“Good night,” I say at last.
She leans forward, planting a soft kiss on my cheek, not far from the gash in the corner of my mouth.
“Night.”
How the hell am I supposed to sleep with my skin searing where her mouth has been?
Lying here with the image of her face, the look she had on it when she came running toward me earlier.
For the past week, since that night I jerked off to the thought of her and imagined what she might look like naked with her mouth on my hard dick, I haven’t been able to sleep. Haven’t been able to look at her without undressing her with my eyes.
Haven’t been able to distract myself from thoughts of her.
Just like I’m doing now.
Alone in my room like every goddamn night, same old same old.
Same shite different day.
I can’t stop my hand sliding beneath the covers, only this time instead of fantasizing about Georgia coming into my bedroom here at the house, my imagination has her sliding into my bed in Las Vegas at the hotel.
How the hell am I supposed to make it through the nights with her in the same room, sharing a shower, sharing a bathroom, sharing a bedroom. Really nowhere to have any privacy.
Nowhere to take a shit.
Am I seriously supposed to take a crap and stink up the bathroom like I do every single morning around nine o’clock with her sharing a room with me?
Fuck no.
Focus, Ashley.
Focus on not being a total pervert. Focus on not totally lusting after your roommate.
She trusts you.
You’re going to get through your two nights in Vegas the same way you’re going to get through the rest of the entire semester with your hands off the merchandise. She did not move in with you so you could seduce her—not that you’ve seduced anybody in your entire life.
You will not be starting with her.
I pull my hand back out of my drawers, feeling guilty.
As if I’m doing something wrong. I might just be paranoid, but for some odd reason I feel like she knew the other night when I was jerking off and saying her name. There’s no way she could’ve heard me calling out, could she?
I don’t think I was that loud.
I’m pretty sure my voice didn’t carry down the hallway—then again, I was lost in my daydreams of her and how good it felt stroking myself off.
You have to get a grip, man, and not on your dick.
Maybe I should try dating.
Agree to that date with Ariel. I might not be attracted to her, but it never hurts to put myself out there. Practice makes perfect even when it comes to dating, right?
I stare up at the ceiling before giving up my thoughts to reach for the remote hiding somewhere on the bed, hand feeling around for it in the dark. Hit the power button for the telly mounted on the wall and lay my head back against the stacked pillows.
There’s not a whole lot I’m interested in watching, but it beats closing my eyes and only thinking about one thing: Georgia down the hall in the next room over.
Wondering what she’s doing in her own bedroom.
Wondering if she’s masturbated at all under my roof since she’s been living here. Does she use toys? Or does she just use her hand like I do?
Half an hour into a television series I have yet to catch up on, there’s a soft knock on my door. Alert now, I sit up, putting the remote on the bedside table.
“Come in.”
The door creaks open slowly and it’s dark in the hallway, but Georgia’s little nose is the first thing I see as her hands push the door open gently.
“Are you awake?”
Duh. I told her to come in, didn’t I?
“I’m awake.”
“Oh good.” The door opens wider. “I thought I heard the TV. I couldn’t sleep either.”
She heard my telly?
Shite, I don’t even have the volume up that loud.
Georgia lingers in the doorway tentatively; it’s obvious she wants to talk.
I relent. “You can come in if you want.”
That’s all the invitation she needs, entering my bedroom and going around to the opposite side of the bed, climbing up and under the covers like a little kid snuggling in her parents’ bed.
“Make yourself comfortable,” I mutter, moving over so she has more room—and so she’s not touching me. The last thing I need is to lie here and get a boner because neither of us are wearing many clothes and I’ve just spent the past hour thinking about her mouth on my body.
So fucking awkward.
Georgia flops to her side, propping herself up on one elbow to study me in the dark. “What are we watching?”
She’s definitely not tired.
“This show is about three roommates and they find a fourth named Jess. It’s funny.”
I don’t know why I’m explaining this shite to her; I’ve seen her watching New Girl a few times when I’ve come in. Clearly her question was rhetorical to get a conversation started.