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.

I feel heat rising to my face, pleased by her praise. I’m not naïve; I know girls fancy the tattoos because strangers tell me that all the time. Men too. But who cares about them when I have Georgia Parker tracing them with her finger whilst we lie in bed together.

There’s hair on my chest, and she must like that too because she lowers her head and kisses my nipple. Tongue darts out, licking it. She blows until it’s hard.

Fuck.

I can’t help but be mesmerized, watching as my roommate runs her hands all over my body and licks my heart and nipple. Nuzzles my chest with the smooth skin of her cheek. She seems to really enjoy touching me and I am here for it, not wanting to move a muscle. Letting her do and touch and taste and look at whatever she wants.

It’s almost impossible not to reach out and touch her too. I can’t see her breasts, but her cleavage is mouthwatering, and I want to know what she looks like in her thong.

I kick at the blankets so they fall—at least the top half covering her upper torso—letting my eyes look their fill. Finally giving in and putting my hands on her, pulling her in. Running them down the curve of her spine to cup her butt cheeks in my giant palms.

She gives a throaty little moan. “I could eat you up.”

Whoa.

Whoa Georgia.

“I’m going to eat you up,” I vow in her ear, nipping at her lobe with a low laugh, intent to make my way down her body and between her legs.

I inch away.

Roll her so she’s on her back and in the center of the mattress, beginning the journey down her body toward the foot of the bed, noting that her legs spread of their own accord—the perfect landing spot for my face.

She is wearing a thong, as I suspected; it’s the same color as her tank top but almost entirely see-through. Where the hell has she been hiding underwear like this? In a magic drawer somewhere? What else is she hiding in that bedroom of hers? She’s barely decorated.

Georgia is already making little delighted moaning sounds of anticipation, breath hitching when my large shoulders part her thighs.

I let my finger trail down the center of her pussy, over the thin fabric of her underwear.

I wouldn’t have pegged Georgia as the kind of girl who waxes herself bare, and I’m not sure why that surprises me. Probably because I wasn’t thinking of her in a sexual way before she moved in.

Leaning forward, I cover her pussy with my mouth and let the warm breath warm her slit. She moans quietly, dark hair fanned out on the white pillow.

She’s beautiful.

She’s smart.

And she’s mine for the weekend.

If there’s one thing I’m good at other than rugby and being big and strong and brooding, it’s going down on a woman. I might not have had a lot of experience with sex and kissing and romance, but I have plenty of experience with oral. I think it’s because I never thought I was that good-looking, though women always wanted to date me—blame it on the scars and bruises on my face, or the gap between my teeth that made me feel mostly unattractive as a teenager.

So I got good at eating girls out.

My finger soon joins my mouth, hooking itself into the edge of her panties, pulling them away from her skin. Pushing them aside and causing a wonderful friction that I know is going to drive her wild.

“Oh my god…” She gasps. “That feels so good.”

Georgia raises herself up on her elbows so she can watch me put my mouth on her pussy, and she does that thing she always does when she’s excited—she bites her bottom lip. It’s a tell I’m learning about her; she does it when she’s nervous or turned on.