Page 32 of Worth the Try (Atlanta Granite #1)

I nod, more to myself than anything. “I know.”

He takes my hand in his. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

I clear my throat. “It’s fine.” It’s not fine. It’s not even close to fine.

Because I am terrified. I don’t know what possessed me to blurt it out when I did. I was just…ravenous. And I clearly wasn’t thinking. But I gather the reserves of strength that seem, remarkably, to keep going, and clutch it to me. I meet his eyes. His kind, beautiful eyes.

“It’s,” I start, then stop. Breathe . “It’s what I said.

I can’t have kids. There’s nothing wrong with me, not anything that doctors can pinpoint, but, um.

” I break off, swallowing. “My ex and I. He’d wanted kids early, before we got married, so when nothing happened naturally, we both got tested.

He was fine. I…wasn’t. We never went down IVF.

It all— we— went downhill pretty fast after that. It just…wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”

I reach for my drink and take a giant sip, reveling in the cold liquid while I take stock of myself. I’m still here . But I’m not the one I need to worry about. It’s the man in front of me. What if he thinks I’m just as pathetic as Jeremy did? What if he rejects me just like my mother?

I tilt the glass back, finishing the drink off before finally steeling myself to meet his eyes.

And there, looking back at me, is everything I could ever hope for. His caramel brown eyes are filled with understanding, sorrow, acceptance. He puts his hand on the strip of couch between us, palm up. A gesture of comfort.

I press my palm to his, and he threads our fingers together.

Finally, he speaks. “I love you.”

I blink. I didn’t hear him correctly.

“It’s probably not the right time to tell you that,” he says. “In fact, it may be the absolute worst time. But I do.” He blows out a breath, then gives me a smile.

God, that smile . It’s bright and beautiful, lighting up his face in a way I have never seen before.

My heart cracks wide open yet again, growing so broad and deep that the only thing to fill it—the only person in the world who could possibly fill it—is the man beaming at me.

“I love you, Elodie Cole. And you don’t have to say anything back. In fact, please don’t. But I?—”

I cut him off, palming his cheeks and rising onto my knees as he pulls me onto his lap.

Then I kiss the hell out of him. His arms band around me, strong and sure, pulling me as close to him as we can get.

I bite back a sob, then a laugh, still kissing him.

Utterly unable to get hold of my emotions.

Impossible to grab onto any one thing as they swirl and eddy around me. He loves me .

He loves me.

He loves me.

In seconds, the kiss turns desperate, needy. As if both of us are too full of feeling and need it out. I keen into his mouth, and he hisses in response. “Baby, fuck .”

I pull away, yanking his glasses off and tossing them to the side before clawing his shirt.

“Skin.” I lean back, giving him room to reach behind his neck and yank the shirt off in one smooth motion.

I stare as he moves, his tan muscles rippling in the light, before leaning back to kiss him. My hips writhe, grinding on his lap.

He rips his mouth from mine and gasps. But before he can say a word, my hands are already at the waistband of his shorts, God bless these mesh shorts and how easy they slide down. And then his hands are moving up my thighs and into my shorts.

He curses, then grinds out, “You aren’t wearing anything under here.”

“No,” I pant, desperate.

In one swift move, he plunges a finger into me, and I gasp. His eyes are bright, watchful, as a second finger joins in.

I move a hand behind his neck to brace myself. “I want?—”

“Tell me,” he says, his voice raw. “Tell me.”

“I want your cock,” I breathe out.

His grin is feral. “Good girl,” he groans, pulling his fingers out. While I watch, he brings them up to his mouth and sucks them in, slowly, his eyes closing as the taste of me hits his tongue. He moans, then meets my eyes again as he pulls them out, licking them clean.

I whimper. “That’s so fucking sexy.”

His answering smile is blinding. “God, I love it when you cuss.”

I don’t answer, just rise and grab his cock.

Wordlessly, he moves my shorts to the side, and I lower myself onto him, the feel of him bare just as thrilling and hot as it was earlier today.

He groans, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes, finally, finally letting himself just feel.

It’s a small victory, perhaps, but it’s so hard-won that I thrill to see it.

He’s so sexy like this. Wide open and vulnerable, hiding nothing.

Now that he’s inside me, thick and long and filling me to the brim, I move slowly, unhurried, luxuriating in the feel of him deep inside me.

The soft light flickers against his skin.

His throat bobs as he swallows, and the sounds coming out of him, desperate moans and whispers of praise, send my heart racing.

He brings his head back up and opens his eyes, and I lean back down to kiss him. “Ansel,” I whisper. I grind against him, and he closes his eyes.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, pushing his hands beneath my shirt and then pulling it off. He angles up, taking a nipple into his mouth through the bralette, soaking the soft cotton and pulling a sound of pleasure out of me.

I rise and down, riding him slowly as he pushes the fabric up and sucks at my nipple again, the sensation a bright, hot thing that brings me closer to the edge.

Then he shoves a hand down my shorts, finding my clit and pressing onto it.

I hitch a breath, letting my forehead rest on his head as sensations threaten to overwhelm me.

He laughs softly, pulling off my breast and tugging my mouth to his. His tongue thrusts into my mouth, hot and wet, as his free hand wraps around my ass. He holds me in place as his hips rise, pushing him deeper into me.

“Fuck,” I let out.

Then he’s got both his hands beneath my hips, holding me up as he pushes into me, his strong thighs working overtime as I grip the back of the couch.

“Elodie,” he breathes. “Come for me.”

“I can’t,” I say, feeling it so close but knowing it’s not going to happen.

“Play with yourself,” he says, slowing his thrusts and turning them into swirls.

My cheeks burn, but I do it, sliding my hand down my shorts and pressing onto the bundle of nerves.

His eyes flare. “Fuck, that worked,” he murmurs. “I can feel you tighten around me.” He keeps moving. “I will always make sure you come, Elodie. Always.”

The way he says it, so certain and sure of himself, the future embedded in that promise, sends a wave of desire through me.

He grunts again. “God damn, woman.” He picks up the pace, and as I press and swirl my fingers around myself, he fucks me.

Pushing and thrusting, finding the spot that makes me gasp repeatedly.

“There it is,” he says triumphantly, still working me.

Still fucking me. “Let me hear you, Elodie. Let me hear you come.”

I detonate, bearing down on him as I groan, the sound loud enough to drown out any other noise.

He climaxes with me, smacking his hips into mine and holding through his release. I pull his mouth to mine and kiss him as we both come down. After a moment, he relaxes, pulling me to him as I lay my head on his shoulder, my thighs shaking.

“That is the best sound in the world,” he says, running a palm over my curls and kissing my forehead.

“What is?” I murmur against his neck.

“You coming.”