Own the Eights Gets Married - Krista Sandor Page 0,81
skin on skin permeated the room as he rocked into her, filling her to the hilt with each thrust.
The coil within him tensed, growing taut as if he could explode at any moment.
Georgie tightened around him, calling out his name, and crashed into her release.
Pistoning his hips, he joined her, flying over the edge and soaring through an orgasmic cosmos where only the two of them existed. He couldn’t tell where his pleasure stopped, and hers began. They were one, all sweaty limbs and heated breaths—all gentle caresses and sensual, lingering kisses.
She belonged to him. Her heart was his to guard, honor, and protect. As she gazed up at him with a sweet, sated expression, his heart was home.
“You get more beautiful every day, did you know that?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“Do I?” she replied through her lashes.
He drew his fingertips across her kiss-plump lips. “And every day, I find something new to love about you.”
“What did you find today?” she asked on a sated sigh.
He kissed a line to her shoulder. “This freckle right here,” he answered.
“It’s a ticklish freckle,” she replied with a giggle.
He reached over and unwrapped the lace curtains from her wrist. Georgie sank back into the pillows and stroked the back of her hand down the scruff of his jawline.
She gazed up at him. “I like you a little rough around the edges, husband.”
He ran his hands through his hair, mussing his usually coiffed style. “We can’t all have Brice-Casey-perfect hair all the time,” he joked, and Georgie shook her head as her phone pinged.
She glanced over at her cell. “It could be Irene with a Mr. Tuesday update.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Check it. I’ll get us a snack,” he said, hating to leave the cocoon of the bed but knowing she’d love an update on the sweet pup.
“Let’s do chips and some of that amazing pineapple salsa. I asked the resort concierge to send some over every day,” she called.
He glanced at his wife, who was positively glowing.
“Pineapple salsa it is,” he said, sauntering into the kitchen and procuring the snack staples.
“It is Irene,” she said, holding out her phone to share a picture of Mr. Tuesday nestled in next to their friend’s pregnant belly.
“How are they doing?” he asked, setting a bag of chips and the bowl of salsa onto a tray.
Georgie sat up and smoothed a spot for him to set their post-sex snacks, and he joined her back in bed.
“First, pineapple salsa,” she said, loading a chip with more salsa than one would think humanly possible before crunching down on the sweet and salty treat.
“Wow!” he said, both amazed and a little intimidated.
She swallowed the bite. “Okay, Irene says Mr. Tuesday is doing well. He’s very protective of her and loves her baby bump. And they got nine inches of snow last night,” she finished, then typed out a message as her lips twisted into a naughty grin.
“What are you writing back?” he asked.
Georgie licked her lips. “I told her I got nine inches, but it has nothing to do with snow.”
“Georgiana, what would your trifecta think?” he shot back, teasing his very naughty wife.
She gasped. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! It’s like I’m becoming a—”
“Sex maniac?” he mused.
“Yes,” she answered, crunching into another pineapple salsa-laden chip.
He kissed her cheek. “You may also want to look into competitive eating.”
“Oh, and look at this, Jordan!” she continued, ignoring his comment. “We have tons of posts on our blog, wishing us well on our honeymoon. Even the Belgian Waffle Princess sent us a message.”
“How is her royal waffle-ness doing?” he asked, sinking into the pillows.
Georgie rested her head on his chest. “She says congratulations, and I quote, ‘Georgie and Jordan’s unorthodox courting and engagement has been a delight to read about. I can’t wait to see what it’s like when the two of them have a baby,’” she finished, then popped another chip into her mouth.
The breath caught in his throat.
Holy pineapple salsa!
He glanced around the bungalow. There were pineapples everywhere. She’d literally been eating pineapple nonstop since they’d arrived on the island. If it wasn’t for all the sex, taking her away from indulging in the tropical fruit, she might have turned into one by now.
“Georgiana?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you want any vegan chocolate chip cookie dough? The staff stocked the fridge with about twenty tubes,” he asked.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t sound appealing.”
He twisted a lock of her hair as his mind