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before moving down again to land at the hollow.  
    So fucking soft. Sweet. Intoxicating. She had me in every way there was to be had.  
    “Tristan,” she moaned my name and my brain fogged up with lust. I gritted my teeth together as my dick begged me to ram into her at full force, while my head reminded me that she’d wanted to take it slow.  
    But my dick argued that we had been taking it slow. Very fucking slow.  
    But Georgia needed to be in control of the dance we had been doing the last few weeks.  
    She’d never been in control of her life until now, so I wasn’t about to take that away from her. My fingertips dug into the soft flesh at her hips before I dragged my body away from hers.  
    I stepped back and ran my palm over my face and through my hair, giving it a frustrated tug.  
    “Fuck,” she whispered as she bent at the knees and supported herself on a hand on the floor.  
    “Yeah,” I murmured. “I need a shower.”
    “Me too.” She stood and sucked in a quick breath to catch her bearings.  
    “Georgia,” I groaned. “You can’t say shit like that.” I gritted my teeth together and clenched my fist in my hair.  
    “Sorry.” She frowned, but a flirty glint lit her eyes.  
    Such a vixen.  
    “You need a minute? Or can we get on with it?” She tilted her head with a flirty grin. I wanted desperately to tell her I was so ready to get on with it: in my bed, on the floor, against the wall, in the shower. Definitely in the shower—rivulets of water streaming down her body, the curve of her breasts, the dip of her hips.  
    I huffed in exasperation. “So, pink . . . salmon . . . it is.” I lifted a roller in defeat.  
    “I thought you’d see it my way.” She grinned and turned back to the paint tray.  
    “You seduced me,” I mumbled before dragging the roller through the fresh paint and putting the first lick of pink on the wall.  

    I glanced around the room and took in the bright paint color she’d insisted on putting on my walls. Last time I relinquished power to this vixen ever . It looked good, brighter than I would have picked, and striking against the white trim of the house.  
    Georgia and I curled up on my couch, watching an old movie. Well, she was watching; I was busy snuggling into her hair and inhaling her vanilla scent, which drove me to distraction. I was also trying like hell to keep from distracting her with my hard-on. It was torture, being pressed to the curve of her body, but it was the sweetest torture imaginable. I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. I slid my hand down her torso, my fingertips stroking dangerously close to the swell of her breast.  
    “Hey,” she murmured and pushed my hand away.  
    “Can’t blame me.” I nuzzled deeper into her ear and snagged her earlobe with my teeth.  
    “We’re taking it slow,” she reminded me.  
    “Tortuously slow,” I groaned into her ear.  
    “Calm your raging sexual appetite.” She squirmed in my arms and made the torture that much more unbearable.  
    “Impossible when you’re in the room.”
    “Try harder,” she whimpered when I skimmed my hand up her stomach and brushed the underside of her breast with my thumb. My brain fogged over as a moan escaped her throat. She rolled over into me and I adjusted myself, relaxing on my elbow, hovering above her delicious form. My other hand slid up to cup the soft flesh of her neck, my thumb whispering along her jaw. Her eyes fluttered closed as her breathing picked up, her chest heaving.  
    This was it. Could I have her? Right now? Could I drive her to the point of no return?
    Maybe.  
    Did she want it? Right now? Was she ready?
    “Georgia,” I murmured in her ear.  
    “Hmm?” she answered softly as she pressed her soft body into mine.  
    “Spend Thanksgiving in Jacksonville with me.” I flicked her earlobe with my tongue. She froze in place, her breathing halted, before her eyes opened. Her eyebrows scrunched together.  
    “You