Chapter 23: Well happy birthday
“That feels nice,” Tessa said, the words dissolving into the dark.
“Does it?” His voice was a low rumble, barely audible. His thumb pressed a slow circle into the soft skin just below her navel.
She nodded, her hair whispering against the pillow. She rolled onto her back, a deliberate movement that caused his hand to slide, to settle flat against her stomach. The heat of his palm bled through the thin cotton of her pyjama top.
His fingers began to move again, tracing idle, meaningless patterns. The pad of his index finger brushed the hem of her shirt, then dipped beneath it. The shock of skin-on-skin contact was electric. His touch was warm, slightly rough from callouses she knew came from guitar strings and the steering wheel of his car.
“Did you have a nice birthday?” he asked. His voice was closer now. She could feel the faint disturbance of his breath against her temple.
“Yeah, I did.” She swallowed. “And thank you again for the gift.” She paused as his fingers ventured higher, skating over her ribs. The tip of his middle finger, the one with the ‘K’ and the heart, hooked under the waistband of her pants, resting there. A question. “It was really thoughtful. I found it when I was getting my stuff.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it,” she whispered.
The air in the room changed. It became thicker, harder to pull air into her lungs.
His pinky finger traced a daring, faint line just under the elastic waistband of her underwear. She breathed in, a sharp, shallow intake.
He stopped. His hand went still, flat and heavy against the low curve of her stomach. The silence was a living thing between them.
“I got a car,” she said, the words rushing out to fill the void his touch had left.
“You got a car.” It wasn’t a question. It was an echo, a buffer.
She nodded in the dark. The mattress shifted as he turned his head toward her.
“What car did you get?” he asked. His hand began moving again, a gentle, absent sweep across her stomach.
She breathed in, catching the scent of him on the sheets. “A white one.”
A soft, shared smile broke in the darkness. It was a stupid, perfect answer.
“Well, happy birthday,” he said, his voice fond and rough.
Tessa turned her head to look at him. Then she turned her whole body, facing him, their knees touching under the covers. “Night,” she said, her eyes searching his shadowed face.
She looked at him. She slowly leaned in and kissed him, a soft, closed-mouth press of lips. She pulled back, looking at him.
“Goodnight,” he whispered. He looked at her lips. He leaned in, kissing her. She kissed him back, a fraction longer this time.
“Goodnight,” she whispered, her breath mingling with his.
“Goodnight,” he whispered back.
They kissed again. This one was slower, deeper. His lips parted hers. “Goodnight,” Tessa said against his mouth, the word a contradiction.
Hardin’s hand came up to her cheek. His thumb came down to her bottom lip, pulling it down gently. He kissed her again, his hand sliding under her chin to tilt her face up to his. The kiss deepened, turning hungry, tasting of salt and lost time.
“Hardin,” Tessa said, her voice a strained thread as he kissed along her jaw.
He kissed her neck, his breath hot. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“This isn’t working,” she said, even as she turned her head to give him better access.
He pulled back just enough to see her eyes. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Feel.” The word was a sigh, a surrender. She lifted the covers, the cool air hitting their skin. She grabbed his wandering hand on her stomach and guided it.
She pulled the waistband of her underwear up. He slid his hand down, his finger sliding through her, feeling how wet she was. Her eyes were wide, watching him, her breathing shallow and audible in the quiet room.
He kissed her, a deep, claiming kiss that tasted of desperate want. She kissed him back, her nails digging into his shoulder.
“You?” she whispered against his lips, the question thick in the air. He moved back slightly, his breath ragged. She slipped her hand under the waistband of his underwear, feeling how hard he was. “Ohhh,” she said, the sound a quiet, understanding sigh.
They both leaned in, kissing each other slowly. They both slowly moved at the same time, a synchronous, aching shift. Hardin moved his finger back and forth with a gentle, torturous precision. Tessa’s hand tightened, her palm flat against his hip. She brought her other hand under the waistband, feeling the straining length of him.
Her strokes were slow and deliberate, exploring every ridge and vein. Her fist moved up and down. He moved his finger, a circular, searching motion against her that pulled a choked gasp from her throat. They both broke the kiss, moaning into the scant space between their mouths.
Tessa breathed heavily, Her hand tightened on him. Hardin watched her face contort in the faint light, his own expression a mask of agonized pleasure. He pulled her lower lip between his teeth, biting down gently before soothing it with his tongue.
“We should stop,” Tessa said, even as she leaned in to kiss him again, her hand still moving on him.
“Okay,” he said, kissing her back, his hips pushing up into her hand. He moved his finger deeper, curling it slightly. She gasped against his mouth.
“Three seconds and we’ll stop,” he panted, his voice gravel.
“Mhm hmm,” she managed, kissing him again. She could feel his control fraying beneath her touch. They both moaned, a shared, broken sound that was swallowed by the dark.
“Three,” he breathed.
“Two,” she whispered, her rhythm faltering.
“One.” They said it at the same time, their voices straining. They breathed heavily, foreheads touching. Neither of them stopped.
She moaned, a full, unfettered sound as his touch pushed her closer to the edge.
“Okay,” his voice thick. “Ten more seconds.”
“Okay,” she agreed. She kissed him, open-mouthed and messy.
“And then we’ll stop.” It was a promise he already knew he wouldn't keep.
“Okay.” Her consent was a breath, a surrender.
They both groaned into the kiss, the sound vibrating between them. Hardin’s hand left her, his own moving to replace hers, guiding her rhythm to something faster, more urgent. He shifted, looming over her, his hips settling between her thighs.
The warning was a pressure, not an intrusion. She could feel him there, hot and insistent. Her legs tightened around his hips.
"Please," she heard herself say, the word ripped from somewhere deep and beyond reason.
That word tore a groan from him. He moved to get a condom from the drawer. Tessa stopped him, her hand tightening on his hip. “No, Hardin.” The words caught in her dry throat.
“What?” He paused, his body trembling with the effort of holding still.
“I need you now.” She said it plainly, her blue eyes wide and dark in the shadows, holding his.
Hardin looked at her, his breath stolen. She looked back, unblinking, her expression raw and open. “Hardin, please.”
He didn’t move for a heartbeat, two, his gaze searching hers for any doubt. He found none, only a mirror of his own desperate hunger. He pushed inside. It was a slow, devastating stretch that stole the air from their lungs.
They froze, joined, breathing each other’s air. A shaky exhale escaped him, fogging the space between their lips. He pulled back slowly. Then pushed inside again, deeper this time, burying himself to the hilt.
She cried out, a sharp sound he caught with his mouth.
He kissed her, swallowing every gasp, every broken sigh. His rhythm was a deep, rolling tide, each motion measured and profound. Her ankles locked behind his back, pulling him closer, deeper. The bedframe gave a faint, tap against the wall.
She forced her eyes open. His face was inches away, his features taut with a painful ecstasy, his ocean eyes fixed on hers. “Tessa.”
Her name was a prayer, a curse. She clutched at his back, her fingers finding the raised lines on his shoulder.
Her touch anchoring him as he moved. Each slow withdrawal was a minor abandonment, each deep, rolling return a reclaiming. His hips set a deliberate, grinding rhythm that felt less like friction and more like a profound merging.
They both groaned quietly. Hardin kissed her.
The kiss was open, desperate, a silent conversation their bodies were already having. Her other hand fisted in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan against her mouth. The sound vibrated through her.
He broke the kiss. His gaze was terrifyingly intense, a blue flame in the dark. He was completely inside her, yet he held himself still, waiting. She was pinned, not just by his weight, but by that look.
"Tell me you hate me," he whispered, his voice ragged.
She shook her head, a frantic little motion on the pillow. "I don't."
"Lie to me, then." A bead of sweat traced the line of his jaw, dropping onto her collarbone. "Please."
"I can't." The words were a truth torn from a place deeper than anger, deeper than the bet, deeper than all the ruined days. Her hips shifted beneath him, a silent plea for him to move, to break this unbearable stillness.
He complied, driving into her again with that same deep, devastating stroke. A choked sob escaped her. It was too much. The raw physicality of it, the sheer uncharted intimacy.
His control visibly splintering. His pace remained slow, but each thrust now carried a rougher edge, a building desperation.
She could only nod, her forehead pressed against his cheek. She felt everything—the heat, the full stretch, the way his body shuddered with the effort to keep it slow. The landscape her fingers roamed.
"Tessa." Her name was a broken thing. His rhythm faltered, became less measured. "I'm—"
"Don't stop." She cut him off, her voice fierce. Her legs locked tighter around him, her heels pressing into the small of his back. "Don't you dare stop."
He didn’t stop. He drove into her, again and again, each thrust a raw, unfiltered truth. The slow, measured rhythm was gone, replaced by something urgent and consuming.
Tessa’s world narrowed to the hammering of her own heart and the relentless, perfect friction building deep inside her.
A tight, coiling heat gathered low in her stomach, spiraling outward with every driving thrust. Her breath came in ragged, open-mouthed gasps against his skin. She was unraveling, completely, and the only thing holding her together was the solid weight of him bearing down.
He moaned out a deep thing from his chest.
His head dropped into her neck his breath heavy he was so close to the edge. He kissed her neck keeping his pace. The kisses were wet, open-mouthed, and desperate against her pulse.
“Look at me,” she begged, her voice shattered.
He forced his head up, his eyes glazed and drowning. The connection held for one last, seismic second.
A raw, guttural sound was torn from him, muffled against her skin. Her climax slammed through her in violent, silent waves, arching her spine off the mattress.
She convulsed around him.
The sounds that left Hardin’s mouth only made her throb around him. He groaned, a raw, shattered thing, directly into the damp skin of her neck. Hardin was holding on by a thread of sheer willpower not to cum. He slowed his pace to a deep, grinding roll, helping her ride out the waves.
Each slow, deliberate movement dragged another fragmented gasp from her lungs. She clung to him. The intensity slowly ebbed, leaving her body humming and utterly spent.
He remained buried inside her, his forehead pressed to her shoulder, his entire body trembling with the effort of his restraint. His breathing was a ragged, open-mouthed pant against her collarbone.
She felt the fine tremor in his arms as he held his weight off her, still buried inside her, motionless. She was adrift and spent, her fingers splayed across his back.
“Hardin,” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse, unused.
He didn’t answer. He just shuddered, a full-body tremor that seemed to originate from his core. His hips jerked once, a small, involuntary pulse deep within her. A choked sound escaped him, part agony, part relief.
“Look at me,” she said again, softer this time.
She could feel the wet heat of his breath, the rapid flutter of his pulse where her temple pressed against his neck.
She moved her hands from his back. They slid up over the tense planes of his shoulders, the curve of his neck. Her palms settled against his jaw.
She grabbed his face, making him look at her.
His eyes were wild, black in the low light. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the blue. A muscle in his jaw jumped under her palm. “I can’t—” he groaned, cut off as he fought against the will to let go, holding onto restraint. The words were ground out, strained to breaking.
“Then don’t,” she said, her own voice raw.
“Tessa,” he groaned, a warning and a plea.
His hips involuntarily jerked, pushing him deep inside her to the hilt. He groaned loudly, a sound of pure release torn from somewhere ancient within his chest. Tessa moaned softly, a breathy exhale at the sudden, exquisite fullness.
She watched him fighting against his restraint as it collapsed in waves. His eyes squeezed shut, his features contorted in a painful ecstasy that was terrifying in its honesty. Every muscle in his back and shoulders corded tight beneath her palms, holding himself utterly still even as his body convulsed inside hers.
He was a statue of tense release, the only movement the frantic pulse at his throat and the fine, continuous tremor in his limbs. A long, ragged groan escaped his lips, muffled against the damp skin of her shoulder.
He pulled out slowly. Laying on his back groaning at the loss of contact the need to cum was unbearable. Tessa rolled over wrapping her hand around him. “You don’t ha-” His words were cut off as he felt her hand wrap around him.
His head flew back into the mattress, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. She slowly began to stroke him, her grip firm and knowing. His eyes flew open and he looked at her, the blue almost black with a desperate, shattered need.
“Ohh, Tessa, please.” His hip jerked into her hand, a frantic, involuntary pulse.
“Shhh,” she whispered, her own breath still uneven. She moved over him, the covers tangling around their legs.
She leaned down, her hair a curtain around their faces, and kissed him. It was soft, a contrast to everything that had come before. He kissed her back, his hands coming up to frame her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks.
Her hand continued its slow, steady rhythm. He broke the kiss with a gasp, his forehead falling against hers. “I’m not going to last,” he warned, his voice shredded.
“I know.” She said it against his lips. She quickened her pace just slightly, a subtle increase in pressure.
He groaned, long and low, the sound vibrating through his chest and into hers. His whole body tensed, a bowstring pulled to snapping. His fingers dug into her hips just to hold on.
"Look at me," she said again, the same words from moments before, but now a soft command.
He forced his eyes open. They were glazed, unguarded, full of a vulnerable awe that made her heart clench. He was utterly bare, beyond the physical. She watched him, watched every flicker of sensation cross his face.
His jaw went slack. A ragged, broken sound was torn from him as he came, his release hot over her fingers and his stomach. His body shuddered then collapsed back into the mattress, spent.
For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing syncing in the dark. He lay beneath her, completely undone, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
Tessa slowly withdrew her hand. She wiped her fingers absently on the sheet then rested her palm flat on his pounding heart. She could feel the frantic, slowing rhythm beneath her palm.
Hardin’s eyes were closed. He breathed out, a long, shaky exhale that seemed to deflate him. He lifted a heavy hand and covered hers where it lay on his chest, pinning it there.
He finally lifted his hand from hers, but only to run it through his own damp hair. He let out a long, shaky breath.
“I’ll get a towel,”
He pushed himself up on one elbow, the mattress groaning. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his broad back a pale canvas of ink and tension in the dim light.
She watched him walk to the connected bathroom. He didn’t close the door. The light flipped on, harsh and yellow, spilling a trapezoid across the rumpled sheets.
She heard water run. He came back with a warm, damp cloth. He didn’t hand it to her. He sat on the edge of the bed and gently cleaned her stomach himself, his touch tender.
“Your turn,” she said softly when he was done.
He handed her the cloth. She took it and mimicked his care, wiping the evidence of his release from his skin. He watched her hand move, his expression unreadable.
When she was done, he took the cloth and tossed it toward the bathroom doorway. It landed on the floor with a soft thump.
She turned onto her side, facing him. She reached out and placed her hand back on his chest, over his heart. Its rhythm was steady now.
He didn’t cover it this time. He just breathed. She laid her head on his chest, her hand still resting on his chest, The sound of his heartbeat filled her ear, a comforting rhythm. He brought her hand up to his lips, kissing her knuckles, his mouth soft and warm against her skin.
He pulled the covers up over them, wrapping his arm around the small of her waist. He pulled her closer, their bodies slotting together in the dark like they were made to fit. They closed their eyes and slowly drifted off.
The faint, grey light of morning painted the room when Hardin woke. Tessa was a warm weight against his side, her breath soft and even on his skin. He lay perfectly still, memorizing the exact pressure of her knee hooked over his thigh.
He slipped out from under her arm with practiced care. The floorboards were cold under his bare feet. In the bathroom, he braced his hands on the sink and stared at his reflection—the tangled hair, the shadowed eyes, the faint red marks on his neck. He splashed cold water on his face, the shock of it sharp and clarifying.
He pulled on a black long-sleeve shirt and black jeans, the fabric quiet in the sleeping apartment. Back in the bedroom, he stood for a long moment watching her sleep. One arm was curled under her head, her blonde hair fanned across his pillow. A small, unconscious smile touched his lips before he turned away.
In the kitchen, he made coffee, the gurgle of the machine loud in the silence. He carried his mug to the couch. His mother was still asleep on the other end, her breathing deep. He sat, took a sip, and stared at the steam rising in the dim light.
His notebook was on the floor where he’d left it. He picked it up, the leather cover cool and familiar. He uncapped his pen and began to write, the words coming in a rushed, urgent scrawl, trying to capture the ghost of the night before it faded.
Tessa woke to empty space and cold sheets. She opened her eyes to the pale ceiling, the events of the previous hours flooding back with a physical intensity. She stretched, her body aching in a deep, pleasant way. The smell of coffee and the sound of a pen scratching reached her from the other room.
She found her clothes folded on a chair. She dressed quietly in the bathroom, pulling on a simple white dress. It felt like a new skin. She packed the few remaining items from the drawer into her suitcase, her movements slow and deliberate.
She opened the bedroom door, the suitcase wheel clicking softly. Hardin looked up from his notebook, his pen halting mid-sentence. His gaze was unreadable, a mixture of possession and confusion. She placed the suitcase against the couch near the door.
“Morning,” he said, his voice gravelly from sleep and disuse.
“Morning,” she replied, her own voice small.
His mother stirred on the couch, blinking awake. “Oh, hello, you two,” Trish said, her voice bright. She pushed the blanket off and stood, stretching. “I’ll just be a moment.” She disappeared into the bathroom with her small bag.
They were left in a silent tableau. Hardin looked back down at his notebook, but he wasn’t writing. Tessa stood by her suitcase, feeling untethered. The distance between the couch and the door felt like a canyon.
Trish emerged, looking refreshed. She smoothed her blouse and smiled at them both.
Hardin stood, setting his notebook aside. He walked to Tessa’s suitcase and picked it up, his fingers brushing hers. “I’ll take it down,” he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.
“Would you apologise to your mum for us kidnapping you last night?” Trish said, pulling Tessa into a quick, warm hug.
“I will,” Tessa said into her shoulder.
Trish pulled back, holding Tessa at arm's length. Her eyes were soft and searching. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me to see Hardin this way,” she said, her voice dropping to a confidential tone.
Tessa pulled back slightly. “What way?”
“Happy.” Trish beamed, a simple, radiant joy on her face.
The apartment door opened and Hardin returned, his presence charging the air. He looked from his mother’s smile to Tessa’s uncertain expression. “What?” he asked, a defensive edge in his voice.
They just looked at him, both smiling softly. His confusion deepened, a frown etching between his brows. He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking suddenly very young.
“Bye, Tessa,” Trish said, turning to give her one last, quick squeeze.
“Bye,” Tessa said.
The door closed behind Trish, leaving a vacuum of silence. Hardin was still standing by the door, a statue in black. Tessa’s suitcase sat between them like a declaration.
The hum of the refrigerator clicked on. He didn’t move. She didn’t either. The memory of his hands on her skin was a live wire in the space between them.
“So,” he finally said, the word cracking the quiet open.
“So,” she echoed. She looked at her hands, then back at him. “I should go.”
He nodded, a single sharp dip of his chin. His jaw was tight. “Your mom’s expecting you.”
“Yeah.” She reached for the suitcase handle. Her fingers closed around the cool plastic.
He moved then, His hand covered hers on the handle. “Tessa.”
She looked up. His ocean eyes were a storm, swirling with everything they hadn’t said. The ‘thank you’, the ‘I’m sorry’, the ‘please stay’. He just stared, his throat working.
He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She didn’t. His lips met hers, a soft, closed-mouth kiss that held the entire night and the stark morning in its tenderness. It tasted like coffee and finality.
He pulled back, his breath warm on her lips. His hand slipped from hers.
She turned, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway without looking back. The click of the latch behind her was the loudest sound she’d ever heard. She walked down the stairs, the wheels of her suitcase bumping on each step.
Outside, the autumn air was a cold slap. She loaded the suitcase into her new car, the white metal glaring in the thin sunlight. She sat in the driver’s seat.