Chapter 42
OWEN
I set my phone down on George’s coffee table and take a deep breath. Okay, then. Right.
I’m really not sure what to do with myself now.
I guess I could have pushed George to stay on the line.
Asked to start up the next season of Miss Matched with me, maybe.
But I couldn’t tell whether he thought I might want to go or if maybe he was politely trying to leave himself.
Besides, I feel like lately I’m letting myself get a little too invested in George.
Are we becoming friends? Sure, I think so. But, he’s still a major celebrity. A guy who moves in glamorous circles. An actual household name. And I am still me. I’m not kidding myself, here.
Plus, I’m in a weird headspace, having spent most of the day buried in the book. And while I’m glad I called him to tell him how much I liked it, hearing his voice again didn’t exactly help.
“Ugh.” I run my hands through my hair.
I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s too late to go out. And I definitely don’t want to call Zoe and explain any of this. I definitely don’t feel like reading anything right now. Not sure I have the concentration to even watch TV.
I decide maybe a long hot shower will do me some good, provide some kind of reset. Then I’ll get into my pajamas and call it an early night. Yeah, that definitely sounds good to me.
I grab a towel and turn the water on. Steam billows up before I’ve even slipped out of my clothes. Not sure I’ll ever get used to having hot water any time I want for as long as I want. Definitely a change from my cranky old water heater in the cabin. But right now, I welcome it.
I step under the spray and feel my muscles start to relax. Mmm, yeah. I close my eyes and let the heat wash over me.
I go to grab my shampoo, then remember I ran out yesterday. Damn, I meant to get to the store to buy more. I guess I could use some of George’s. I feel a little weird about it, although I know he’s borrowed some of my sweaters and things, so really, this should be just fine.
I grab the bottle. Something sleek and black, minimalist. I squeeze some into my palm and drag my fingers into my hair.
It’s a fresh mountain scent, ironically, since I’m sure it’s mainly marketed to upscale urban guys.
Not too fancy, though, so that’s good. At least I won’t be going around smelling like a French perfumery.
No, it hits me. I’ll be going around smelling like George.
I drop my head and let out a groan. Which is maybe the wrong move because it reminds me just exactly how naked I am right now.
Okay, moving on. I rinse the rest of the shampoo out of my hair, but the scent lingers.
What would it be like to press my face into his neck and breathe him in?
No. Not going to think about that. That’s not what I’m doing here.
I soap up my chest, under my arms.
His voice comes back to me. Soft and low. His laugh.
I tip my face into the stream, squeezing my eyes shut.
He let me read his secret book.
He watched Miss Matched with me. All night.
He told Beau to go fuck himself.
For me.
And that’s it. That’s where my resistance breaks.
I brace my hand against the tile wall, running the other down my body, sweeping remaining lather into my palm before I wrap it around my now very hard cock.
Everything is wet and slippery. My hand slides, my mind drifts.
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?
It is a 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 and George Knight are going to stay friends after this little interlude anyway? 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 bit more in 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.