Page 32 of Worth the Try
I might pass out.
“Sweet Elodie.” He chuckles, his eyes softening as he nears. He brings his other hand to my face, cradling me gently. It’s cool from holding his drink. “Will you let me kiss you?”
Oh, my God.
Am I dreaming? This is happening? He’s…he’s asking to kiss me?
“I need your words, Elle,” he says.
Elle. Why do I want to melt at that? “Y-yes,” I stammer.
His thumb caresses my temple. “Are you sure? That sounded?—”
“Yes.” I say it more forcefully this time, bringing my hands to his forearms, needing to touch him, scooting even closer. Our bent knees rest against each other on the cushion. His skin is so warm.
“Yes?” His eyes crinkle behind his glasses, and I might swoon.
“Definitely.”
With a smile, he closes the distance and brings his mouth to mine.
Everything stops.
Goes quiet.
His lips are soft and gentle against mine. As though he wants me to be absolutely certain.
Andhoo boy, am I certain. A final tether falls away, and I increase the pressure, slanting my mouth and licking at the seam of his lips.
He opens with a groan, and the sound of it—needy, soft—it’s unholy, sexy and impossibly sensual. He pushes his hands into the curls at my nape, tugging me close.
It’s not enough.
I rise, and he instinctively knows what I’m going to do, bless those rugby skills. In two seconds, we’ve shifted, him resting against the cushions and me straddling his hips. His hands slide beneath my dress to the underside of my thighs, gripping the soft flesh and digging in. I whimper, deepening the kiss.
It’s everything. His tongue slides across mine before pulling back for a lighter touch, then deeper once again. He seems to know exactly what I want before I want it. His hips press up beneath me, and if I shifted just right, I could feel him.Allof him.
Still kissing, I thread my fingers through his silky hair, then let myself touch his chest. It’s rock hard, the muscles flexing beneath my touch. He keeps one hand on my thigh, but the othercircles to the top of my leg, then out from beneath the dress to palm along my waist. I deepen our kiss once more, silently communicating that he can touch whatever he wants.
But he doesn’t go farther. Eventually, he eases up, nipping at my lower lip before meeting my eyes once more. We’re both breathing hard.
“Why’d you stop?” I ask.
“Who says I’m stopping?” he counters. His thumb moves back and forth on my upper waist, tantalizingly close to the side of my breast. Judging by the sly grin he wears, he knows precisely what he’s doing.
I’m still on my knees, hovering above his hips, half scared and half desperate to let myself relax onto his lap. I lick my lips. They’re already swollen.
He watches me, his irises as dark as I’ve ever seen them. “Is this okay?”
I lean in for another kiss in answer. As our mouths meet, he lets out another erotic groan. It’s too much, and I surge against him. His arms band around me, holding me in place, my knees locked against his hips, my core pressed against his chest as he takes me deeper. I’m in control of the kiss, but he’s in control of my body, and I swear it would only take one touch in the right place to send me soaring.
I don’t know how much time passes while we kiss. I don’t know how many ways his hands move across me, never going where I’m desperate for them to go. I don’t know how I manage to keep my own hands to his chest and arms when half of me legitimately wants to sink to my knees and bite his thighs. He smells so good, soap and comfort and a hint of whiskey, and I don’t want any of this to end. But eventually, my legs start to shake from holding me up, and Ansel notices.
“Gotta work on those muscles,” he teases softly, his eyes following my every move as he guides me off him, seeming to know I need to sit back on the couch.
“You’ve got enough for the both of us,” I toss back.
He chuckles. “Part of the job, that’s all.”
