Chapter 119 (1/2)

“I’m glad.” I quietly admit, my mouth dry.

His eyes are full of amusement. “Have you went wild and gotten yourself a tattoo yet?”

“No.” I swat at him, and he backs up against the counter and reaches for me.

“Are you okay with me touching you this way?”

“Yes,” my mouth confesses before my brain has the time to agree.

He uses one hand to trail his fingers over the top lining of my tank top. “What about like this?”

I nod.

My heart is hammering through my chest to the point I’m convinced that he can hear it. I feel so in tune, so alive and awake, and starved for his touch. It’s been so long, and here he is in front of me, saying and doing the things I used to love so much. Only this time, he is a little more cautious, more patient.

“I’ve needed you so much, Tess.” His mouth is less than two inches from mine; his fingers are drawing slow circles on the bare skin of my shoulders. I feel drunk, my head is cloudy.

When his lips reach mine, I’m dragged back under. I’m taken to that place where only Hardin exists, only his fingers on my skin, only his lips caressing mine, only his teeth nipping at the corners of my mouth, only the soft groans sounding from his throat when I unbutton his jeans.

“Are you trying to use me for sex again?” He smiles against my mouth, pushing his tongue to cover mine so that I can’t respond. “Teasing,” he mumbles and presses his body completely against mine. My arms move around his neck, and my fingers lace through his hair.

“If I wasn’t a gentleman, I would fuck you right here on this counter.” His hands cup both of my breasts, his fingers hooking under the straps of my bra and tank top. “I would lift you up here, slide these hideous pants down your legs, spread your thighs, and take you right here.”

“You said you weren’t a gentleman,” I breathlessly remind him.

“I changed my mind. I’m a half gentleman now,” he teases.

I’m so wound up that I’m beginning to think I may combust and make a mess of the kitchen. I push my hand down his boxers, and my eyes roll back when he says, “Fuck, Tess.”

“A half? What does that mean?” I moan when his fingers slide easily past the loose waist of my pants.

“That means, regardless of how badly I want you, how fucking badly I want to fuck you on this counter and make you scream my name so the entire block knows who is making you come”—he sucks at the skin down the column of my neck—“I won’t be doing any of that until the day you marry me.”

My hands freeze, one down his boxers, and the other on his back. “What?” I croak, clearing my throat.

“You heard me. I won’t be fucking you until you marry me.”