Chapter 31 (1/2)

“I want to . . .” I rush the words, and he smiles against my neck, his mouth continuing its gentle assault. He doesn’t say anything and instead grabs my thighs, lifting me higher onto his torso as he begins to walk out of the water. When he reaches the bank, he lets me go and climbs out. I whine, certainly inflaming his ego even more—but right now I don’t care. All I know is that I want him, I need him. He reaches out for my hands and pulls me up onto the bank with him.

Unsure what to do, I just stand on the grass, feeling Hardin’s heavy, soaked shirt on my shoulders and thinking he’s too far away.

From where he stands, he dips down a little to meet my eyes. “Do you want it to be here? Or my room?”

I shrug nervously. I don’t want to go to his room, because it’s too far—the drive will give me too much time to overthink what I am about to do.

“Here,” I say and look around. There is no one in sight and I pray that no one will come here.

“Eager?” He smiles and I try to roll my eyes, but it probably looks like a desperate flutter. The heat in my body is slowly burning out the longer Hardin’s touch is not on me.

“Come here,” he says in a low voice and the heat returns.

My feet pad quietly across the soft grass until I’m only inches from Hardin. His hands immediately reach for the hem of the T-shirt and he peels it upward off my body. The way he looks at me alone drives me crazy; my hormones are out of control. My pulse speeds up as he looks my body up and down one more time before taking my hand.

He spreads his shirt on the grass like a blanket of sorts. “Lie down,” he says, guiding me to the ground with him. He lays me on the wet fabric and props himself up on his elbow, lying on his side, facing me on my back. No one has ever seen me this exposed before, and Hardin has seen so many girls, girls much better looking than me. My hands move up to cover my body, but Hardin sits up and grabs both of my wrists and pushes them down to my sides.

“Don’t ever cover up, not for me,” he says and looks into my eyes.

“It’s just . . .” I begin to explain, but he cuts me off.

“No, you will not cover up, you have nothing to be ashamed of, Tess.” Does he mean that? “I mean it, look at you,” he continues, seeming to read my mind.

“You’ve been with so many girls,” I blurt out, and he frowns.

“None like you.” And I know I could take his answer many different ways, but I choose to let it go.

“Do you have a condom?” I ask him, trying to remember the few things I know about sex.

“A condom?” He chuckles. “I’m not going to have sex with you,” he says and I begin to panic. Is this all a game to humiliate me?