Oh…
This is how it’s supposed to feel, isn’t it? When you love someone.
When you truly, madly care.
This doesn’t feel like sex at all, but how on earth can that be true?
It’s not supposed to make my heart bleed deeper.
He isn’t fucking me at all—he’s moving deliberately slow, one hand sliding beneath me to pull me in. And when our lips and mouths and tongues touch, that feels different, too.
What is this?
What is happening?
He says my name again, but this time, it’s aloud through the kiss.
This is not how this is supposed to be…
We are not supposed to feel this close.
Twenty-One
Ashley
We were not supposed to have sex last night.
Right there, Georgia moaned with a hitched breath. Don’t stop.
I roll over on the bed and gaze at her sleeping figure; her hands are tucked under her chin and her eyes are closed, snoozing peacefully.
She’s still naked.
I’m still naked.
How did we get naked?
There is only a sliver of light peeking through the blackout curtains, which I had the foresight to close last night after we had sex, but it’s plenty to see around the room.
Look at her face.
Glance at the clock—it’s seven fifteen.
Shite. Nothing will be open for a few hours, the entire city probably passed out drunk.
I roll to my back, arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling as I’ve done hundreds of nights at home, alone in bed. Except this time I’m not alone—I’m with the object of my recent fantasies and I’m not sure what to do about it.
What if she doesn’t want me to touch her?
I sure as hell am not going to wake her up.
She’s not typically surly in the morning on those days we’ve been in the kitchen at the same time, but what do I know; maybe she’s faking the bubbly personality.
Another thirty minutes pass, filled with many more glances at Georgia.
Last night wasn’t how I imagined sex with her to be—
“Good morning.”
Georgia has her eyes open and she’s slowly blinking at the light filtering through the curtains.
Blinks toward me, focusing.
She smiles groggily.
“Morning, sunshine.” Gross, did those words just come out of my mouth?
“I feel hungover.”
“That’s because you’re a little lightweight.”
“Yeah, who knew.” She scrunches up her forehead and yawns. “I would probably feel better if you weren’t so far away.”
Her arm moves across the mattress, hand reaching for mine, twining our fingers together.
It’s all the invitation I need to close the gap between us, moving toward her and lying on my side so I can run my hands over the bare skin of her back.
“That feels so good,” she moans in a tired morning voice, face pressed against the pillow, still looking sexy as hell.
Her eyes drift closed.
Georgie’s hair is matted in the back, a combination of sex hair and bedhead, the long strands sticking out every which way but still looking adorably fetching.
A smile plays at her lips as she cracks her eyes again then slowly rolls to her back even as my hand travels along her flesh; my palm has no choice but to run from her back to her stomach.
I lean down, kissing between her breasts. Kiss the tip of each puckered nipple, trailing my hand down over her lower belly to her inner thigh where the skin is soft and sensitive. Her hand comes up and buries itself in my hair as she watches me touch her.
“How do you feel about morning sex?” she whispers sleepily.
“Is that an actual question?” Still… “We don’t have any condoms.”
And the last time I checked, the pull-out method was a fucking terrible idea.
Georgia worries her bottom lip, but then almost immediately her eyes light up again with an idea. “Um, this is Vegas. Maybe…maybe we could call the front desk?”
“Fuck me sideways, Georgie—that’s brilliant!”
She preens under my approval, and I peck her on the lips before catapulting my body across the bed to reach for the phone, scrambling for the button that will connect me to the concierge.
It rings three times before someone answers.
“Front desk, how can we assist you this morning, Miss Parker?”
“Hi. I’m wondering if you have any condoms you can send up? Seems we’re out.”
The person on the other end doesn’t hesitate. “How many?”
I glance over my shoulder at Georgia wriggling around in only the bright white sheet and give her a thumbs-up to let her know we’re in business.
“Ten?”
Georgia lets out a snort behind me. “Wow. Someone is optimistic.”
That’s me. I’m someone.
“We’ll send someone up to room 2417 right away, sir.”
Sir. That makes me chuckle.
I disconnect the line, launching back onto the bed, mattress bouncing under me. It has Georgia bursting into a giggle fit.
“Ten condoms? What the hell are you trying to do, make it impossible for me to walk?” She puts a hand over her bare crotch and feigns a shudder.
“We’re in our twenties—how is ten rubbers too many for twenty-four hours of shagging? Should I call back and tell them to bring twelve, to err on the side of caution?”