After (The After Series)

“NO!!” Hardin’s voice jolts me awake. Am I hearing things?
“Please!” he yells again. I jump out of bed and run across the hall. My hands
find the cold metal of the doorknob to Hardin’s room and, thank God, it opens.
“NO! Please . . .” he yells again. I didn’t think this through; if someone is
hurting him, I have no idea what I will do. I fumble around for the lamp and
switch it on. Hardin is shirtless and tangled in the thick comforter, thrashing and
tossing. Without thinking, I sit on the bed and reach for his shoulder. His skin is
hot, too hot.
“Hardin!” I say quietly, trying to wake him. His head snaps to the side, and he
whimpers but doesn’t wake.
“Hardin, wake up!” I cry and shake him harder while my body moves to sit
astride his. Both of my hands go to his shoulders once more and I shake him

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again.
His eyes fly open; terror fills them for a brief moment before confusion, then
relief. Beads of sweat cover his forehead.
“Tess,” he chokes. The way he says my name breaks my heart, then heals it.
Within seconds he untangles his arms and brings them to my back, pushing me
forward to lie on his chest. The wetness of his chest startles me, but I stay put. I
can hear his heart beating, pumping rapidly against my cheek. Poor Hardin. I put
both of my hands on his sides, hugging him. He strokes my hair as he repeats my
name over and over, as if I am his talisman in the dark.
“Hardin, are you okay?” My words are lower than a whisper.
“No,” he confesses. His chest is rising and falling slower than it was, but his
breathing is still shallow. I don’t want to push him to discuss what terror he has
just dreamed.
I don’t ask him if he wants me to stay; somehow I know he does. When I lift
up to turn the lamp off his body stills.
“I was going to switch the light off, or do you want it on?” I ask him. Once he
realizes my intentions he relaxes, letting me reach farther to the lamp.
“Off, please,” he begs. Once the room returns to darkness, I lay my head back
on his chest. I would imagine lying this way, straddling his body would be
difficult, but it is comforting to him and me both. Hearing his heart beat under
the hard surface of his chest is calming, more calming than the patter of the rain
on the roof. I would do anything, give anything, to be able to spend every night
with Hardin, to lie this way with him, to have his arms wrapped around me and
his breathing slow in my ear.
I WAKE UP
to Hardin shifting below me. I am still lying on top of him, my
knees astride him. I lift my head from where it rests on his chest and encounter
his dazzling green eyes. In the light of day I am not sure if I am wanted the way I
was last night. I can’t read his expression, which leaves my nerves to take over. I
move to climb off him, since my neck feels sore from sleeping on his hard chest,
and I need to stretch my legs out anyway.
“Good morning.” He gives me a dimpled smile, soothing my fear.
“Good morning.”
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“My neck hurts,” I say, and he brings me to lie next to him, my back pressed
against his front. He startles me by bringing his hand to my neck, causing me to
jump. I recover quickly as his hand begins to rub my neck. My eyes close and I
wince a little at his contact with the ache, but the pain slowly disappears as he

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massages.
He speaks before me. “Thank you.”
I turn my head to look at him. “For what?” Maybe he is telling me to thank
him for the neck rub?
“For . . . coming in here. For staying.” His cheeks flush and his eyes dart away
from mine. He is embarrassed. Hardin embarrassed; he never ceases to amaze
and confuse me.
“You don’t have to thank me. Do you want to talk about it?” I hope he does. I
want to know what he dreams about.
“No,” he states plainly, and I nod. I want to push it further, but I know what
will happen if I do.
“I will talk about how incredibly sexy you look wearing my shirt, though,” he
coos in my ear. He nudges my head with his and brings his lips to my skin. My
eyes close in response to his plump lips wrapping around my earlobe, gently
tugging. I can feel him hardening against me, making me feel drowsy in an
incredible way. This type of mood swing is one that I can enjoy.
“Hardin,” I chirp and he chuckles against my neck. His hands travel down my
body; he brings his thumb along the waistband of the oversize plaid pajamas. My
pulse begins to quicken and I gasp as his hand slides down the front of the pants.
He always has the same effect on me; within seconds I feel myself pooling in my
panties. His other hand cups my breast and he hisses as he flicks his thumb over
my sensitive nipple, making me glad I decided not to sleep in my bra.
“I can’t get enough of you, Tess.” His raspy voice is even deeper, filled with
lust. His hand cups me over my panties and he pulls me as close to him as
possible. His erection presses against me. I reach down and take his hand,
removing it from my pants. When I turn to face him, a frown covers his face.
“I . . . I want to do something for you,” I whisper slowly, embarrassed.
A smile overtakes the frown and he takes my chin in between his fingers,
forcing me to look at him.
“What do you want to do?” he asks. I don’t know, exactly; I just know I want
to make him feel as good as he does me. I want to see him lose control like I did
in this same room.
“I don’t know . . . what do you want me to do?” My lack of experience is
evident in my tone.
Hardin puts my hands in his and slides them down to the bulge in his pants. “I
really want those plump lips wrapped around me.”
I gasp at his words, and feel the pressure in between my thighs.
“Is that something you want?” he asks, his hands moving circles over his
crotch. His dark eyes regard me, gauging my reaction.

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I nod and gulp, earning a smile from him. He sits up and pulls me to join him.
Nervousness and want both flood my body. The loud jingle of his ringtone
echoes through the room and he groans before snatching his phone off the table.
His eyes meet the screen and he sighs.
“I’ll be right back,” he informs me and disappears out of the room. He returns
a few minutes later and his mood has changed once more.
“Karen is making breakfast. It’s almost finished.” He pulls open the dresser
and grabs a T-shirt, tossing it over his head without looking in my direction.
“Okay.” I stand up and go to the door, needing to put a bra on before I go see
his family.
“See you downstairs.” His tone is emotionless.
I swallow the lump rising in my throat. Guarded Hardin is my least favorite
Hardin, even less liked than angry Hardin. Who called him, and why did it make