“A what?”

“Tea, she said, with a few friends.”

“Tea with a few…no. Absolutely not. She’s most likely going to ambush you with a hen night—probably invite Jack’s stuffy girlfriend Caroline, who you will be bored to tears of, plus she’s a raging bitch.”

Georgia’s mouth falls open. “Ashley! I can’t believe you just said that!”

“What? The part about the hen night or the part where I call Jack’s girlfriend a bitch?”

“All of it.” She laughs, and I relax. Phew, she isn’t going to be mad at me for cursing, though now that she’s pointed it out, I feel a hair guilty.

“Sorry, but—she is. Dodgy, that one, just after Jack’s last name.”

“At least she’s not the sort to get trashed out of her mind in Sin City and marry her roommate.” Georgia puts her head down on my arm and lets out a gigantic sigh. “I think going home with you would be a huge mistake.”

“Why?”

I mean—obviously, but I want to hear her reasons.

She lifts her head to look at me. “Because, your mom is going to get attached and get her hopes up, and then everyone will be disappointed when the marriage is annulled. We’re twenty-two years old, for crying out loud. This is insane.”

“Plenty of people get married in their early twenties.”

I keep forgetting the fact that Georgia and I haven’t said we love each other since the night we eloped. Drunken professions of love we’ve not repeated since.

Which…

Doesn’t bode well, does it?

But it can. My parents got married when Mum was eighteen and Dad was twenty-three, bound mostly by duty and all that malarky because of his title but also madly in love. It was a different time even though it was only a couple decades ago.

Plus, according to Dad, Mum wouldn’t put out until they were married, and he wanted to shag her.

“Did she say anything else?”

She must have—Georgia hardly got a word in edgewise.

My roomie-spouse kisses the tip of my chin. “Much of the same thing, how they want to meet me and they can’t believe we ran off without a proper wedding.” She giggles out a low laugh. “As if we were secretly dating to begin with.”

We weren’t, not even a little.

“I want to date you.”

She glances up, our faces inches apart. “You do?”

“Of course I do. I know it’s a bit late for it, but do you want to be my girlfriend?”

“Ashley…are you just saying that so I don’t feel bad for getting drunk and marrying you?”

“What? No.” What a weirdo. “No, I want to date you. Why do you think I went on that foolish trip to begin with? I was mad attracted to you—I didn’t see any other way to go about it, not with you living here.”

“You didn’t want to cross the line.”

“No, it would have been…bad form.”

“Bad form,” she deadpans before laughing. “God, you are so cute.”

“So what do you think? I can take you out tomorrow for a proper date. We can get dressed up, have dinner.”

Georgia dips her head shyly. “Okay, sure.”

“But don’t you think our first date was dinner in Vegas? That counted, yeah?”

She nods. “I would think so—the entire time we were sitting at the table, I felt like a jerk for telling the hostess we weren’t a couple even though we weren’t. It felt like I’d kicked you in the nuts or something.”

Kicked me in the nuts or something.

I laugh. “I did wonder why you kept going on about it, but whatever. It wasn’t a big deal—wasn’t a lie.”

“But still…I couldn’t stop babbling. I was so nervous.”

“So was I.”

“Were you?”

“I’m always a bit nervous around you. Can’t you tell?”

“No. No, you always seem cool—you’re not the easiest person to read. We should have played poker while were in Vegas. You might have won.”

“I’ve never played poker a day in my life.”

“Hmm. Well, we both sure do like to gamble.”

She’s being metaphorical, kissing the corner of my mouth, my bottom lip. Her hands slide over my bare waist and begin running up and down my spine.

Georgia loves touching me, and I’m here for it all day every day.

“Roll to your back,” she instructs softly, and I comply, rolling so I’m staring up at the ceiling, moving my hands so they’re behind my head.

Georgia gently trails her fingers along my sternum, tracing my collarbone—one of her favorite places to touch me. It’s gentle, like a whisper, breezing along my skin faintly.

I can tell she’s concentrating, as if trying to learn the lines and curves of my body even though she’s touched me countless times already. We always have the lights on, too, so we can see each other, vulnerable and bare and thrilling.

I’m wearing navy sleep bottoms tonight, already having discarded my t-shirt, but nothing underneath. No boxer briefs or underwear, so when her hand slips beneath the waistline of my pants, I inhale a sharp breath of anticipation.

Fuck yes.

Honestly, my thighs quake a little when she begins moving her body lower, positioning herself to suck me off, something she hasn’t done yet.

I’ve gone down on her plenty, but she’s never blown my cock.

I watch her head move lower, hands fumbling for the drawer of my bedside table; there’s lube there, and apparently she’s keen to fetch it.

Squirts plenty on her palms, giggling nervously when she makes a sticky mess, dripping some on my thigh.

God she’s adorable.

“I apologize in advance for not being a pro at this.”

“Babe, don’t.” Don’t bloody apologize. “You cannot fuck this up.”

She rolls her eyes, the unsexiest thing to do when you’re about to give someone a handy slash blow job, but it’s classic Georgia to do so.

“If you say so.”

I do say so.

Her hands encircle my dick before her mouth touches the tip, moving in a circular motion at the base.

My lips part, watching her lower her head.

Yes, yes, bloody hell YES.

Fuck yeah.

Fuck, fuck yeah.

Georgia licks the tip, humming as if she’s sucking on a sweet, sugary lollypop. I’m not a fucking moron—I know it doesn’t taste like one, but I’m willing to suspend reality for the next five to twenty minutes or so and pretend she’s enjoying it as much as I am.

Her hands work the base as her mouth devours my dick as far as her throat will let her.

She bobs up and down, in classic BJ mode for the next few seconds…up…down…up…down, a little humming inside her throat while I watch.

Then.

From out of nowhere, Georgia removes one of her hands, reaching behind her. Produces her small, pink, bean-shaped vibrator, pushing the tiny power button until it begins a low buzz whilst sucking away, not missing a beat.

“What are you doing with that?” I ask nervously.

“Shh, no talking,” she tells me.

I fall in love with her again when she places that pink, vibrating wonder behind my cock…right at the base, above my balls. It buzzes on low, sending a shockwave of pleasure through my entire bloody body.