This is not about her, this is not about her, this is not about her.

Except it’s Georgia I see when my eyes slide closed, hair down, shy smile on her lips the night she walked up to me at the rugby house. Behind my closed lids, she’s only wearing a sports bra, tits pushed up, skin tan from all the running she does outside.

Her lips are pink.

No, no, no—her lips are not pink!

They’re…they’re…

Chapped.

Beige. Plain.

Nothing plump or sexy about them.

You bloody liar.

There’s absolutely nothing I can tell myself at the moment to get my mind off of my roommate, who is no doubt fast asleep or snuggled in bed just down the hall, oblivious to my lecherous thoughts of her.

This dick will not go down without a fight.

I feel like such a creep.

I feel like such a fraud.

I feel like I’m letting her down thinking of her this way, in the least friendly way a man can think of a woman. Out of the friend zone, out of the roommate zone, and into my bed.

I would never cross the line.

Never.

But I can close my eyes again and lose myself in the daydream…one where she’s walking through my bedroom door, slowly moving toward the bed, pulling that baggy red t-shirt up over her head and tossing it to the ground.

Nothing wrong with that, is there?

“I thought I heard you say my name,” Georgie is saying, parting her lips as she comes closer, hips swaying—even wrapped in those ridiculous gray sweatpants, her body is gorgeous.

Every delicate curve.

Every feminine, toned line.

“Did you need me for something?” she asks, glancing back at me over her shoulder, facing the door whilst she shimmies, arse out, bending at the waist to push those ugly gray sweats down over her hips.

I watch, lips parted, cock throbbing in my lap.

Hand leisurely stroking as she puts on a deliberate show before me, standing in a thong and that sheer bra I found stuck to my pants in the laundry room, dark nipples flirting with me—making me harder.

Her arse wiggles.

I yearn to smack it.

It looks smooth, but I won’t know until she gets it over here whether or not she’s shaved—not until I can caress it, palm itching to run the length of her flesh.

Damn she’s pretty.

So strong and confident.

“What are you doing under those blankets?” she teases in a soft voice, walking over, bra and panties magically on the floor.

Her breasts aren’t big, but they sway, my eyes lowering to the place between her thighs.

“Naughty boy…have you been having dirty thoughts about me?”

Georgia climbs on top of the mattress, arse in the air, sliding her hand along my stomach…down over my pelvis…until she’s gripping my shaft, dragging that hand up and down slowly. Painfully slow.

Up and down.

Down then up.

I tilt my head back as she strokes, my eyes still closed, mouth falling open from the pleasure.

“Oh fuck, Georgia.”

Yeah, just like that—stroke it, baby.

Harder.

I’m biting down on my lower lip, teeth gnashing, wanting to thrash my hips to make myself come quicker, the stroking barely enough to satisfy me.

Frustrates me more.

Wanting to be inside.

Her face.

Her body.

Her long, delicate fingers wrapped around my girth.

“I want this in my mouth,” she whimpers, lowering her head—hair in the way, obstructing the most perfect view God ever created: the sight of her glorious lips about to suck my dick.

“Suck it,” I whisper, spellbound by the sight. Reach for her hair, gathering the silky tresses in my hands so I can watch. “You’re so sexy, baby.” I croon the encouraging words over and over. “So sexy.”

“God I love your dick, it tastes so good. Mmm, it’s all I want,” she moans, slurping like it’s a popsicle and I’m her favorite flavor.

Only in a man’s fantasies is a woman insatiable for his cock—it’s one dream I never want to wake from.

I move my hands behind my head, resting back so I can watch her do all the work. Watch as her head bobs up and down on my cock, deep-throating it without choking like a true champion.

It’s wet, warm, and intoxicating.

“Oh fuck, Georgia.” The groan escapes my throat.

I want to take my hand and place it on the back of her head for encouragement, but she barely needs it.

“Yeah…yeah…” Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.

Brown hair.

Blue eyes.

The pert little nose with its smattering of freckles.

I fucking love freckles, each and every last one of them.

“Oh fuck, Georgia.”

Yeah Georgia…fuck me.

Georgia

“Oh fuck, Georgia.”

My eyes fly open at the sound of my name—I’m not asleep but a lil’ bit out of it, so at first I thought I was imagining it.

I tilt my head, listening hard, straining to hear it again.

Not a whisper.

Not a muffled tone.

Definitely louder than it was the first time I thought I heard it.

Surely I’m not dreaming it; I’m wide awake.

Aren’t I?

Perhaps I am losing my mind? Even I can admit I haven’t been the same since I transferred here, and this is a new house I’m living in. Could it be haunted? That would explain the noises.

The voices.

“Georgie, fuck…oh fuck…”

Hold up—that’s definitely my name. But why would a ghost be mumbling my name? I’ve only lived here a few days—hardly enough time for one to take a liking to me, yeah?

I chuckle at the absurdity of my thoughts, pushing them aside.

“Georgie, fuck.”

I sit up in bed, the sounds coming from the next bedroom through the wall. Have to be.

Which means…

Is…

Is Ashley moaning my name?

He can’t be. There is no freaking way.

None.

Impossible.

I sit paralyzed, silent—not moving a muscle, so stunned at the thought that I hold my breath, barely breathing.

Why would he be saying my name? What possible reason?

Is he in distress?

What if…

What if something is wrong?

I throw back my covers and slide out of bed, tiptoeing across the carpet like a cat as if he’d be able to hear me, creeping to the door and cringing as I turn the door handle.

It creaks.

Shh, quiet!

Quietly, Georgia! Stealth-like.

I peek my head out slowly to find his door closed.

Cock my head and give another listen.

There it is again.

My name.

I am not imagining this—but come on, what on earth is going on in his room!? The moaning cannot be normal, can it? Is he having a freaking nightmare already? We only just came up to bed an hour ago after watching that movie!

It sounds like a softcore porn is being filmed in his bedroom, and there’s no doubt he’s jerking off based on the sounds he’s making while visualizing—

I gasp.

Oh my god.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no.

He’s not.

He can’t be.

Heart racing, I step back inside my room, shutting the door as quietly as I can with how horrified I am, throwing myself back onto the bed and lying on my back.