When his fingers slid lower, finding her already slick and aching for him, she gasped and clutched at his shoulders.
“Tell me you’re sure,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers, his breath hot and uneven.
“Yes,” she breathed, her hips tilting toward him instinctively. “Jason, please?—”
His name on her lips made his jaw tighten, his eyes dark and molten as he positioned himself over her, his hands braced on either side of her head.
Her heart thudded wildly as she felt the broad, hot press of him against her entrance. She swallowed hard. Of course she was still a virgin, but she trusted him.
More than she’d ever trusted anyone.
And when he pushed forward, filling her in one slow, steady thrust, there was only a faint sting, just a pinch, before it was replaced by a sensation so overwhelming she couldn’t breathe.
She gasped his name again, her nails digging into his back as he groaned low in his throat, his lips brushing over her temple.
For a moment they simply stayed like that, tangled, breathless, utterly undone.
Then he began to move, and the pleasure built into something that stole her words and her breath, her body arching into his as she clung to him.
Her legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, and he thrust deeper, harder, his hands threading through her hair as his mouth claimed hers again and again.
When she finally shattered around him, it was with a soft cry that he swallowed with his lips, his own release following soon after as he buried his face against her neck, groaning her name.
They collapsed together, still tangled in sheets and each other, his weight a comforting warmth over her, his arms wrapping tight around her as though he’d never let go.
She pressed her lips to his shoulder, her heart still racing, and whispered, “My husband.”
He smiled against her hair, his hand sliding over her back as he murmured in return, “My wife.”
And for the first time since forever, she felt…at home.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jason woke to sunlight streaming through the curtains and the faintest weight of her hair across his bare chest.
For a moment, he simply lay still, drinking in the sight of her nestled against him, her breath soft and even, her arm draped across his middle as though it belonged there.
His wife.
Georgiana. Georgie.
His.
And then she stirred, one long leg sliding over his, her lashes fluttering as her eyes blinked open and focused on him.
She smiled sleepily, and it damn near undid him. “Good morning,” she murmured, her voice still thick and husky with sleep.
He grinned lazily. “Good morning,” he echoed, brushing a stray curl from her cheek.
For a few quiet moments they lay like that, neither in any particular hurry to move, the warmth of her body seeping into his as she rested her chin on his chest.
Then she let out a small sigh, her lips curling wickedly. “Honestly, if I’d known it was that enjoyable,” she said slyly, “I would have demanded you take me to bed on our wedding night.”
Jason let out a startled laugh, rolling slightly to pin her beneath him, his eyes dancing.
“Would you now?” he teased, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw.
“Absolutely,” she said, feigning solemnity, though her eyes sparkled.
