After We Collided (After, #2)

by Anna Todd

He somehow became the string that held everything in my life together, and in his absence I’m left with the rubble that once was my life.

But the worst feeling in the world is loving someone who doesn’t love you.”

He catches me off guard by wrapping his hand around the back of my neck and pulling me to him, crashing his lips to mine. The familiar warmth of his mouth nearly brings me to my knees. My tongue is moving along with his before my mind catches up to what’s happening. He moans in relief and I try to push him away. He grabs my wrists in one hand and holds them on his chest as he continues to kiss me. I keep struggling to get out of his grip, but my mouth continues to move along with his. He backs up and pulls me with him until he’s against the counter, and his other hand reaches out to the side of my neck, holding me still. All of the pain and heartache inside me begin to dissolve and I relax my hands in his. This is wrong but so right. But wrong.

I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind, and the most fucked up part is, I don’t care how crazy I’m being as long as it helps me get closer to her again.

“The best thing about reading is to escape from your life, to be able to live hundreds or even thousands of different lives.

it doesn’t change you the way fiction does.” “Change you?” He raises his brow. “Yes, change you. If you aren’t affected somehow, even in the slightest bit, you aren’t reading the right book.”

“I would like to think that every novel I’ve read has became a part of me, create...

Which will guide me best in love—my feelings or my mind?

but because it meant my girl ran to me for comfort.

Despite everything he has done, I feel like home in this flawed boy’s arms.

I dip my finger back into the bowl, collecting the sticky dough and walk over to him. “Have some,” I tell him. I hold up my hand and try to transfer the dough to his fingers, but he opens his mouth and wraps his lips around my finger. I gasp at the contact and try to convince myself this is just his method of removing the cookie dough… regardless of how he’s looking at me with dark eyes. No matter how he’s flicking his warm tongue over my finger. No matter how many degrees the temperature of the kitchen has seemed to have risen. No matter how my heart is beating out of my chest and my insides are igniting. “I think that’s enough,” I croak and pull my finger from his mouth. He gives me a wicked smirk. “Later, then.”

Stop staring. Slow, she wants to go slow. I can go slow… slowly… in and out of her. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me?

“I’m just glad you’re still here, that’s all.” And I can’t stop thinking about making love to you,

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.

When I turn the book charm in my fingers, I notice something written on the back. It says: Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. I look up at Hardin and swallow the tears threatening to form. His mother didn’t get me this. He did.

Is love always like this? Is it always so passionate, yet so damn painful?

Tess, Since I’m not good with words when trying to relate my inner life, I may have stolen some from Mr. Darcy, whom you fancy so much. I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten: and the effort which the formation and the perusal of this letter must occasion, should have been spared had not my character required it to be written and read. You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice… I know that I’ve done so many fucked-up things to you, and that I in no way deserve you, but I’m asking—no, begging—you to please look past the things that I have done. I know I ask too much of you, always, and I’m sorry for that. If I could take it all back, I would. I know you are angry and disappointed by my actions, and that kills me. Instead of making excuses for the way I am, I’m going to tell you about me, the me that you never knew. I’m starting with the shit I remember—I’m sure there is more, but I swear not to purposely hide anything else from you from this day forth. When I was around nine, I stole my neighbor’s bike and broke the wheel, then lied about it. That same year I threw a baseball through the living room window and lied about it. You know about my mother and the soldiers. My father left shortly after, and I was glad when he did. I didn’t have many friend...

“I already made my mind up while you were gone to stay. And after reading what you wrote, I want to stay more than ever. I love you, Hardin.”

I can’t help but think of the phrase Sometimes it is better to be kept in the dark than to be blinded by the light.

“Okay.” I lean over and give him a quick kiss on the lips. It isn’t enough, though. It never is. I bring my lips back to his, and this time I let them linger. Both of our lips part at the same time, and he slips his tongue inside my mouth. My hands fist his hair, and he pulls me on top of him as his tongue massages mine. No matter how messed up our relationship has been, there is no denying our all-consuming passion. I start to move my hips, grinding down onto him, and I feel him smile against my lips. “I think that’s enough for now,” he says.

Tessa seems to adore her, and my mum is almost as obsessed with my girl as I am. My girl. Tessa is my girl again, and I’m spending Christmas with her—and my fucked-up family. What a difference from last year, when I spent Christmas Day wasted out of my mind.

and I can’t help the goose bumps that form on my skin at the sight of him on his knees in front of me.

He brings his face close to my skin, and I try not to squirm as his lips touch my left hip.

The animalistic way he’s completely claiming my mouth is new. He has total control, and I love it. “I’m going to come in your mouth, baby.” He pulls at my hair a little more, and I can feel the muscles in his legs tighten under my hands, and he curses my name repeatedly as he relieves himself down my throat. After a few ragged breaths, he helps me to my feet and kisses my forehead. “I think we’re clean now.” He smiles, licking his lips.

“No, I am not saying that.” I know my face is a deep red by now. “Come on, it’s just a little blood.” “You’re disgusting.” “Bloody amazing.” He smiles, obviously proud of his ridiculous joke. “You’re obnoxious.” “You need to lighten up… learn to go with the flow.” He laughs harder. “Oh my God! Okay, if I say it, will you stop with the menstrual jokes?” “I’m not making jokes. Period.”

She rolled her eyes at me when I teased her as she climbed into my car, but I had no idea that she would make me fall in love with her.

He nods and wraps his arms around my waist, pressing his lips forcefully against mine. If we weren’t in a parking lot—and I didn’t feel like this was his sick way of marking his territory—I would melt under the aggressive manner with which his tongue parts my lips.

“No, I was just stating a fact.” I’m an asshole: another fact.

“I only want you, Hardin. I love you and I do not want to be with anyone else, only you.”

“I know, now be quiet…” She licks her bottom lip. “Let me set you at ease?” she asks with a shaky voice. What? “I… I want to show you that I love only you.” Her cheeks flush deep crimson, and her hands move to my belt as she stands on her toes to kiss me. I am confused, angry—and incredibly turned on. She runs her tongue over my bottom lip. I groan immediately and lift her onto the desk. Her trembling hands fumble with my belt again, this time removing it. I lift the bottom of her ridiculously long skirt up to the tops of her thighs, thankful that she didn’t wear tights today. “I want you, babe,” she breathes against my neck, wrapping her legs around my waist.

Hardin’s release isn’t as composed: he leans down, burying his head in my neck, calling my name once before pressing his mouth into my skin to silence his voice. Hardin pulls out, places a kiss on my ear.

See, Zed, she’s mine. Not yours, not anyone’s, only mine.

Tessa’s body thrashes in my arms for a few seconds before she calms slightly and I’m able to drag her out of the living room. I tug at the ends of her dress to make sure it isn’t hitched up; the last thing we need is for me to have to get into a fight, too. There are only a few people in the kitchen, and already they’re talking about the fight in the living room. “I will fucking kill her, Hardin! I swear!” she yells, moving out of my grip. “I know… I know you will,” I say, but I can’t take her seriously, despite witnessing her savagery firsthand.

Her body trembles and stiffens, and I watch her climax. It’s like she’s just as—if not more—captivating each time she comes. This is why I cannot get enough of her and never will.

To be called “my girl” in any form makes me much happier than it should.

After watching Tessa sleep for a while, I gather her into my arms and carry her to our bedroom. She hugs on to my arms and rests her head against my chest. I gently lay her onto our bed and pull the covers up to her chest.

This cupcake tastes incredible. Maybe it’s because I’ve barely eaten in the last nine days, or maybe it’s because cupcakes truly are good for the soul. Regardless of the reason, I finish it in less than two minutes.

Their affection doesn’t make me envious, it reminds me that people can actually be good to each other.

“Hi, Smith, how are you?” I ask the little boy with shining green eyes. “Okay.” He shrugs. Then, in a quiet voice, he asks, “Where’s your Hardin?” I don’t know what else to say, and the way Smith called him “my Hardin” stirs something in me. The stone wall is already beginning to chip away, and I’ve only been here for ten minutes.

“Okay. I like your Hardin.” Me, too, I want to tell him, but he’s not mine.

She’s everything to me, she always will be.

I hear her laugh, and for the first time in ten days I can breathe. I’ve missed her so much, and she looks phenomenal—she always does—but the red dress she’s wearing and the sun hitting her skin, the smile on her face…

My heart races as I spot the bracelet on her wrist. She’s still wearing it—she’s still wearing it. That’s a good sign; it has to be.

I’m so sick of crying all the time.

I love her more than he, or any other man, possibly could. I know what I had now. I know what the fuck I had to lose—and now that I’ve lost it, I need it back. He can’t have her, no one can. No one except me.

“That now I realize how lucky I am to have you, to have you stick by me through all the shit I put you through.”

“Just because he can’t love you the way you want him to doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you with everything he has,”

we will always find a way back to each other. Always.

I’ve let her slip away too many times, and I can’t take the chance of this being the last day I see her.

God, she’s beautiful.