach flutter. For the first time since we met, I can see a future with him. Not necessarily having children and getting married, but for once I feel secure enough about his feelings to be able to look a year ahead.

  The next morning, when Hardin returns from dropping Trish off at the airport at far too early an hour, I wake up. I hear him drop his clothes onto the floor, and he climbs back into bed wearing only boxers. He wraps his arms around me once more. I’m still a little irritated with him from our earlier conversation, but his arms are cold, and I missed him during his absence from our bed.

  “I go back to work tomorrow,” I say after a few minutes, unsure if he’s already fallen asleep or not.

  “I know,” he replies.

  “I’m excited to get back to Vance.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I love it there, and I’ve had the week off. I miss working.”

  “You’re quite the overachiever,” he mocks, and I know he’s rolling his eyes even though I can’t see his face.

  Reflexively, this makes me roll my own eyes. “Sorry that I love my internship and you don’t like your job.”

  “I do like my job, and I had the same job you have. I just left it for something better,” he brags.

  “Do you only like it more because you get to do it from home?”

  “Yeah, that’s the main reason.”

  “What’s the other reason?”

  “I felt like people thought I only got the job because of Vance.”

  This is not a huge revelation, but it’s a much more honest answer than I expected from him. I expected a word or two about how the job sucked or was annoying.

  “Do really you think people thought that?” I roll onto my back, and Hardin leans up on his elbow to look down at me.

  “I don’t know. No one said it, but I felt like they were thinking it. Especially after he hired me as an actual employee, not just an intern.”

  “Do you think he was upset when you left to work for someone else?”

  He smiles a smile that appears especially bright in the half-lit bedroom. “No, I don’t think so. His employees were constantly complaining about my supposed attitude anyway.”

  “Supposed attitude?” I tease.

  He cups my cheek and dips his head down to kiss my forehead. “Yes, supposed. I am very charming. No attitude at all.” He smiles against my skin. I giggle, and he smiles even more, pressing his forehead against mine. “What do you want to do today?” he asks.

  “I don’t know; I was thinking of calling Landon and going to the store.”

  He draws back a little. “For what?”

  “To talk to him and see when he can meet up with me. I’d like to give him those tickets.”

  “The gifts are at their house. I’m sure they already opened them.”

  “I don’t see them opening them without us being there.”

  “I do.”

  “My point exactly,” I tease.

  But Hardin’s already turned serious with the mention of his family. “Do you think . . . What do you think about me apologizing . . . well, not apologizing . . . but what if I called him—you know, my dad?”

  I know that I need to tread lightly when it comes to Hardin and Ken. “I think you should call him. I think you should try to make sure what happened yesterday doesn’t ruin the beginning of the relationship you were forming with him.”

  “I guess . . .” He sighs. “After I hit him, I thought for a second that you were going to stay there and make me leave.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, I did. I’m glad you didn’t, but that’s what I thought.”

  I lift my head off the mattress and plant a small kiss on his jawline instead of answering. I have to admit that I probably would have done just that had he not already come clean about his past. That changed everything for me. It changed the way I look at Hardin—not in a negative way, or a positive one, just a more understanding way.

  Hardin looks past me toward the window. “I can call him today, I guess.”

  “Do you think that we could go to their house? I really want to give them their gifts.”

  Blinking back to me, he says, “We could just tell them to open them while you’re on the phone. That’s basically the same, only you won’t have to see their fake smiles at your terrible presents.”

  “Hardin!” I whine.

  He chuckles and lays his head on my chest. “I’m teasing; you give the best gifts. That key chain with the wrong sports team was killer.” He laughs.

  “Go back to bed.” I swat at his messy hair.

  “What did you need from the store?” he asks as he lies back down.

  I forgot that I had mentioned that. “Nothing.”

  “No, no, you said you needed to go to the store. What was it, plugs or something?”

  “Plugs?”

  “You know to . . . plug yourself.”

  What? “I don’t get it . . .”

  “Tampons.”

  I blush. My whole body blushes, I’m sure. “Oh . . . no.”

  “Do you even have a period?”

  “Oh my God, Hardin, stop talking about it.”

  “What? You’re embarrassed to talk about your men-stru-ation with me?” When he lifts up his face to look at me, a huge grin is plastered across it.

  “I’m not embarrassed. It’s just inappropriate,” I defend, highly embarrassed.

  He smiles. “We’ve done quiet a few inappropriate things, Theresa.”

  “Don’t call me Theresa—and stop talking about it!” I groan and cover my face with my hands.

  “Are you bleeding now?” I feel his hand travel down my stomach.

  “No . . .” I lie.

  I have gotten away from exactly this situation before because we’re always so on and off and it just never happened. Now that we’re going to be around each other more steadily, I knew this would happen—I just was avoiding it.

  “So you wouldn’t mind if I . . .” His hand slips into the top of my panties.

  “Hardin!” I squeal and smack his hand away.

  He chuckles. “Admit it, then; say, ‘Hardin, I’m on my period.’ ”

  “No, I am not saying that.” I know my face is a deep red by now.

  “Come on, it’s just a little blood.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “Bloody amazing.” He smiles, obviously proud of his ridiculous joke.

  “You’re obnoxious.”

  “You need to lighten up . . . learn to go with the flow.” He laughs harder.

  “Oh my God! Okay, if I say it, will you stop with the menstrual jokes?”

  “I’m not making jokes. Period.”

  His laugh is contagious, and it feels great to be lying in bed laughing with Hardin, despite the subject of conversation. “Hardin, I’m on my period. I just started right before you got home. There, are you happy?”

  “Why are you embarrassed by it?”

  “I’m not—I just don’t think it’s something that women should discuss.”

  “It’s not a big deal, I don’t mind a little blood.” He presses himself against me.

  I scrunch my nose. “You’re gross.”

  “I’ve been called worse.” He smiles.

  “You’re in a good mood today,” I point out.

  “Maybe you would be, too, if it wasn’t that time of month.”

  I groan and grab the pillow from behind me to cover my face. “Can we please talk about something else?” I say through the pillow.

  “Sure . . . sure . . . someone’s bloody panties are in a twist.” He laughs.

  I pull the pillow from my face and hit him in the head with it before climbing off the bed. I hear him laughing as he opens the dresser, to find a pair of pants, I assume. It’s early, only seven in the morning, but I’m wide awake. I start a pot of coffee and make myself a bowl of cereal. I can’t believe Christmas is over; in a few days the year will be over.

  “Wh
at do you usually do to celebrate the New Year?” I ask Hardin when he sits down at the table in white cotton drawstring pants.

  “Go out, usually.”

  “Go where?”

  “Parties, or a club. Or both. Last year was both.”

  “Oh.” I hand him the bowl of cereal.

  “What would you like to do?”

  “I’m not sure. I want to go out, I think,” I answer.

  He raises one eyebrow. “You do?”

  “Yeah . . . don’t you?”

  “I don’t really give a shit what we do, but if you want to go out, that is what we shall do.” He brings a spoonful of Frosted Flakes to his mouth.

  “Okay . . .” I say, unsure of where we’ll go. I make myself another bowl. “Are you going to ask your father if we can stop by today?” I ask him and take seat next to him.

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Maybe they could come here?” I suggest.

  Hardin’s eyes narrow. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? You’d be more comfortable here, right?”

  He closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “I guess. Let me call them in a bit.”

  I finish my breakfast quickly and stand up from the table.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “To clean, obviously.”

  “Clean what? The place is spotless.”

  “No, it’s not, and I want it to be perfect if we’re having guests over.” I rinse my bowl and place it in the dishwasher. “You could help clean, you know? Since you’re the one who makes most of the mess,” I point out.

  “Oh no. You’re much better at cleaning than I am.” He gestures at the cereal box.

  I roll my eyes but give it to him. I don’t mind cleaning, because, honestly, I like things a certain way, and Hardin’s version of cleaning isn’t actually cleaning. He just shoves things wherever they’ll fit.

  “Oh, and don’t forget that we need to go to the store to get your plugs.” He laughs.

  “Stop calling them that!” I throw a dish towel at his face, and he laughs harder at my embarrassment.