Georgina

His touch is impossibly tender.

He enters me as though I'm made of glass, his rhythm easy and slow and deep. I let him pin my arms above my head, moaning as the cold tide rushes over my ankles and his, his body an inferno against mine, a protective flame in the cool night.

His free hand braces against my hip, palm burning against my skin as he does as I asked — as he makes love to me. My cries fill the night, my body lit and electric, every nerve awake and alive like they've never been. He presses his mouth to my neck, his breath burning, his tongue branding.

When he finally releases my hands, I slide them into his curls, meeting his dark, moonlit eyes as our pleasure begins to mount in tandem. He deepens his thrusts, every inch of him igniting every inch of me.

The words leave my lips as the orgasm catches me like a slow, unstoppable riptide. "I love you,"

I gasp, the desperate sound of my voice lost to the velvet roar of the Ocean, to the groan of his pleasure as he comes inside of