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I’m a woman on a mission.
Once I find the clippers and scissors exactly where Finn said they’d be, I head back into the kitchen to find Ronan and Finn sitting in the den with drinks in their hand, Finn looking more than amused with the situation that’s about to unfold while Ronan looks, well, I can’t quite put my finger on it.
Worried.
Annoyed.
Sexually frustrated.
Slightly amused.
Pick one.
But the fact that neither of them are trying to stop me, while Mac is still completely oblivious, means that they trust me. As much as it grinds on Ronan’s nerves, he trusts me to know I’m healing. That I’m ready. And I think they know, much like I do, that Mac is the perfect one to test the waters with. He’s both gentle and assertive in all the right ways. His soft touches and whispered praise are what I need.
I also don’t miss the fact that, while they could have easily slipped away toward their rooms, they decided to stay out here and watch. I’m sure to both watch the show and make sure I’m okay. Not that I mind. The thought of them watching only spurs me on further.
Mac’s sitting on a stool with his shirt off as instructed. Stopping in front of him, I let my eyes roam over his naked torso. I lick my lips as my eyes trace over each of his tattoos until I find the dark trail of hair that disappears into his low-hanging jeans with the button undone, making it perfectly clear that, as usual, he has no briefs on.
This man sitting shirtless in a kitchen, barefoot and in unbuttoned jeans, black nose ring shining in the light, with his steel blue eyes burrowing into my skin is every woman’s fantasy, and I’m the lucky bitch that gets to have him.
“You gonna stand there and eye-fuck me all day, or you going to cut my hair?”
“I honestly can’t decide.”
I set everything out on the counter and start cleaning up the edges around his hairline, ensuring that I run my fingers over his shoulders and back every so often. Every time my skin touches his, I watch as his entire body stiffens, knowing good and well it’s not because he’s uncomfortable.
After using a longer guard on the clippers to do the backs and sides of his head, I set them down on the counter. Grabbing the scissors next, I move to stand in front of him. Mac shifts in his seat, and I look down to see a very prominent bulge underneath the crotch of his jeans. Curling my lips in, trying not to make my smile obvious, I start combing his black hair forward so I have a better idea of how much I need to cut off.
As I bring the scissors toward his head to make the first cut, he stops me. “You know what you’re doing, right? I mean, I know I go for the whole messy and undone look, but I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t fuck up my hair.”
“Honey, I’ve been trimming my own hair for years. I know what I’m doing.” I don’t mention the fact that my idea of trimming my hair is snipping off the ends of a stray curl that doesn’t lay right, but that’s neither here nor there.
He inhales a ragged breath as I listen to Finn and Ronan chuckle from their spots in the den, the ice in their drinks rattling against the glass.
As I start making headway on Mac’s hair, easily cutting a good inch off, I move toward the crown of his head. However, instead of walking behind him, I pat the tops of his knees, signaling for him to move his feet from the bar on the bottom of the chair onto the floor, “Feet down, please.”
Doing as he’s told, I’m able to scoot closer and straddle one of his thighs with both my feet still firmly on the ground, but bringing my panty-covered pussy right against the top of his thigh. I can feel his hot breath against my neck as I look over the top of his head and begin cutting the hair at the crown. Every so often, I shift my weight from one foot to the other, rubbing myself against his jeans.
After only a couple of minutes, I feel his large palms wrap around the backs of my thighs. Pretending I don’t notice them, I finish up the top of his head. As I move to take a step back to work on his bangs, his hands grip me harder, holding me steady right where I’m at. Giggling softly, I sit myself down on his thigh so I can lean back and take a look. As I begin clipping away at his bangs with the scissors, I watch as some of the hair falls onto his cheek. Leaning forward, I softly blow the hair out of his face. His whole body shivers beneath me.
“You okay?”
“Yep, fine. Just tickled.”
When I’m almost finished with his bangs, I feel his hands move slowly from their spot on my thighs, past my cotton underwear, and under my shirt before reaching my waist. He grips me tightly, sending a rush of heat straight to my core, causing me to grind myself against his leg. Just as I finish with the last strand of hair, his right hand moves up even further, brushing against the underside of my breast. My breath stills as he swipes his thumb over my nipple. “Mac . . .” his name is nothing more than a prayer on my lips.
His thumb brushes against my nipple again, and I grind even harder against him, surely causing a wet spot on his jeans. A deep rumble sounds from his chest before his hand slides out from my shirt and grabs my leg, pulling it from between his and around the other side of him. Dropping the scissors and comb onto the floor behind him, I plant both hands on his shoulders. His skin burning beneath my touch.
Now that I’m straddling him, I can feel just how hard he is beneath his jeans. He wants this just as bad as I do, and damn it if I’m not going to get it.
I need this.
I need this to feel whole again.
I need this to heal a piece of me.
The piece that wants nothing more than to have the men she loves love her back with everything they have.
