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There were lines I couldn’t cross without him crossing first.

I’d rather not get lumped in with Brendon. Just thinking about him made me want to pummel something. His face preferably.

Climbing into my sleeping bag, heater turned on low, I twisted to watch George get ready.

His hair was still damp, curling across his forehead in slightly darker than usual blond clumps. He pushed it back in frustration. Bent over his sleeping bag so he could double-check that no creepy-crawlies had climbed in while we’d been helping everyone set up, the locks kept falling into his eyes.

“Everything okay?” I asked, only for him to level me with a glare.

“Stop asking.”

Yikes.

Best leave him alone then. Though, that felt…really impossible.

It was going to be difficult to sleep knowing he was uncomfortable next to me. Eventually, after fifteen minutes of him fussing, George finally lay down. He pulled the sleeping bag up to his chin, closed his eyes, and feigned sleep—like he could fall unconscious through strength of will.

So adorable.

Fuck .

Even though I desperately desired to climb on top of him and lace kisses along the scratchy corner of his jaw, I didn’t. I’d bet anything the stubble that’d formed would be gone in the morning. Which was…such a shame, really.

“Let’s get some rest,” I said, because I wanted to hear him talk again, and I wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I can’t.”

“You…can’t?” I frowned up at the dark ceiling before remembering—like an idiot—the lamp his mother had given me. I was quick to rise, hunting for it, and flicking it on. With it in the back corner of the tent, its soft, unobtrusive glow was enough to chase away the shadows.

“Better?” I confirmed, climbing back into bed.

“I hate that she told you about that,” George muttered to himself. Deliberately, he shuffled around so his back faced me, obviously embarrassed.

“I’m glad she did.”

“You’re probably making fun of me in your head.” He countered grumpily, his shoulders tense, the hair at his nape slightly more dry than the longer waves up top.

“I can promise you I’m not.”

George didn’t speak again. Not even to complain about his sleeping bag, or the cold, hard ground, or the fact that his pillow was flatter than a pancake and covered in water damage.

“Here.” I tossed him one of mine. It hit his back, and he made the angriest little noise in the world, snatching it up and launching it right back at me.

“Baby, it’s for your neck.” The pet name slipped out before I could stop it. It was no surprise George didn’t catch it, though. Instead, he assumed I was making fun of him.

“I told you not to baby me,” he snapped.

“That isn’t what I’m doing and you know it.” Damn, he was stubborn.

There was just…something about George that made me want to treat him right, even if he was resistant to such care. So I chucked the pillow at him again, harder this time. He caught the pillow before it hit him in the face. “Throw this at me one more time and I’m going to strangle you in your sleep,” he hissed.

“You know, you throw that threat around a lot,” I hummed. George made an annoyed sound. “I’m starting to think without a pen to stab with, you’re all talk.”

“Alex.” The way he said my name sent another fizzle between my legs.

Softening my tone, I wiggled like a giant caterpillar to the edge of my mattress so that we were only a few inches away from one another. “I can’t rest if I know you’re down there stiff and uncomfortable.”

George’s long, elegant fingers strangled my pillow, like he was imagining it was my neck.

“ Please ?” My voice dipped silky low. Woah. I don’t think I’d ever begged. Especially not for something as silly as this. “Take the pillow. Get some real rest. You’d be doing me a favor.”

He deflated, clutching the pillow tight and nodding. And then, like a grouchy cat, he beat it into submission beneath his head. When he’d decided it was abused enough, he turned on his side away from me, and settled down for the night again.

This time, he was far less stiff.

“Thanks,” he said, voice quiet. Quiet enough that I wasn’t sure he’d meant for me to hear at all. “For the pillow. And for…you know, earlier.”

I hadn’t expected gratitude. My heart tripped as I stared at his back, hands sweaty. I felt as off-kilter as I had the night before when I’d lain awake, desperate to figure out how I could get on his good side. “You’re welcome. ”

Listening to his breathing made me relax. Despite myself, I dozed, the steady puff of George’s breath soothing me. It’d been a long time since I slept beside someone else. Hook-ups were gone when the deed was done. It was a line I’d set for myself, so I’d never get my hopes up.

This was…nice.

So close to what I wanted, even if it wasn’t.

Some time later, I was startled awake by the brush of cold fingers against my shoulder. The muted whirr of the space heater buzzed in the background. Outside the tent, crickets chirped, and the wind whistled through the trees on the edge of the property. Above, the mesh panel showed the stars above.

It took me a moment to figure out what was happening, groggy as I was.

“Alex?” George’s voice was tight, trembling.

“Hmm?” I twisted to face him, blinking the sleep away from my eyes. George’s silhouette in the dark was illuminated by the faint orange glow of his night light. My eyes were gritty, but I forced them open with a grunt.

“I think I felt something inside my…um…my sleeping bag.” George sounded scared. I sobered. My brow furrowed. Immediately, I unzipped my sleeping bag enough that I could sit up. George hovered over my mattress.

“ Something as in…?”

“Maybe…” George’s voice was small, his bottom lip wobbling. “A bug? Or…”

Jesus .

He was adorable when he was freaked out. I was a very bad person for thinking that. Being self-aware didn’t make it better. But I couldn’t help the way I reacted to him. I ached to fix whatever was causing his current expression.

“Will you walk with me to the cabins? I think I’ll sleep there. Maybe on the floor?” George sounded defeated. Mortified. Like the last thing he wanted was to appear weak in front of his family.

I latched on to his wrist, surprised by how cold his skin was. Jesus . How long had he been sitting on top of his sleeping bag before he’d decided to wake me and ask for help?

This wasn’t like him.

The shivering man beside me was vulnerable.

Small.

The same man who’d frozen up after reading a text from his ex.

“Alex?” George frowned, clearly confused by my lack of answer. I gave his wrist another squeeze then gently tugged him toward me.

“Get in.”

“ What ?” he squawked, but didn’t fight very hard as I grasped his hip with my other hand.

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” I hissed as the cold night air nipped at my fingers, the skin on his hip just as chilly as his fingers and wrist had been.

“What are you doing—” George’s voice was high-pitched as I yanked him where I wanted him. He tumbled onto my mattress with a startled huff. Quickly, I unzipped my sleeping bag the rest of the way. When it was open, I grabbed his slim waist and hauled him inside it.

“There,” I hummed, pleased. “Better?”

George was a block of ice beside me. Slowly, he nodded, eyeing me warily like he wasn’t sure what to expect. This way he wouldn’t have to feel vulnerable in front of anyone but me—a thought I liked, maybe too much.

Half-asleep, I felt like a caveman.

Possessive over him, especially in his rawest form.

Once he was settled, I reached around him to zip us inside. He was shivering. I ignored my own discomfort, pressing so close to his chilly body, that I knew he’d warm up in no time. I arranged his limbs, his back to my chest, allowing him to keep his facial expressions private.

My bare pecs brushed the soft cotton of his t-shirt—I wasn’t even sure when I’d discarded mine—and my nose tickled the fuzzy strands of hair above his ears. I wanted to nibble on them—badly—but I managed not to through sheer force of will. An impressive feat, considering I was still in caveman mode.

“Get some rest,” I said for the second time that night. “I’ve got you, Georgie.”

To my surprise, George didn’t protest. He stayed stiff as a board though, and I respected him enough to not cross that distance, even though the chill of his body against my chest made me want to rub some heat into him—in more ways than one, if you get what I mean.

This time, George was the one who fell asleep first.

Exhausted by his own nerves, George’s body succumbed to sleep. His shivers settled. I made a mental note to crank up the temp on the heater the next night.

Like this, two peas in one pod, the scent of George’s shampoo was even stronger. Fruity and as sharp as he was. Sweet, too. I shifted to get comfortable, very aware of the sleeping man cushioning my chest—and my uncomfortably hard cock that I was doing my damndest not to touch him with. Apologizing to my balls—which were about to become blue—I reached into the tight space between our bodies to grind the heel of my palm against my aching dick.

It didn’t help. Unfortunately.

I just wanted George more.

Wanted to press my hips into his ass, catch my cock between his cheeks, grinding till his pajamas were sticky with sweat and cum and that pretty hole was clenching.

I wouldn’t do that.

Of course not.

Not without his consent.

I refused to hurt George again.

I wanted to protect him.

The glimpses I’d seen of how…skittish he could be only made that desire mo re prevalent. I had the feeling that his ex had been more than “hard” to deal with. Made me so fucking angry. But I pushed the thoughts aside, doing my best to get back to sleep given the current circumstances.

Eventually, I did manage to pass out. Unfortunately for me—maybe karma? I don’t know—my dreams were plagued with slick tongues and eager red cocks. With tight, wet little holes, and chin dimples. And sticky white streaks of cum. When I woke the next morning I discovered my hard dick pressed against the swell of George’s supple ass.

Mortified? Guilty? Yes.

Surprised? No.

Fuck.

George made the sweetest noise as his hips hitched back into mine. As I stayed impossibly still, frozen, George’s ass cheeks parted, and my cock slid right where it’d so desperately wanted to go the night before. It was a practiced movement. Like in his sleep he’d already done this exact motion countless times. Judging by how sticky my boxers were, it could’ve been going on for ages.

George pushed his pelvis back again, seeking friction. I could hardly breathe, terrified of moving now that my dick was effectively trapped, held hostage. His body was inviting me to rut into the tight, hot space—but it was simply that, his body. Not him. Despite wanting nothing more than to lose myself against him, I practiced self-control.

Yay for me.

Pulling my hips back so he couldn't reach, my dick pulsed in mourning.

The last thing I was going to do was betray his trust. Especially after he’d come to me for comfort the night before.

“George.” My voice was lower than normal, scratchy from a combination of sleep and arousal.

George stirred, his long limbs stretching, his body loose and soft as his slutty ass shuffled back, hunting for my dick again. I had to grab on to his hip to stop him. Which ended up being a mistake, because his t-shirt had ridden up, and he was so fucking warm, all naked, soft skin. And my pelvis twitched forward of its own accord, a primal need to fuck rising to the surface.

“ George ,” I repeated, strained. My hand spasmed on his hip, and he frowned.

When his eyes drifted open, all that sleepy relaxation fled. His cheeks blazed a ruddy, splotchy red. He glared at me, the sweet, scared man from the night before gone with the last dregs of indigo sky.

Horror dawned on him, his eyes widening the moment he realized he’d been the one grinding on me.

“I didn’t—” I started again, unsure what I wanted to say. “I wouldn’t . I stopped you. Not because I don’t want to but because I—George, it’s okay. It happens—it’s?—”

George was unzipping the sleeping bag before I could blink, or finish my sentence. His gorgeous ass was right in my face, sticky patch from my precum on the back of his shorts, as he crawled toward the tent flap. I groaned, salivating after him, before I shook my head to force my brain back on track.

“Wait, wait—it’s okay—don’t be embarrassed!” I attempted to reassure.

George ignored me, shoving his feet inside his sneakers as quickly as he could. He had nice feet. Bigger than you’d expect, lovely arches. Strong but delicate, even in the slutty knee-high white socks he apparently favored. God, what a nerd.

Sexy nerd.

Who could make a mean steak and loved LOTR .

“George, wait!” I tried one last time to no avail.

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.