by Ney, Sara
Thank god she can’t see me looking at her tits in the dark—not that I’m getting a good look, but they are wet and reflecting the blue light.
Whatever.
They’re fantastic tits.
“Your turn.”
It is that.
“Do you want to snog me?”
Georgia hesitates, bobbing slightly in the water. “Sure.”
Sure?
Sure? What the fuck. “Would you knock it off? All you’re doing is repeating what I already said.”
“Well it’s not like there are a million ways to say it!” She laughs, breaking the tension. “Sheesh, I’m not a thesaurus.”
“No one uses those anymore. It’s called google.”
“You’re so literal sometimes it makes me want to…throttle you.”
Throttle. A good British word if I ever heard one.
It’s her game now.
“Do you want to kiss me…now?”
Well done, Georgie, you’ve gone and made me blush down to my toes, which were already hotter than Hades in this hundred-degree water.
Do I want to kiss her now, do I want to kiss her now…
Here, in the jacuzzi.
I’m not sure if my head nods or my mouth opens or if sound comes out, but I at least attempt to say yes, not entirely sure she heard me over the sounds of the jets.
“What was that? I saw your lips move but nothing came out.” Georgia cups her ear with her free hand.
She’s going to make me say it again.
What a shite.
“Yes.”
Her lips make a surprised O, and it occurs to me then she might have thought I wouldn’t want to kiss her, now or any time at all.
“Oh,” she says as she breathes out. “You do?”
I don’t respond because that would give her two questions in a row and it’s my turn.
“Do you want to kiss me now?”
Georgia bites down, upper teeth scraping her bottom lip, white teeth winking at me.
“Yes.”
What to do now? Curb our enthusiasm and continue sitting on opposite sides of this hot tub? Or do I cross over and do something about it?
It’s a game of chicken, both of us rooted to our respective benches in the hot tub, the tension as thick as the steam rising from the water.
We could cut through it with a dull knife.
“Come here,” I say, setting my champagne flute down on the shelf behind me.
Georgia floats through the water, then stands in the middle to wade over to my side.
I watch the water drip from her stomach and bikini top.
She reaches behind me to set her glass down, too, so it’s out of the way and we don’t spill. Then she plops down on the seat beside me, shoulders exposed, damp hair clinging to the nape of her neck.
We stare at each other, thinking the same thing: Are you going to make a move or am I?
Slowly we gravitate toward one another, our breaths mingling as we get closer and closer; I freeze when Georgia touches the tip of her nose to mine. Brushes it back and forth in a move so caring and gentle I’m taken aback.
Playful and cute.
Unexpected.
It’s been a really long time since anyone has looked at me this way, least of all a young woman. I didn’t realize I missed it, because how can you miss something you never had to begin with? After tonight, if nothing else happens besides this kiss, I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking about it.
I’m the one who touches our lips together, tentatively at first because that’s what the mood calls for, then pressing them together gently.
My body is humming.
Alive.
And we’re not actually kissing yet.
Everything about this moment is different than all the other lips that came before hers.
Georgia tilts her head so that when I cover her mouth with mine, our noses don’t bump, lips pressing. One chaste kiss. Another.
Another until our mouths open and our tongues timidly meet, shyly at first then growing bolder. She tastes like champagne and sweat, and warm Vegas air.
Was it necessary to fly all this way to have this moment?
Probably.
I never would have put a romantic hand on her at home, and she would have continued tiptoeing around the house to ignore whatever vibes were building.
We kiss like this for a while, open-mouthed, my hand rising from the water to cup her face, fingers wrapped lightly around the back of her neck.
Georgia leans in closer, boobs smushed against my skin, hand on my thigh beneath the water, kissing me sweetly.
Then.
She pulls back.
Moves to climb on top of me, the pair of us shifting so Georgia can wrap her legs behind my back as her arms wrap around my neck.
We kiss, tongues mingling, getting acquainted in a way we haven’t known each other before. It’s intoxicating, especially with the lingering alcohol on our tongues from the champagne we’ve completely forgotten about and don’t need any longer.
My hands are on her spine, slowly moving up…then down her gloriously wet skin, pulling her into me so she’s flush against my body, my hands now cupping her arse.
Squeezing the cheeks that fill my palms.
Running my fingers under the fabric of her swimsuit bottoms, grazing the smooth globes of her derrière.
She’s smooth from head to toe, freshly shaven legs I can’t keep my hands off. Silky from the fluid water we’re in.
Georgia’s hands roam my broad shoulders, fingernails lightly brushing my skin, thumb playing with the dips in my collarbone as her mouth sucks on my tongue.
Why does she feel so good?
Goddamn this hot tub was a good idea.
Georgia moans in my ear when I move her over my swelling shaft, the thin fabric of my trunks and her suit doing nothing to mask the pleasure.
I kiss the side of her neck, licking her wet skin.
Suck the curve of her shoulder.
Palms spread wide, I trail my hands up her ribcage, thumb brushing the undersides of her breasts. Her side boob.
Down her ribcage.
Up her ribcage.
Down her back.
Up her spine, fingers now dallying with the ties of her swimsuit top.
I pause, debating.
Hesitate so long it causes Georgia to stop kissing me and shift back a bit, to look me in the eyes.
“What if…” she whispers uncertainly. “What if we put the roommate and the friendship stuff aside and have fun this weekend without thinking about it?”
Does that mean she wants me to take her top off?
Still watching her, I let my thumb and forefinger pluck the string of her bikini top loose so that it falls away. Work my way to the tie around her neck and release that, too. They were tied in simple bows and it’s easy.
She’s on my lap naked from the waist up, hands in my hair.
Georgie’s lips part when I slowly drag my hands up her stomach and cup her breasts, softly playing with her nipples. She tips her head to the side, watching me.
Gorgeous.
Inhales a breath when I pull her forward so I can take one in my mouth and suck, the hands in my hair now plowing through the strands, her nails raking into my scalp.
She moves her hips, dry-fucking me and eventually causing the water around us to slosh.
We kiss.
I cup her breasts and tease her nipples.
We kiss.
I run my hands all over her smooth, wet skin.
We kiss until the timer in the hot tub goes off and the water goes dark and only the lights from the city shine onto the balcony.
My dick is solid as a rock, and I can’t say I’ve ever been more excited to be making out but not shagging—I feel like a teenager at a party. I feel like an adult on a holiday with my bird, though she’s not even close to being my girlfriend.
Eventually, Georgie pulls back and climbs off. “I’m getting cold.” Leans
in to kiss me once more, this peck more chaste.
She stands in the middle of the hot tub skimming the water for her bikini top, which has sunk to the bottom.
“I’m going to rinse off.” She yawns. “Then you wanna…watch TV in bed?”
The question is asked as she climbs out, arse practically in my face, a little glance over her shoulder as water drips from her body, her index finger hooking her bottoms to pull them out of her crack.
Do I wanna watch TV in bed?
Does a frog bump his arse when he hops?
Georgia disappears through the sliding doors, and soon I hear the water running in the shower.
Everything about this evening so far has been unexpected: the weird mood at the restaurant, the game in the water, the make-out session I never could have predicted.
You could have bet me five million dollars in the casinos downstairs that she would kiss me, and I would have bet against you and lost my arse over and over and over again.
I hoist myself out of the water, shoving my soggy swim trunks down over my hips then hanging them over the hot tub to drip dry. Pad into the room wet since we didn’t think to bring towels outside.
Luckily, the room has a vanity stocked with several fluffy white towels, and I snag one, wrapping it around my waist.
Patiently, I wait for Georgia to finish rinsing so I can take my turn—the last thing I want to do is climb into the bed smelling like chlorine.
Climb into bed and watch telly…
Is that all we’re going to do? My hands were just all over her tits for Christ’s sake, and now we’re going to sit and watch the telly?
I give the bed a cursory glance as Georgia walks back out the bathroom door, a puff of steam after her.
“It’s all yours, sir.”
She’s wrapped in a plush white robe with the hotel logo emblazoned on it, and she’s wearing matching slippers. I can’t help watching her for a few moments before heading into the shower as she goes to her suitcase and peers inside.
Surely she’ll be in her usual t-shirt and shorts when I reemerge. And surely there’ll be a pillow barricade erected on the mattress with all the decorative pillows, too—the fact that we made out and I felt her boobs means nothing when it comes to bedding down, this much I know.
Never make assumptions.
“I’ll be quick,” I tell her.
She nods, smiling at me over her shoulder. “’Kay.”
All I can think about whilst I’m inside the shower stall is the fact that Georgia was just in here buck naked—I might have seen her bare breasts, but I have yet to see her pussy. And for a brief moment, I wonder what it looks like. Whether or not she has it waxed, or leaves it au naturel the way a lot of girls are doing right now—or so I’ve heard.
It’s not something a lot of the dudes on the rugby team are a huge fan of, but it’s what the girls are doing.
Not shaving or waxing it all off.
Georgia’s shampoo and conditioner and a tiny bottle of body wash are sitting on the ledge, and she’s used one of the hotel washcloths—she has it folded neatly into a tiny square and hanging over the rod.
I take her shampoo and unscrew the top, taking a whiff. I’m not going to use it; I just want to know what it smells like.
It smells like her.
You are not giving yourself a one-hand shandy with Georgia in the other room, arsehole. Plus, you never know…
Never know what, you pervert.
With a shake of my head, I make quick work of shampooing my hair even though it didn’t get wet and lathering up my body with the soap supplied by the hotel.
When I’m done, I shut the water off, towel-dry myself before stepping out onto the cold tile floor, and once again wrap myself in the white terrycloth towel. I brought my boxer shorts into the bathroom so I can just slip into those once my skin is dry and not have to go rooting around for them buck-arse naked in front of Georgia.
I’m cocky, but I’m not a thirst-trapping showboater.
Reentering the room, I try to remain indifferent to Georgia watching me when I open the door. She’s already planted herself in bed, firmly on the left side, farthest from the door. I can’t see much of anything so I’m not sure what she’s wearing, but she’s definitely not wearing her usual t-shirt—I know this because her shoulders are bare.
No fucking way is she naked.
There is no fucking way.
Still, my pulse quickens thinking about the possibility that she might be naked when I pull back the coverlet and slide in on the right side.
The TV is on and she’s flipping through the channels.
“I signed in to Netflix so we can watch a movie and not have to buy one. Is that alright?”
She’s so cute.
“Of course it’s alright. Thanks.”
I have nothing else to do except get into the bed, but first I shut off all the other lights inside the room, lock the deadbolt on the door, and flip the little chain. Better safe than sorry. I’ve seen one too many horror movies that take place in Las Vegas, where someone’s dead body turns up stuffed under one of the mattresses.
I fumble my way back to the bed and pull back the covers on my designated side, the crisp white linen cold when I slide in. I’m relieved to see that Georgia has in fact not erected a pillow barrier the way I thought she might just so I don’t get the wrong idea.
Georgia props herself up on an elbow, facing me from her side of the bed, and my eyes do a quick perusal of her upper body. She’s wearing a cream-colored tank top—but it’s one of those fussy fancy ones made out of a satin fabric.
Or silk, or one of those lingerie materials I know nothing about.
Suddenly a cold toe touches my leg from somewhere beneath the sheets.
“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. My toes are so cold.” She giggles. I’m not sure if she did it on purpose or if it was truly an accident, but it seems to me like the kind of thing a girl would do when she’s trying to touch you without being too obvious. Now probably wouldn’t be the time to remind her that my hands were just all over her body—including her arse.
I wonder what she’s got on for bottoms.
Pants? Shorts?
Panties?
Her toes give another wiggle.
“Are you looking for an invitation to stick your feet between my legs?” I laugh.
Georgia shrugs.
I never would have guessed her for the coy type, but here she is flirting with me like a pro.
She scoots closer across the mattress in my direction—it’s a huge bed, probably a California king with plenty of room for several people—wiggling her way over until our bodies are almost pressed together.
Until I’m staring down at the reality of what she’s wearing under the covers.
Just.
A.
Pair of.
Panties.
She gives me a pair of doe eyes, looking innocently up at me at the same time she gingerly places her feet between my legs to warm them up, my body a hotbox of fire. They don’t feel all that cold to me anymore, but I’m not going to complain that she’s touching me voluntarily while wearing only a thin scrap of silk and a skimpy thong.
“Is this okay?” I swear she’s nibbling on her lower lip on purpose. What is she trying to do, seduce me?
“It’s fine—you’re good.”
“Thank you. Shouldn’t take long to warm me up.”
Her smile is innocuous enough.
Her eyes lower until they’re staring at my chest, dead center, and she raises a hand to begin tracing my clavicle with the tip of her finger. It’s so light it almost tickles.
Her palm skims down the center of my chest and over my hard pec muscle.
Over to my bicep, down the arm that is just lying at my side, her thumb pressing against the skin of my forearm as if testing its strength with touch.
If I didn’t know any better, I would think she was marveling at my skin and my body. And maybe she is. Turns out I don’t know her
as well as I thought I did because I never would have expected her to behave the way she behaved tonight—and that’s a good thing. If she’s out of her comfort zone, she’s doing a great job hiding it. I know I am.
All of this is new to me; I’ve never even had an actual girlfriend, only young ladies my parents have thrown in my direction, hoping I would fall in love with one of them and settle down and stay in England—anything they could do to keep me home. Pretty, well-bred girls.
Yes, funny girls, too.
None of them were enough to get me to stay, and none of them were good enough to get me to commit. So I never had a girlfriend.
Never had anyone I could call my own, or call when I needed to talk, or laugh, or cry—because I’ve done plenty of that too. I’m not perfect. I fuck up a lot. And wouldn’t it be nice at the end of the day to have somebody to talk to? Someone who loved me for all my flaws?
“Can I confess something to you?” she says in a quiet voice.
“Of course.”
“I love the gap between your teeth.” Her finger rises to trace my bottom lip. Pulls it down a tad to expose my teeth—I must look like I’m cringing, or a bear snarling.
“You do?” She does?
The gap is one of the things about myself that I hate, the one thing I can’t stand seeing day after day when I look in the mirror.
“Yes. I think it’s very…” Her eyes shift up to glance at me shyly, and she swallows. “Sexy.”
“It is?”
Why do I sound so dumb? I can do better than two-worded sentences, just not at the moment. Not with her finger on my mouth and her tits pressed against my chest and her body in nothing but those scraps of sexy clothes.
Georgia leans up to kiss me softly on the lips, one corner of my mouth then the other. Plants another kiss on the Adam’s apple in my neck. My jawline.
Her palms don’t stop moving, but they’re not bothering me. They’re caressing me slowly, and if my cock wasn’t growing harder by the second, I may just be able to fall asleep to her soothing hands.
“Anything else besides the gap?”
A hum comes out of her throat as she ponders. “Your eyebrows, and…I like your tattoos.”
Really? She’s never said much about them.