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Because of the shaving, obviously.
“Um, how do you want to…?”
I have to bite back a moan when he once again picks me up and sets me on the counter. Then he steps between my legs. I’ll still have to look up at him, but the height difference is definitely doing it for me.
“That’s the second time you’ve done that.”
“Say the word and I’ll stop.”
That’s the last thing I want.
Having his hands on me, moving me where he wants me to be… it’s intoxicating. I’m already addicted. I need it all the time.
Don’t stop, I want to tell him.Put me wherever you want.
It would be easy to lose myself in the strength of him. To sink into daydreams of being gripped tight and kissed breathless. My want fills the space between us, a tricky little thing that whispers in my ear.Close the distance. Wrap myself around him.
When he doesn’t move, I grasp his wrist, pulling himbetween my thighs, not missing the way his eyes flare with want as he steps between them.
Taking the trimmer from his hand, I examine it with a mix of trepidation and excitement. Sebastian probably won’t mind if I get it wrong. I could shave the whole thing off, and he’d probably smile and say he was due for a change anyway.
But I don’t want to do anything wrong. I like how much pride he takes in his appearance. And the faith he’s showing by asking me, even if I have no idea where it comes from.
“How do I…?”
He closes his hand around mine, tipping his chin up and guiding the trimmer into place, still off. “Start here, and follow this line,” he shows me, the trimmer skating over the hair, mimicking short cuts across. “Stop at the center, and then you can match the other side.”
I’m listening, paying extremely close attention, but he’s so close, smells so good, like sweat and his cologne and heat. Then my heart damn near stops when he lets go of my hand to strip off his shirt.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
The tattoos. How the hell did I forget about the tattoos?
A large set of wings hugs both shoulders, the rest hidden from my view where it covers his broad back. On the left, there’s a fierce and steady sun rising after a storm, the clouds and waves curling down his arm in strong, artful strokes down to his wrist. On the right is a collage of pieces, starting with a bright blue 222 that stands out above a clock set to four thirty. The meaning of both takes up residence in my mind, but I don’t ask. Below is awatercolor dove, a shooting star aiming for the Captain America shield, and a sword down the length of his inner forearm. The spot where I drew our house is bare, but I can still picture it. I’m itching to trace the lines with my fingers, press them into the warmth of his skin.
“I wouldn’t want it to get dirty,” he says, but now he’s shirtless and there’s no protection from the heat radiating off him. I’ve often equated writer’s block to a fallen tree on a road—you can see where you want to go, but you need to clear the problem before you can get there.
Sebastian, shirtless between my thighs, is the equivalent of someone nuking the road.
I might be dead, or I might be dreaming. Either way, I’m sure glad to be here.
I tighten my grip on the trimmer. “You really trust me to do this?”
Every breath he takes brushes against my thighs, and my body is on a tripwire.
“Absolutely.”
Well, that’s weird, and maybe the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me. Which goes to show how shitty my dating history has been.
I follow his instructions, taking my time and slowly gaining confidence. Occasionally, I see his gaze shift to the mirror behind me, checking my progress, but he only corrects me once, gently shifting my hand to where it needs to be.
More often, his eyes are on me, and the few times I brave a look up, our eyes connect, and I’m reminded of my birthday last year, when I paid to get strapped to someone’s chest and flung out of a plane.
Skydiving hasnothingon Sebastian, though. If my heart beats any faster, it’s going to crash through my chest.
“Do you miss it? Dancing?”
“Sometimes. It wasn’t without its bad nights, but every time I performed, it was a thrill. Being able to move my body in a way that affected people, to draw something raw out of them, give them the fantasy, make their greatest desires come to life.” He pauses to lick his lips, and I have to swallow. My desire has no hope of dying out after this. “It was a rush.”
