George.
George pressing me against the tile, George taking my mouth with his tongue, George whimpering into my ear as I make him come.
I shift, adjust my tempo. Arousal sings through my body.
The heat of his skin pressed against mine. Muscles and soft spots. The tickle of the curls at the nape of his neck.
Low moans and dirty laughs and his dark eyes staring into mine.
A smirk I can almost see as he makes a dirty joke.
I’m so, so close.
A guttural noise escapes me, echoing off the shower walls.
George on his knees for me.
George heavy and swollen on my tongue.
George under me, in me, around me, touching, squeezing, sliding, tasting.
“George…”
My body tightens, and then the moment breaks over me, coming in wave after wave, pulsing through me until I’m totally spent.
For a few seconds, all I can do is stand there, braced against the tile, catching my breath. My heart pounds. The water keeps running. Reality seeps in.
“Fuck.”
There is, I suppose, not much point in pretending I’m not attracted to George.
I guess deep down, I sort of knew it was happening. But it was easier to brush it aside when I hadn’t just done… Well, that.
Shit, though. Now what?
Not gonna lie, no matter how impossible the idea of anything between me and George is, that felt pretty good.
Of course it did, because it was a total fantasy. Hell, I’m pretty sure some of the images flying through my mind back there were not even physically possible under normal gravity. I mean, maybe if you had some kind of hoverboard…
I can’t help it. I crack a smile. The ridiculousness of the whole thing, of what just happened. It’s kind of hilarious.
And maybe… Is it possible it’s okay to let myself have this?
Itisa fantasy. It’s not real, I’m not expecting it to be real. I know the difference.
And didn’t I come here to get away from my life for a while? Maybe it’s okay to let myself escape into this, just a little.
As long as I keep it separate. Keep my head on straight, whatever. It’ll be like a vacation fling without the actual fling. A harmless crush that I’m not going to do anything about. Or, more accurately, I guess, nothing that involves anyone else.
I get out of the shower, towel off. Pull on my pajama pants. I could do this, right? I deserve this, don’t I? Just to let go a little, even just in my own mind?
Sure, we’re friends, and maybe it’s a little weird to think about your friends this way. But what are the odds me andGeorge Knightare going to stay friends after this little interludeanyway? And it’s not like we haven’t been flirting. We both know we’ve been flirting, don’t we?
So what if I take that from friendly banter to… something a little bitmorein my own head? With someone I’m probably never going to talk to again after this week. To allow myself some tiny bit of pleasure. Where’s the harm?
By the time I’m climbing into George’s bed, I’ve almost convinced myself, and I’m too tired to argue.
DECEMBER 27
