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But his skill at observation made up for his lack of conversation.
Chelle’s mouth tightened as she rolled her lips under when her daughters both began to sob. Her fingers flexed like she wanted to hold them, which she probably did, but she waited.
She let her girls have the time they needed to say goodbye to their pet.
A member of their family. That was what all their customers said. Their cat or dog or parakeet was a member of their family. Their child.
Their pets were treated better than a lot of children.
When their pets suffered, they could make a decision to end it. Most children who suffered didn’t get that choice.
They had to bear it. Live with it. Let it shape them and their future.
He didn’t know how long he stood there. Frozen in time. Watching. Observing the woman standing not ten feet from him.
Eventually she lifted her gaze from the activity on the floor to him. She quickly hid her confused expression but didn’t look away.
No.
She fucking held his gaze. Strong. Brave. Unwavering.
Something about her soothed his soul. Made his thoughts calm and clearer.
He couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to.
It wasn’t only the big expressive eyes with the thick black lashes that held intelligence, it was the length and shape of her nose. The curve and thickness of her lips. The shape of her eyebrows. The color of her hair. The way it fell loosely around her shoulders but looked a bit disheveled. Like she’d been running her fingers through it out of habit. Or out of worry.
Her hair fell just past her shoulders but wasn’t as long as his. Hers was straight for the most part while his was curly, went past his shoulders and fell down his back when he didn’t have it pulled up. He put it up when he needed to keep it under control and out of his face. Like when he rode his sled. Or when he was working.
But he’d always kept it long. It began to grow out of control after that day in the mall parking lot. No one ever cut it. Not one of them. They let it go. They loved the length. The curls. The way they could manipulate his head by using his hair. The way they could use it as a leash. The way they could use it to dole out pain and, on a rare occasion, pleasure.
At seventeen he had it shorn down to the scalp, so no one could control him with his hair again. But he hated it. He felt too exposed without hair. He immediately let it grow again until it felt comfortable. Until he went back to feeling like himself.
Or at least, who he thought he was.
By growing it back out, he took that control back. Not letting them rule his life in any way. If he wanted it long, he would keep it long. No one else would dictate the length.
Fuck them all.
Even though he preferred it long, he never wanted anyone touching it.
Never again.
Angel, one of the sweet butts, tried to touch it one night and he almost broke her wrist. He didn’t realize how tightly he had a hold of her until she began to cry.
Sig wasn’t happy that he’d left a bruise on one of the sweet butts when she hadn’t asked for it. The VP said that if Shade needed to create bruises to get off to find a woman who was willing to take them.
That wasn’t what it was about, but he didn’t bother to explain it to Sig. Shade let it go. So did Angel, but she never tried to touch his hair again.
For some unexplainable reason, he wanted the woman standing before him to touch it. To run her fingers through it.
He wanted to see his loose curls against her tits when he sucked them. Against her thighs when he touched her down there with his mouth, too. He wanted his hair to curtain around their faces as he sunk his dick deep inside her, so it was just her and him, hiding from the rest of the world. Her wet warmth surrounding him, comforting him.
Giving him solace and peace.
Something sex had never done for him before.
It was strange...
He believed being with her would give him that.
He had no idea why.
He just knew.
Her lips parted and her eyes widened slightly behind her lenses, her pupils dilating. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but he did.
Even from where he stood, he could see the rapid pulse in her neck as she swallowed, and the change in the pace her chest rose and fell.
He flared his nostrils and inhaled slowly, deeply, to pick up the slight change in her scent.
Subtle. For him.
A reaction to his attention.
She was fighting it. As she should.
He was only there for a job.
