Page 124 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions
“You doing okay?” I checked in when I was nearly done packing up the picnic. We’d eaten a lot of the things I’d gathered so it was mostly trash I had in my arms. George grumbled in reply, which I translated to mean that he was fine. Once finished, my arms full, I debated the best course of action.
I could dump the trash off and come back for George? But I wasn’t sure his legs were working properly, and the idea of leaving him alone in the dark—given his fear of it—made me uneasy. I was lucky enough he’d been so distracted tonight he’d not once brought up the snake incident again.
Maybe…I made him feel safe?
The thought was almost too much to handle.
Too close to what I wanted.
Too close to something that would cross the line from “temporary” to “permanent.”
I shoved it away quickly, terrified of its implication.
Think, Alex. Think.
What to do…what to— Oh.
Perfect.
“Alright.” Plan decided, I knelt beside him. “I’m gonna need you to be in charge of carrying the trash.” George responded with an affronted look. I laughed. “Because I’m going to carryyou.”
“I don’t need you to carry me,” he huffed, speaking for the first time since I’d had his dick down my throat. His voice was hoarse, his vulnerability evident in every rusty syllable. He was eyeing me warily—like he thought that now that I’d had him, I’d lose interest.
Ha.
Yeah right.
“Of course you don’t. But I’m going to do it anyway.” I grinned. George was too tired to protest again. Or maybe he didn’t mind being babied as much as he let on. Because soon enough the blanket was off of his shoulders and rolled up neatly in his grip along with an arm full of trash. “Cutest little raccoon I ever saw,” I cooed, enjoying the way he growled at me as I looped an arm around his back, and one beneath his knees, and hefted him up.
Trekking down a somewhat steep hill with a fully grown man in a bridal carry was easier said than done. I was glad for all my training in the gym as I was pretty damn sure if I’d been at any less than peak physical health, George and I would’ve ended up on our asses at the bottom.
We didn’t though.
Miraculously.
I didn’t want to lose my “cool guy” persona just yet.
The closer we got to the cabins, the more George stiffened up. He glanced this way and that—as though nervous we were going to get caught. Which was hilarious, given the fact that he’d been far less concerned when he’d had his pants open and his cock out. Apparently, getting caught being cuddled was exponentially worse than being caught having sex in George-Arthur-Milton-Land.
Damn he was adorable.
Seriously so fucking adorable.
Do not bite him, Alex.
My stomach gurgled so I made a detour toward the main cabin to drop off the trash and grab a snack. Sex always made me hungry, and carrying George certainly didn’t help. By the time we entered the empty kitchen, George was wriggling and struggling in my grip, so I set him down. Not because my arms were burning or anything, of course.
“I could hear your stomach growling the entire walk,” he huffed, mother-henning me again as he stomped to the fridge and began pulling out a handful of items.
“Sex makes me hungry,” I replied, and George glared at me.
“Of course it does.Youdidn’t eat anything.”
I’d eaten plenty of snacks. What did he mean?—
Oh.
Oh. Naughty, naughty Georgie.
