Page 125 of Try Hard
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 ofhot; 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.Shewas 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 lovingOphelia, 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. Iwantto.” 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.
