Page 23 of Christmas Spirit
Roland slung open the wardrobe door.
“I told you, I’ve looked,” Georgie said, irritation rushing through him that Roland didn’t seem to believe he was capable of looking for a spare blanket. “See? There’s nothing.”
Roland huffed as he turned around. “ThenI’llgo and find Nicholas.”
“Good luck with that. Take a look outside, it’s pitch black.”
Georgie watched as Roland did exactly what he’d done a few minutes before, his lips lifting in a satisfiedI told you sosmile when Roland stepped back in and closed the door.
“Then there’s only one thing for it. We’re going to have to share.”
“What?”
Share a bed? With Roland? Roland who was his boss, Roland who was looking more than a bit tasty in a pair of tight boxers…
“…plenty of pillows. We can put a couple down the middle. The bed’s more than big enough to accommodate the two of us.”
“No. Really, I can—”
“All right.” Roland threw up his arms. “Do what you like. I’m too tired to argue.” He climbed into bed, pulled up the duvet, the very soft, plump, warm looking duvet, and turned on his side, away from Georgie. “When you’ve sorted yourself out, blow out the candles. Goodnight.”
Georgie looked from the bed to the chair and back again. It was tempting. It was very tempting, but… No. He’d do what he said he would, and sleep in the chair.
Grabbing some towels from the bathroom to use as makeshift blankets, Georgie blew out the candles, leaving the only light in the room to come from the dying flames of the fire. The room was warm, and he discarded the idea of putting on his coat. Instead, he stripped down to his underwear, leaving on his T-shirt, and settled into the chair which creaked under his weight.
Shifting and fidgeting, he tried to find the best position. The chair hadn’t exactly been plush when he’d sat in it earlier, and scoffed down most of the afternoon tea, but it hadn’t been this hard, had it? He glanced over at the bed, where Roland was an indistinct hump in the darkness, the bed that had more than enough room for two.
Georgie slung the towels to the floor. The carpetless, rugless, flagstoned floor had to be more comfortable than the chair. A pile of rubble had to be more comfortable.
No, he was wrong. A pile of rubble would have been the better option, and warmer. The heat had leeched from the room, and he began to shiver. He’d get dressed again, and this time he would put on his—
“For Christ’s sake, you’re making enough noise to wake the dead. Get into bed, so then at least we can both get some sleep.”
Georgie didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped under the duvet, hardly daring to breathe as he clung to his side of the bed. A bed he was sharing with Roland Fletcher Jones. A Roland Fletcher Jones who, stripped down to his underwear, was more than a little mouthwatering.
Stop it!
Roland was his boss. His uptight jerk of a boss. Or an uptight jerk most of the time. Next to him, Roland’s breathing had settled into a deep and even rhythm. He was asleep, and as Georgie closed his eyes, he quickly tumbled after him.
Chapter Thirteen
Roland woke with a start. His heart hammered hard against his ribcage, his breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps, his skin damp and sweat-slicked. The duvet lay in a heap on the floor. He was naked. And hard, his dick long and thick, and thrusting upwards like a rod.
Next to him, Georgie lay sprawled out, on his stomach, hugging a pillow, his arse — his naked arse — smooth and round under the flickering light of… the candles. The candles Georgie had snuffed before his aborted attempt to sleep in the chair.
What in hell was going on?
Roland took a deep breath, then another, and another.
He was dreaming, that’s what it was. If he could tell himself that, it meant it had to be true. The alarm would go off soon, dragging him into the real world where this would disappear like vapour. He rubbed his hands down his face. A dream, brought about by rich food and drink, and the odd circumstances he was in, all heaped on top of long, long hours of overwork for months on end. And of having a man in his bed, when there had been no man for so damn long.
Next to him, Georgie shifted and muttered before resettling.
Roland stared at his smooth back, hollowing at the base before following the round contours of his arse. An arse Roland had nibbled and sucked, an arse he’d prised apart to reveal a pink and inviting pucker, an arse he had licked and sucked, his tongue pushing forward, breaching muscle…
Oh God. Roland swallowed hard as he lay staring at Georgie, as the images cascaded down on him, each one falling faster than the one before.
Georgie, on his hands and knees, looking at him from over his shoulder, urging him on, pleading with him…
