Georgia's POV
He slid into me with a slow, deep thrust that made my entire body arch off the bed. The stretch was sweet and familiar, but somehow more intimate than ever.
One of my hands gripped his back, and the other entangled his hair in my fist. I gasped and moaned softly, high-pitched, feeling every inch of him.
His forehead rested against mine, his breath ragged as he whispered, "You feel like heaven, Georgia."
I could barely answer. My body responded on its own, moving with his as he set the pace—slow, steady, sensual. Each thrust was measured, each roll of his hips deliberate. The sound of our breathing filled the room, mingling with the faint rustle of sheets and the slick rhythm between us.
With this pace and rhythm, I could feel his shape, his size, his hardness. Every time he pushes in, he takes my breath away, and every time he pulls out, I feel empty and crave more of him.
