Page 51 of Worth the Try
When I finally drag my eyes back up to his, Ansel raises an eyebrow. “Like what you see?”
I lick my lips and nod, my mouth dry.
He clocks the move and groans, stalking to me as I stand motionless, not knowing what to do.
When he reaches me, he yanks my towel off. “Don’t ever hide yourself around me, Elodie,” he growls. Then he hauls me into his arms, his damp body pressed against mine, pulling me to him with such force I’m thrown off balance. “Jump,” he commands, then crushes his mouth to mine.
I do as he says, his arms cradling my hips when my legs encircle his waist. He’s wet, but I don’t care. His dick bounces against the bottom of my ass as I hook my ankles together, and I use the angle to take control of the kiss. It’s a tangle of lips and teeth and tongues, hunger and need overtaking us.
He walks us to the bedroom, moving to the bed and breaking the kiss with a gasp. “I need to taste you,” he says, his voice dark and husky.
With that, he sits me on the mattress, and I scoot up and over, moving to the center as he watches. The only light is from the candles in the bathroom. As I stare at his darkened form, lightning streaks across the sky outside, giving me brief glimpses of his body. And have mercy, the way this man is looking at me.
“Take whatever you want, Ansel,” I whisper.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, his voice dark and low, kneeling on the floor and grabbing my ankles, “I plan on it.” Then he yanks me down the bed until my butt is at the edge of the mattress. “Watch me,” he directs. His tone brooks no dissent, but his touch is gentle. Reverent. The dichotomy is enough to set me on edge, excitement mixing with the unknown.
I rise to my elbows and look down, nearly combusting at what I see in the dimness. His hair, normally brushed back and away from his face, falls onto his forehead in thick, unruly locks. He stares at me through predatory, hooded eyes, and as I watch, he spreads my legs and takes in my center.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he murmurs reverently.
My breathing speeds up as I grip the comforter. “Ansel,” I whisper.
His gaze, dark and feral, meets mine and holds as he leans forward, pressing his nose against my mound and inhaling.
“Fuck,” I exhale, the sight so unbelievably hot and sexy that I feel the wetness of my arousal.
His eyes flash with satisfaction. I never cuss, but with this version of Ansel? He’s going to get all my words. “Is this what it takes, angel?” he asks, still so close, his breath hot against my center. “Because I have not even begun to worship you.”
I suck in air, wordless in the face of this man. I’m frozen, unable to even move as I drink him in.
He gives a feral grin as his thumbs spread me wide. “Get ready, Elodie. Eyes on me.”
I swallow.
He descends.
I moan at the first touch of his tongue. Hot and wet, he moves it lazily around me, up and down, circling my clit, his hands keeping my legs apart for his attentions. Back and forth he moves, learning the most secret parts of me, listening to my pants and groans, repeating a movement when I hitch a breath.
“Is this good?” he asks, his dark eyes finding mine in the dim light.
“Yes, fuck yes,” I breathe. It takes everything I have to keep looking at him. It feels too intimate, too soul baring. Terrifying. But then he latches onto my clit and sucks, and I see stars.
He brings me to the edge quickly. My legs start to quiver, and without a word, he puts my calves on his shoulders. The position locks his face between my thighs, the scruff of his beard scratching deliciously against my sensitive skin. He eases up just enough for me to catch my breath, and as I let out an exhale, he chuckles. “Still good?”
I mumble a response, my head thrown back.
“Eyes, Elodie. Give me those gorgeous eyes. I want to see your face as I taste your orgasm.”
Holy mother of God. I pull my head up and look down again in time to watch him swirl his tongue around my clit. “Harder,” I gasp.
“Not yet.”
“I’m so close,” I whine, my hips bucking as I chase the pleasure that’s just out of reach.
“Beg.”
I have no idea where this dominance is coming from, and I don’t care. “Please, Ansel. Please.”
