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After We Collided (After, #2) by Anna Todd Read Online (FREE)

“I know,” I respond and join her on the bed, holding my hands low and in front of me, to hide things.

“It’s really not as strange as I thought it would be,” she says in a near whisper.

“Yeah . . .” I’m relieved to hear that; I was worried that it wouldn’t be the same as before. That she would be guarded and not the Tess that I love so much. It’s only been a few hours, but I hope things stay this way. It’s so easy with her, so damn easy, yet difficult at the same time.

She lays a small hand on mine and leans onto my chest “You are being so weird. Tell me what’s on your mind,” she requests.

“I’m just glad you’re still here, that’s all.” And I can’t stop thinking about making love to you, I add silently. It’s not just about getting off with Tessa like it always was before—it’s much more. So much more. It’s about being as connected and tied to her as I possibly can be. It’s about her trusting me fully. My chest aches when I think about the trust she had for me but that I shattered.

“That’s not all,” she says, calling me out.

I shake my head in agreement, and she draws a line against my temple and down to the metal in my eyebrow with one finger.

“It’s terrible what I’m thinking,” I admit. I don’t want her to think that she’s an object to me, that I just want to use her. I really don’t want to tell her what’s on my mind, but I can’t continue to keep things from her, I need to be honest with her now and always.

As she looks down at me, her worried expression pains me. “Tell me.”

“I . . . well, I was thinking about . . . fucking . . . I mean making love to you.”

“Oh,” she says softly, her eyes wide.

“I know, I’m a dick,” I groan, wishing I would’ve just lied.

“No . . . no, you’re not.” Her cheeks color red. “I was sort of thinking about the same thing.” She takes her bottom lip between her teeth, taunting me further.

“You were?”

“Yeah . . . I mean it has been a while . . . well, not including Seattle, during which I was belligerently drunk.”

I search her face for the judgment she’s made about my lack of control when she came onto me last weekend, but there’s none there. I see the embarrassment as she recalls the events in her mind. My boxers are growing uncomfortably tight as I remember them, too.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m using you . . . because of everything,” I explain.

“Hardin, out of all the things I’m thinking right now, that isn’t one of them. Granted, it probably should be, but it’s not.”

I was afraid, so afraid that our intimate moments would be forever tainted by my foolishness. “You’re sure? Because I don’t want to fuck up again,” I say.

She answers me by taking my hand and placing in in between her thighs.