Page 52 of Try Hard

Eve

N obody had ever kissed as exquisitely as Ophelia did. It wasn’t even close. She was sublime.

My fingers danced over her soft skin, marvelling at how delicate it was.

Metaphorically, she had a thick skin. She’d been through hell and made it out the other side, strong and incredible.

But to touch her was to feel silky soft skin wrapped immaculately over muscle, bone, and flawless curves—everything that made up the physicality of her.

And it was still just one tiny piece of who she was.

Of course, that piece was every bit as incredible and important as every other part, but the focus people put on it—incorrectly making assertions that were rooted in nothing real—minimised the exquisite pleasure that was Ophelia Pendrick in her entirety.

I loved her like this. Not because she was half naked and letting me touch her, but because how secure she felt radiated off her.

It made me realise how much, and for how long, she’d been made to feel less than, unappreciated, criticised, controlled.

Sure, I came with some weirdly public baggage that was weighing in on those pain points, but I was going to do every single thing in my power to get rid of as much of that as I could.

And, there, in my room, with her kissing me like it was the best thing to ever happen to her, I felt like I was doing an okay job of it.

Her hands slid under my t-shirt—soft and warm and unbelievably welcome. I couldn’t help but gasp against her incomparable lips.

My whole life, I’d been tactile. She and I together were incredibly touchy. But the difference when it was like this… knowing what she’d been through, how much this meant to her, the privilege that was touching her and being touched by her was monumental.

We walked back towards the chair without breaking apart. My fingers traced up and down her ribcage, pausing each time I hit the band of her bra. It was good quality, but, in comparison to her skin, felt rough to the touch, unimportant.

When the backs of my legs hit the chair, I sat readily, unsure whether she’d join me.

She barely even hesitated, straddling my knees to sit in my lap.

Feeling the weight of her against me was sexy, beautiful, absolutely mind-blowing.

There was nothing in the world I’d trade even a second with her for.

I snaked my hands round her back, one of them tracing the unparalleled path of her spine, ducking beneath her hair, all the way to the nape of her neck.

If I never accomplished anything else in life, loving her would be enough.

For every remaining day of my life, I would willingly worship the ground she walked on, every breath, every thought, every moment of Ophelia Pendrick. What a gift to be given so much of her.

She moaned quietly against my mouth, her hips moving of their own accord in my lap, and my brain went temporarily offline. The most exquisite sound, the most beautiful woman, the most perfect instance of life.

“Can I take your shirt off?” she asked, breathless.

I nodded eagerly, too dazzled to speak. Had anyone ever loved someone the way I loved her?

Slowly, teasingly, like she was taking in every tiny inch of skin the movement revealed, she pulled my t-shirt up and over my head, shooting me a quick, questioning look before she dropped it to the floor with her own shirt.

I could not have cared any less what she did with it—set it on fire and throw it out the window for all I cared.

So long as she was staying with me, nothing else mattered.

She leaned back, taking me in. And that was the moment I realised I’d never felt anything other than perfect with her.

Sure, plenty of people told me I was hot, made it clear that they wanted me—enough to drown out all the people telling me I was too fat, too muscular, too broad, too masculine—but nobody looked at me the way she did.

Like she was completely in love with me and my body was beautiful not in isolation but because of all the other parts of me it contained and represented.

Ophelia didn’t want me because I was some reductive notion of hot ; she wanted me because she loved me. Exactly the way I wanted her.

It felt like being seen completely, being understood for exactly who I was—who I’d been and who I would be, too.

“You’re so beautiful,” she said, like the word wasn’t big enough, and, when she met my gaze, I saw the tears in her eyes.

This whole thing meant so much to her too. It was growing and healing. It was something that terrible people had convinced her she didn’t deserve. And she was giving a compliment that was physical but which burrowed through the physical and into something bigger, something more and infinite.

I took her face in my hands. The move felt like it resonated in my very soul, like every part of me had been waiting for this moment. “You are absolutely luminous, and there is not a single thing I’d change about you.”

A few tears escaped her eyes—easily wiped away by my thumbs—as she looked down shyly. “I’m… okay?”

I knew what she meant and my heart ached for her. I pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. “Would it be okay if I gave you a physical compliment? It’s okay to say no.”

She gulped and nodded, making the effort to find my gaze again.

This moment was significant, vital, and I wasn’t going to screw it up.

Stroking her cheeks gently, I smiled, drinking her in.

“‘Beautiful’ and ‘perfect’ are not strong enough words to describe you, but, since they’ll have to do: Ophelia, every single day that you have walked this earth, you have been the most beautiful person on it.

Every version of you that has ever been, or ever will be, will always be the most incomparably stunning person to ever exist. You might be the writer between us, but I could write entire books on how perfect you are and still never be able to capture your flawless beauty. ”

“Eve,” she gasped, tears flowing from her eyes as she pulled me close, kissing me deeply.

It was everything. She was everything.

After a moment of sinking into the kiss, of savouring it, of both feeling how completely in love we were, her hands moved to unhook her bra, then mine, a whispered, “May I?” against my lower lip.

The cool air and the sense of missing her swept between us when she stood up.

Ridiculous, really. She wasn’t going anywhere, and her standing allowed her to pull her jeans down.

Then her underwear. And she was naked in front of me.

Immaculate, exquisite, heavenly. I loved her so much I thought I’d explode with it.

Never once had it occurred to me that you could hold so much love for another person.

It was in every part of me—had been for so long now.

I’d been formed on loving Ophelia, and every second with her made it stronger, better, more.

The bars through her nipples, glinting in the low light, caught my attention for only a second.

Beautiful and sexy as hell, but far from the most interesting part of her.

My eyes danced across her skin and the glittering stretch marks that had been painted across her like a gorgeous canvas.

She was all more incredible for the things that made her human, the ones others would call flaws.

My eyes trailed up her body to her face like a caress across her skin.

She bit her lip to suppress a grimace. “I just want to be enough for you.”

“You have always been more than enough,” I said, standing to join her. “And you don’t have to have sex with me to be enough. You know that, right?”

She looked up at me, her expression resolute, a smile taking over her face. “I know. I want to.” She laughed in surprise. “I don’t remember the last time I actually wanted to have sex with someone. I don’t know if I’ve ever really wanted to have sex with anyone but you, honestly.”

I couldn’t help but laugh with her. “I don’t know what I did to deserve that, but, my god, will I take it.”

She stepped closer, reaching up to take my face this time. With my build, I seldom got to feel delicate or precious, but she made me feel exactly that way—worshipped, just like I was worshipping her. “Take it all. I’m yours completely.”

Her smile was breathtaking. She could have my breath too. If I died watching her smile, I’d go happily into the abyss. All that mattered was her contentment.

I kissed her, and it felt like the whole place was spinning, like a surging orchestra should be playing. The moment was cinematic, legendary, and I couldn’t get enough of it or her.

She breathed a laugh when I started wriggling out of my own pants, a little too eager to be smooth, but that was okay.

I could be the less polished version of myself with her and she’d still love me.

There was no waiting for the other shoe to drop, no public image to crack through that would ruin things.

Just the two of us and mountains of love.

When we were both naked, she ran her hands over my thighs, my hips, up my sides, and down my arms. There wasn’t an inch of me she didn’t want to know. I understood that completely.

I kept my hands above her waist, showing her I understood her boundaries, that she was free and able to have those here. But I caressed every part she allowed, memorising the pieces of her.

I desperately wanted to know her favourite stroke in swimming—what made her muscles work the way they did?

What did she look like gliding through the pool like she was born to be there?

I couldn’t wait to get into swimming with her.

I knew how, but it wasn’t something I did very frequently. I looked forward to that changing.

She broke the kiss, looking up at me with sultry eyes as her hands found my hips and she walked me back to the chair. I went willingly, barely able to breathe with how much I wanted her.

She straddled one of my thighs this time, lowering herself down in a way that ensured my legs stayed spread. “Am I too heavy like—”

“Nope. Not even a little bit.”

She smiled, adoration sparkling in her eyes as she looked at me. One of her hands trailed up the inside of the thigh she wasn’t straddling, sending the most delicious shudder through my whole body.

“Ophelia,” I gasped, almost whining.

“Archer,” she said, her voice low and teasing, and just about murdering me on the spot. “Hands, please.”

I didn’t even need to think. We’d talked about this. I knew the drill. They shot up over my head, coming together in the spot she was reaching for. She looked absolutely delighted, like she was regaining a power someone had stolen from her long ago.

She leaned in, brushing her nose against mine, and I was painfully aware of the position of her fingers on my thigh, so close to my clit, her lips so close to mine, her hand around my wrists, pinning them to the door behind me, and the heat of her against my other thigh. It was blissful torture.

“I love you,” she said. So clear, so real, so everything I’d ever dreamed of.

“I love you too. My Ophelia.”

I felt, rather than saw, her smile. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Yes. Please.”

She let out the smallest of joyous laughs, but she didn’t leave me hanging. Her fingers found my clit shyly but purposely. If I’d had more focus I might have wondered how she’d managed that, but all I could do was moan loudly against her lips and spread my legs wider.

Like she’d been designed for me and me alone, she worked her fingers over me, noting and responding to every single cue my body gave her.

I’d thought of her as a book I desperately wanted to read.

If a manual on me existed, she must have memorised every single word.

I’d never had sex like it. And she hadn’t needed to worry about how long it had been. She knew exactly how to read me.

My entire body bucked and shuddered as I felt the pleasure curling in my stomach, building up to the crashing orgasm I knew was coming and coming fast. I hadn’t lied when I’d told her her mere presence would be enough to get me close. Her fingers on my clit were another level entirely.

There was no chance I was moving my arms from over my head, but the closer I got, the more unruly my movements became, the more they strained against her grasp. I’d never been held in place before. I liked it. A lot.

And, the closer I got, the wetter I could feel Ophelia getting against my thigh, and that was more than hot enough to push me over the edge. When she leaned in to trail kisses along my jaw and began writhing against my thigh, I knew I wasn’t going to last long.

“Ophelia,” I warned, unable to say anything more.

She hummed and nodded, still kissing my jaw. “I want to make you come, Eve.”

“Oh, god,” I barely got out before the places where we were connected became too much.

Like spots of glowing light and heat, my brain scrambled to focus on all of them at the same time, on Ophelia herself, so beautiful and perfect and sexy, grinding on my thigh, playing with my clit.

And the balls of tension in my stomach and my chest became too much, exploding hypnotically, surging out to every part of me, all of it concentrated on where she was touching me.

My head was spinning, my skin fizzing, my ears buzzing. I’d never come so hard in my life.

I was gasping and blissful, completely spent and satisfied.

Ophelia stopped moving, loosening her grip on my wrists.

My eyes snapped to hers. “Oh, no you don’t.”

She laughed. “What? Eve, you just… Don’t you want a minute?”

“No. Absolutely not.” I chased her lips with my own, revelling in the way her grip tightened again as we kissed. “Come on my thigh, Ophelia. I’m begging you.”

She kissed me again, harder, more desperate and took up her movements again.

My thigh was slick and hot, and I couldn’t get enough of it.

She adjusted herself, reaching up with her other hand, and our fingers intertwined as she chased her own orgasm. She kept me pinned to the wall, but I stroked her flawless skin with my thumbs in time with her movements.

Her gasps became more and more ragged, her movements increasingly desperate and uncoordinated.

She leaned her forehead against mine as she rode my thigh, and I kept my eyes glued on her face, watching the flush on her cheeks and across her nose, the way her eyes snapped shut as she got close.

She had no idea how beautiful she was, but I did.

And I drank in every little bit of her as she shuddered against me, moaning gorgeously as her orgasm pulsed through her body.

Once it was over, she slumped against me, her arms dropping and wrapping around my body, and I followed suit, taking her in a gentle embrace and basking in the glory of loving her.