Jock Royal (Jock Hard 4)

Maybe I should sleep on the sofa in the living room?

Or Georgia’s bed.

We both have to get up early anyway, and if she wakes and I’m not in bed, she isn’t going to think anything of it, like that I abandoned her in the middle of the night.

She will be none the wiser if I get up and leave so I can get sleep.

Georgia moans softly, wiggling on the bed, rolling onto her back now and throwing an arm above her head. She stays this way for a few minutes, restful.

Quiet.

Peaceful.

It’s too dark for me to see her face or watch her chest rise and fall from the motion of her breathing, but the side of her is still pressed into me and it feels good. Feels great to have someone lying beside me, actually. Definitely not something I’m used to, but it’s something I could get used to.

Perhaps there’s something to be said for having a girlfriend.

Not that I’m against having one. It’s just that I never…

Have.

A few more excruciating moments tick by, and all I can hear is the sound of my own breath in the still of the night, until Georgia rolls toward me. Softly moaning. But it’s a content moan, not a bad dream that has her tossing and turning.

Sighing.

Her arm goes out, seeking my hip, hand running along the curve of my waist. Down my side to rest there.

“Ashley,” she mutters, and I’m pretty bloody sure she’s still asleep. “You feel so good.”

So good?

I’m not doing anything but lying here!

Fuck.

I should have gotten out of bed when I had the chance to slip away.

Still could, except this time, since she’s wrapped her arm around me, surely she’d wake up.

There’s a war battling inside me now: the willpower to keep my hands off of her versus the yearning to put my hands on her skin the way her hand is on mine.

I let her snuggle into me further, loving the warm heat of her body even though I’m fucking burning up, her tits crushing my chest.

I breathe in and out then in and out again, trying to steady my pulse. Trying to make my heart rate go down so it’s not racing at one hundred miles a minute. I wonder what would happen if I actually put my arms around her too.

Would it be the worst thing in the world to hug her? After all, she is my friend. And isn’t that what friends do? Comfort each other?

Besides, she is in my bed and she is the one holding me.

Hesitantly, I bring my arm up and weave it through hers so we are actually kind of sort of hugging.

Is this how it’s done?

Or wait, are we spooning? Or were we spooning before when she was facing the opposite direction, away from me? I have no idea; I’ve never done it.

Only heard about it from my mates who love spooning because it leads to forking.

It’s a damn miracle and an exercise in patience, but I manage to drift off to sleep again with Georgia draped over me, stiffy in my boxers.

Eighteen

Georgia

“I can’t believe I’m in Las Vegas.” I’m staring out the window, gazing down at the lit-up Strip from our hotel room, the blinding lights already aglow even though it’s not dark out yet.

“Yup, it’s the stuff dreams are made of,” Ashley says sarcastically, slinging his suitcase onto a sofa at the far end of the room.

I let the curtains fall away and turn to face him. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“Me? No.” He laughs, unzipping one of his bags.

He’s brought three, and I was surprised to see he’s a bit of an over-packer—I assumed he’d bring a duffle bag or a backpack jammed with clothes, but that’s not the case.

Two checked suitcases and one carry-on, plus a backpack.

Where the hell did he think we were going, the moon for a month?

Honestly.

“It looks like Disneyworld down there,” I tell him, wanting to spin in circles but afraid he’s going to laugh at me.

“Have you been to Disneyworld?” he asks, not looking up as he riffles through his bag. He retrieves a pair of flip-flops and throws them down to the floor, slipping out of his sneakers and into the sandals.

“I haven’t.” I blush when I admit it; going to Disney feels like something I should have already done in my life. “But I want to.”

Ashley glances up. “Las Vegas, Disney—what other wonders of the world are on your bucket list?”

“Um.” My little hum of indecision is a delighted one. “Niagara Falls. The waterparks at Wisconsin Dells. Er, I’d love to see Big Ben.”

His smile seems rueful. “Those seem like very reasonable places to want to see. Easy.”

Well, easy is a relative term. It’s easy if you have the money to go gallivanting about the world to the tourist traps on my list, yeah. Not easy if you have to count every penny and go into debt simply to get a college education and a “free” trip to Las Vegas.