Did I fuck him?
My brain immediately supplies a helpful visual and I have to fight the sudden urge to hyperventilate. No, probably not, but who the fuck knows anymore? Azure Tides has clearly broken something important in my decision-making center.
I look at George again, at the sheer size of him. My mind drifts back to the week we have spent at this resort. The wild things I have watched happen with our friends, and those I have joined in on.
I think about the fivesome the night before the wedding, with my friends plus the groom’s accidental male entertainer. I shut that memory down fast. It will not help me right now.
I think about George’s face and body during said fivesome. Fuck, that makes everything worse. I shut that down too.
Then my gaze drifts lower, past the edge of the blanket, and I see the thick, heavy outline of his own erection pressing up against the fabric right next to my thigh.
I’m in my best friend’s fucking bed, his dick basically saying good morning against my leg, and I have no memory of how we got here.
This is fine. Everything is fine. I’m definitely not panicking.
Sweet mother of fuck.
I try to ease myself out of his grasp. His stupid arm across my back tightens instead and pulls me closer, my mouth ending up inches from his chin.
“Oof.” I let out a breath I didn’t mean to release.
George shifts in his sleep, a small unconscious movement. His hand on my back slides a fraction lower. My entire nervous system lights up.
Okay. Fucking enough of this.
I give him a sharp kick to the shin, the universal signal for “wake up right now, we have a situation.”
George groans, not fully awake yet. His arm goes rigid, then releases me. “Christ, what’s that for?”
“When you decide to wake up, you’ll fucking know why.” I roll off his chest and land on my back beside him, our shoulders and arms still touching.
He blinks a few times, looks around him, then stares at nothing before he shifts his focus on me. His eyes are wide. “Fuck.”
We stay like that for a long time.
“Did we…?” I ask, my voice coming out rough from sleep and heavy with dread. I cover my face with my hands. “Shit.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Shit is right.”
“That’s not a no.”
“Not a yes, either,” he says.
“Extremely helpful. Thank you.” I rub my eyes hard. “Fuck, my head really hurts.”
He looks exactly how I feel, a man who made serious promises to alcohol and is now paying the price. “Got some painkillers,” he mutters.
“In a minute.” I keep staring at the ceiling. “Why are you naked?”
He turns his head toward me. “Why you naked in my bed?”
I’ve got nothing, so, deflection. “I asked first.”
“It was hot.”
“It was not hot, George. The air conditioning in this room runs at meat-locker temperature. Spent the entire week complaining about it. You always say you’re hot so I let it be.”
“I turned it off,” George says.
