Page 75 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

Without a single word, George disappeared out of the tent flap and into the crisp morning air. He left the door open, and I groaned, palm sliding down my face. I’d royally fucked that up.

He’d looked embarrassed.

Probably because he’d made such a point to tell me that he was not having sex with me—and yet, he’d been the one all up on my?—

Stop thinking about that.

Or you will cum like a teenager right in your goddamn pants.

I was in no place to judge.

All night I’d been dreaming of how tight his little hole would cling to my crown as I drilled into him. The sugar plum fairy had graced me with visions of breeding his mouth, his ass, his hand—any part of him I could stick my dick into.

My thoughts were far from innocent.

I wasn’t mad at him for touching me. He’d been unconscious for god’s sake. I grunted, rising to my knees and crawling over George’s abandoned sleeping bag to watch him go. Through the gap in the fabric I could see him striding confidently across the meadow toward the main cabin where we’d had dinner the night before.

Aside from the barely perceptible mark I’d left on his ass, there was no sign that he’d been grinding on me all morning.

Left reeling, and alone, with my dick pointing right at him, I had no choice but to retreat to my sleeping bag till my cock went down. I’d never been the kind of man who overthought. But I found myself doing so now, replaying the previous night—and this morning—over and over and over to try and figure out how I could have done things better.

Maybe I should’ve grabbed him? Forced him to listen to my reassurances?

No.

That would’ve been rude.

Turning onto my back with a sigh, I reached up to scrub my hand over my face again.

When George thought of touching me I didn’t want him to feel shame.

“Fuck.” No matter how I played it, I couldn’t think of something I could’ve done different. I’d just have to talk to him later, when he wasn’t surrounded by his family or mine.

I tipped my head toward the still-open tent flap and my dick gave an overeager throb. When it stopped misbehaving, I got dressed in silence.I didn’t search for George, opting to skip breakfast to give him space as I headed off to find my sister.

With the morning sun came the promise of a new day, and I couldn’t wait to see what it would bring with it. June was in her cabin, unsurprisingly. She was catching up on the book we were buddy reading—as she’d been six chapters behind me—with a plate of food that Mrs. M had apparently gone out of her way to deliver.

“Oh my god,finally,” she said when I entered. And then, “What’s gotten into you?” I stabbed her waffle, stealing a single, solitary bite before she beat me away with a growl. “Go find your own fucking food, gargantuan.”

“Stingy,” I sniffed, resolving myself to go hungry on the hike later today. I hadn’t been sure I was going. Not until I realized it was the last place George would be—and I figured he could use the extra space. “I thought hobbits were supposed to be generous.”

“My wedding, my waffles.” June wagged her fork at me, ignoring the hobbit comment. “Now, fill me in. Mama needs her daily dose of drama.”

I rolled my eyes.

I kept a lot of details out. Namely things I felt were too private to share or would embarrass George. And by the time I’d finished talking, June’s smile had grown from happy to something so gleeful she belonged in a horror movie.

More attempted breakfast theft was dealt with by threats of death. June’s mood had certainly improved now that we were out in the woods. None of her earlier moroseness remained, like a switch had been flipped, and only mania could exist during the middle of her wedding festivities.

She didn’t talk about postponing again.

I was grateful.

And as I pushed aside the events from that morning, fending off bridesmaids and their handsy hands, I did my best not to dwell too hard on the fact that I’d swiftly moved from “not looking for a relationship” territory to “desperate for Georgie” in less than a day.

Of course, because everything was just fuckingfantastic, when I arrived to help with breakfast at the main lodge shit hit the fan. Not immediately, though. First, I served plates of food to children—strange ones and familiar ones—and plopped heaps of reheated pancakes on massive, hairy adult men’s trays. All the while pretending like I hadn’t woken up actively molesting Alex’s dick.

It was hard to forget that last tidbit.

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