Chapter 17
By the time we return to the guesthouse, the high has worn off and we’ve sated ourselves with enough Cheetos and truffle-flavored popcorn to sober us up plenty. Ellen and Jeff have seen every episode of The Out There and seemed to enjoy it. There were a few moments of parental discomfort, which makes me wonder to myself what my parents are thinking so far. We haven’t talked about it much, and that is okay by me.
Hayden fumbles with the key, and I meet him there, with my hands wrapped around his waist. We began the day curled up in a starchy hotel bed he made feel far more comfortable than it should have. I kissed him good morning, with the thrill of knowing that’s allowed now. We muted ourselves in front of his parents, but now, it’s just us again.
Before another attempt at the lock, he reaches behind and finds me. I want to go inside and strip off all the parts of him he put behind armor today. I want to get the Hayden I know back. He’s bleeding through the seams of a button-down shirt and sweater, but I can help speed up the process.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
I nod, pressing my lips between his shoulder blades. His body eases against mine, like he’s been waiting to lean on someone all night. “Of course. And I mean it. I am here for whatever you need. You just have to ask.”
“I know. There hasn’t been anyone to ask in a long time.”
“There is now.”
He slowly turns. I study him carefully. His eyes are still rimmed red, but his expression is loose and relaxed, unlike the far-too-tight mask he’d been wearing the rest of the day. I hope that progress with his mom has taken a weight off his shoulders.
“Do you feel better?” I ask.
“Much.”
“Good,” I breathe. I work my hands up his body, wrapping my arms around his neck and finding his lips. I sink into Hayden as he tightens his grip around me. I taste buttery popcorn, sharp nips of whiskey, and I’m consumed by him already.
I bite down on his lower lip and he lets out a smoky groan, his back pressing flush against the door. We push open the door and his hands wander up my sides. The Northern California air is frigid, but his touch sucks me in like a warm blanket I never want to crawl out from underneath.
I’m suddenly desperate to undress him completely. All night, I’ve been looking at a version of Hayden I don’t know. His hair in sharp order, a button-down and sweater that made him look itchy and uncomfortable, hiding all the things that made him unique—from his tattoos to his offbeat career choice to his stupid jokes that I feel like only I laugh at.
The door slams shut behind us and Hayden hardly locks it before I’m kissing him again and my hands shove up the front of his sweater. In a single swift motion, he tugs it over his head. His breathing quickens and I could linger in the sound of his exaggerated breaths and inquisitive hums as his lips slowly find mine again. I taste his smile against my lips as we stumble toward the bed.
I get to work on the shirt underneath; with each button, a new flash of ink bleeds into vision. I submerge in the waves on his shoulder, blow through the space between branches on his side like the wind, brushing my hands over the Not Deer on his arm. I feel the words on his lips between every kiss—questions. He’s asking if there’s anything about him I don’t want, any part he can shove behind armor. I tell him with another kiss that there is no part of him he needs to hide, nothing about him he should compartmentalize for me.
This is the entire point. I want him completely, and I trust him to want me completely.
I trail my fingers down his bare skin and I only want to stop kissing him to look at him. This is the first time I’m stripping him down and can study him. I don’t skim over the parts of him I know well already. It’s all part of the package. His intricately inked arm, the waves breaking on his chest, every muscle and sharp angle of his body.
I can’t believe someone like him is mine. To touch, kiss, learn .
I sit on the mattress and Hayden’s on his knees in an instant, quickly unlacing my boots and running his hands up my thighs. He reaches for the bottom of my sweater, hesitating before going any further.
“Is this okay?” he asks with a kiss.
“It’s only fair if I’ve got your shirt off.” I laugh. As I slip out of the heavy sweater I’ve been wearing all night, he’s on me in a second. Hands spanning across my back, rough scratches of beard, and a swelling ache in the pit of my stomach.
“You must not understand the way I would let you do absolutely anything at all to me, Hallie.”
“Anything?” I raise an eyebrow.
“I think you have an idea of what I mean.” He flashes a smile. His eyes drag down my body, then he follows with his hands. He’s enraptured by every curve. “And I would give you anything you wanted. I wouldn’t stop until you had it.”
Suddenly, nerves take over the festering heat in the pit of my stomach. Sex has never felt the way I hoped it would. I hoped it’d happen and I’d suddenly understand why everyone never shuts up about it. But then, it was mostly awkward, sweaty, and just another thing to do, like another errand to run or check off the list. With Hayden, this all finally feels right. It’s new and confusing, but I don’t think I’m scared of it.
“I…”
“Or,” Hayden whispers, his thumbs stroking my cheeks, “we can stop this here. Whatever you want.”
We wait in silence as I find my words and make up my mind. I hesitate to tell him what scares me and what I don’t want to admit, but if the Hayden in front of me is the same person who washed my hair for me and held me as I cried, I know he’ll listen.
“Sex is…I don’t know. No one’s ever asked me what I liked before. Maybe I don’t even know what I like. I’ve only been with Cade.”
“Cade,” he huffs. “What an underwhelming man.”
“You have no idea.” He doesn’t know the half of it, and I don’t want him to. I want him to keep looking at me the way he is now, and I want to relearn all of this with him. “I’ve liked everything we’ve done so far.”
“Me too.” He brushes a blue wave behind my ear. “To be fair, it’s…uh, been a while for me, too. I’m probably a little rusty.”
I roll my eyes. “I seriously doubt that.”
His nose brushes mine and he presses soft kisses along my cheeks. “How about this? We figure it out together.”
“I like that.”
“Good.” He smiles. “We start small, like this…”
Our lips meet again, arms folding around one another like we were made to hold only each other. It’s slow, full of quiet breaths and even softer pleas to keep going. I run my fingers over lithe, muscular shoulders, taking what he gives me and offering the same back.
“Even if all we did was this, it’d still pull me apart,” he breathes, “piece by piece.”
“More of that,” I say, “more talking. I want you to talk to me. Tell me everything you’re going to do to me.”
“See, I knew you were into the conspiracy theory dirty talk.” Regardless, he seals our agreement with a kiss before slowly pulling away. Then his eyes darken and narrow. “Ever since last night, all I can think about is how good you taste.”
His lips trace a trail of heat to the base of my neck, kisses coming rougher with the slight scratch of his beard. I curve into him as he leans me back on the bed. We discard his button-down, and his lips find my skin yet again.
“And? What do I taste like?”
“Depends.” He nips below my earlobe, and his words light up my entire body. “Your lips? Like berries—it’s those little lip balms you like. The ones that look like eggs.”
I smirk. “Pineapple and passion fruit.”
“What?”
“It’s pineapple and passion fruit. My lip balm.”
“I guess I need a refresher.” Hayden draws a hand to my chin and tilts my lips up to his, but I stop him and his brows rise in question. I leave him in torturous wait for a long second before kissing him again. Of course, tonight I’ve been wearing lipstick—which tastes heavier, and there’s little of it remaining, since most of it has left marks on his neck and jaw—but he doesn’t care what I taste like. All he cares about is that he gets a sample.
“This is different.” I hear every heady breath and soft moan from the back of his throat like they’re the only sounds in the world. “Still good, but you’re making a liar out of me.”
“Boo-hoo.”
He laughs, kicking his boots off, climbing on top of me, and pressing one leg to either side of my body. He slides his hands up my arms, pushing them back against the mattress. There’s a split second of hesitation where his eyes ask, “Is this too much?” and it isn’t. I don’t feel unsafe or pressured or even uncomfortable as his fingers brush the soft skin on the insides of my wrists, like he’s ready to let go of me at my command, which won’t come.
“Keep going,” I plead. With my hands restrained, the urge to touch and learn every inch of him is so strong. I want to trace every line of ink on his body and dress him down until we’re even. His hips rock against mine with another kiss, his pants tightening as I kiss him again and again until I can’t breathe anymore.
“Do you think about me?” I ask.
“Constantly.”
“When I’m not around? When you’re alone?”
He registers what I mean now and responds with a shy smile. “Respectfully.”
“You have my permission to be a little less respectful,” I tease.
He lets go of my wrists and boxes me in against the mattress, his eyes washing over me as he thinks through what he wants next. He cups both sides of my face and begins to kiss from my forehead to the shell of my ear, then lower.
“I’m a little overwhelmed,” he confesses against the curve of my neck. There are more rough kisses and wandering hands, and the way his voice pitches down, I suddenly understand why people sign up for phone-sex services. “There isn’t a single part of you I don’t want to know inside and out.”
His hands run up my stomach to my bra. He follows the arc of underwire and slips carefully under the fabric.
“I have, like, no boobs,” I laugh.
“I don’t mind.” He says this between kisses. “If only you knew what you do to me.”
I think of all the insecurities other people have put in my head. Stretch marks, freckles when I sunburn, any deviance from a flat stomach. As these imperfections come to mind, Hayden’s hands wander over me, as if he’s finding all of them too, but instead, he’s taking note of his new favorite things. It’s so hard to be scared when he treats me the way he does. It’s easy to be excited.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Like I want you to keep going.”
My body arches against his as he kisses down my throat and chest, learning every curve of me with his mouth. I let out a soft moan that makes him laugh and the vibration sends goose bumps all over my skin. He reaches the button on my jeans and looks back to me. “Still okay?”
I nod, letting him unbutton my pants and ease them down my hips. Nerves prick at my skin as a brush of scruff rakes above the waistband of my underwear.
“You should know, though,” I begin. “I’ve never been able to finish with a man before.”
His gaze shoots to me, and he looks like I’ve just told him that the only thing on the missing Watergate tapes is the “Macarena” on repeat three and a half times. “Never? Like, Hallie, really ?”
“Never.”
“What is wrong with him?” he whispers. “How was he not obsessed with the idea of making you come?”
His words shoot straight between my legs.
“Great question. Are you?”
His lips tick up. “I am now, if that’s what you want.”
“Please.” It’s the shortest way I can say I want his hands and mouth on every inch of me.
I allow Hayden to decide how he best wants to go about this, and he begins by finding my lips again and kissing me softly. Our bodies fold together with an intimacy we haven’t shared yet. He’s not kissing me like last night was the first time, but like we have years and years behind us and we never tire of each other. Bare skin against bare skin, his hands guide mine as we slip down my underwear together.
“Show me,” he rasps against my lips. “I want you to show me what you’d do.”
He doesn’t need to say anything more. I follow through on his request. He’s deathly silent, studying hard as I bring his hand between my legs. I guide him as if it’s just me, but I’m already imagining him touching me, hearing the quiet sighs he lets out like I’m the most exquisite thing he’s ever seen. I shudder at the chill of his fingertips, following the circles and strokes I trace for him.
“I think I have a good enough idea.”
I keep a hand over his as he applies pressure I hadn’t given myself. He’s slow at first, reading me for signs. I press my thighs together as he strokes harder and faster, and it makes my knees quake. “You feel amazing.”
The soft slide of his fingers into me makes my back arch against his body with a sharp cry. I clutch a handful of the comforter beneath me when a chiding laugh comes from the back of his throat.
“If you want to hold on to something, choose me,” he says. His free hand weaves with mine, guiding it up his body, burying our fingers deep in his hair as he finds a rhythm that snatches my breath away.
“Better,” he says.
I let go of every unpleasant and unwanted touch that lives in my memory and hang on to this. Only this and everything that comes after.
“I want to know exactly where and how you come undone.”
His words strike me like a branding iron, so fucking hot and unbearable. How many hours have I spent listening to Hayden speak? Yet none of it sounds as good as him taunting me like this. My hips rock against his hand and he hums in approval.
“Right, because you’re out of practice,” I laugh.
He rolls his eyes and silences me with a kiss. “Okay, enough out of you.”
Fuck, this is the kind of sex I’ve wanted my whole life. Tender touches and terrible jokes, every action steeped in authenticity. This is us . I love that the commanding side of Hayden can switch back to the absolute nerd he is every day in a split second.
I hook my leg around his body as the build begins deep in the pit of my stomach, toes curling and shaking cries. Hayden nips at my throat, down my chest, and along the cups of my bra.
“You are so gorgeous,” he rasps. “Absolutely out of this world.”
His touch shifts, and I grab tighter at his hair. He feels so fucking good, and I am so close. My back arches, eyes slip shut, and the tightened coil in the pit of my stomach is ready to unspool.
“It’s okay,” he whispers just beneath my ear. His other hand grips my hips, holding me in place. He lets out a heady breath against my skin, and I’m too aware of all of him. The press of his glasses as he rakes his lips all over my body, the scratch of his beard on my throat and knowing what my neck’s going to look like tomorrow, how hard he is between my legs—I hardly need anything else to come, but his voice lowers as he reaches my lips again. “Don’t worry, no one’s going to hear except me. And I want to.”
I don’t have a chance to second-guess myself, because a cord snaps inside me and I’m plummeting. Stars prick at the corners of my vision, and I clutch at him like he’s the only thing to hold on to. He whispers things like “beautiful,” “I’ve got you,” and “I’m yours” that sound like music.
Hayden extricates himself from me. I still don’t know if I can speak, but when he smiles at me, I feel something flood through my veins. Affection and care and safety.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
My body feels weightless, but I’m grounded by the feeling of him hard against my lower stomach. No one’s ever pushed me to finish first; no one’s made sure it happened. For the first time in my life, when I think about sex, I think about something that Hayden and I will do for each other rather than do because we have to.
I envision the sex-drunk look in his eyes as he watched me come and how thrilled he was to do this for me. I want the same for him. I want to watch him come undone and lose his composure. Hayden is so good at sliding parts of himself behind armor, but he’s unguarded, and I want him as vulnerable as I can get him. I want him to know we’re equals and always will be.
“Good,” I whisper back. “Can I…?”
He swallows, his thumb stroking along the curve of my cheek. “It’s okay. This was for you.”
“I want to,” I whisper against his lips.
Then he nods, slowly. My hands wander to his waist, where I slip his belt through the loops and unbutton his jeans. His breathing is heavy, and his gaze feels like a pound of bricks on my chest in the best way. I think of how low his tattoos go beneath his boxers and the intrusive-thoughts machine in my brain wonders if he has a tattoo of Bigfoot on his ass or something, but I’m okay to not discover it all tonight.
Instead, I push his jeans aside and slip below the waistband of his boxer briefs. He tilts my chin down and kisses me as I curl my fingers around him. I don’t think any Cosmic Conspiracies guest star has the right to be this well-endowed. He lets out a heady groan against my lips, fingers clutching the sheets below us.
“Fuck,” he hisses. I’m hypnotized by his dark lashes fluttering shut against the tops of his cheeks. His voice breaks off into a sharp cry from the back of his throat.
I follow the signs his body gives me—struggled moans, frantic grips at my hair—and all I can think is that we’re even. For every second he drove me mad, broke down every defense until we were both left raw, I’m happy to do the same for him.
“Hallie,” he breathes. “ Hallie .”
I watch his fingers white-knuckle on the sheets beneath us as his release comes with a failed attempt at my name again. Our lips meet, with tastes of fading bourbon and velvety lipstick, both of us swearing each other’s names like they’re an indisputable theory, answers we’ve been hunting for for so long.
“I…” he starts.
“It’s not often you’re left speechless,” I say.
Hayden strokes a blue wave out of my face with a smile. “No. You’re the only person who does that to me.”
Hayden leans in for another kiss, this one slow, nothing hungry and desperate like before. He feathers my lips and jaw with kisses, hitting the soft spot beneath my ear that tickles. I laugh and burrow against him, pleading with him to stop.
“I have one request for you,” he says.
“Sure…” I laugh.
“Get ready for bed.”
Considering the past few minutes, asking me to go to sleep feels like a harsh emotional cold shower.
I frown. “Oh.”
“That’s not all . Just step one.”
There’s a mischievous look in his eyes—and not even in a sexy way—that makes me nervous. Nevertheless, I agree, and we clean ourselves up. When I return from the bathroom, his laptop is pulled out on the bed in front of us.
“You said we could watch anything I wanted,” he mumbles into one of the pillows he’s snuggled up in. It’s so horrifically cute that I’m not even mad at the idea of watching some weird alien movie.
“What are we watching?” I roll my eyes but climb under the covers with him anyway.
His eyebrows rise as he flips through his computer and presses Play.