"George," Angelina mutters, as he kisses down her throat.
He responds by humming against her neck.
At the moment, they're both seated on his couch. Angelina has her leg swung over his hip and George's hands are under her shirt. It's tentative and she isn't sure if they're headed to the bedroom or not, but she really wants to go to his bed. Or here; she doesn't mind the couch.
"Don't rush me," he mutters.
"It doesn't matter how slow you go," she teases him. "Just don't stop."
He smiles against her neck then her shirt is slowly being pulled over her head. A moan escapes her mouth when his touch dashes across the tops of her breasts. Her hands work on the buttons of his shirt far more gently than she would have expected them to; it's like he is in control of her body. Once she's got it removed, a smile flits across her face at the sight of all the freckles that litter his chest and shoulders. She decides that she loves freckles.
"See something you like?" he asks.
"Oh, yes," she answers.
Her hands run over his chest, feeling the muscles that lives under his light skin.
"Let's take this too the bedroom," Angelina decides.
"Let's," he agrees, before he lifts her into his arms and carries her into his room.