Elliot Sheridan was no monk, and holding Georgia Thorne's soft body in his arms, it was impossible not to feel something.
He would even whisper innocently into Georgia's sensitive ear about how he couldn't take it anymore, making her want to jump right off of him.
However, one of his arms was locked tightly around her waist. Forget getting up; it was impossible to even move.
Blushing furiously, she felt his discomfort.
In the darkness, his voice, laced with desire, was deep and incredibly magnetic—almost lethally so.
He gently whispered, word by word, into Georgia's ear just how much he was suffering. Every word hammered against her chest, making her heart race.
This went on until the noises from the next room finally stopped.
Tormented by Elliot's voice, Georgia grew drowsy. Unable to fight off sleep, she slumped on top of him and drifted off.
Just before she lost consciousness, she vaguely wondered what sin she must have committed to deserve this.
