“’Cause I don’t trust Sully. She’ll cut my hair the way she likes it, and I’ll end up with fucking bangs or something.”
I give it some thought. “Yeah, no. That won’t fly. What about your mom? Why don’t you—”
“Because I’m not five. Seth, please! I promise I won’t get mad if you fuck it up.”
“What do I get?” I ask, turning to face him.
“Huh?”
“What do I get for cutting your hair?”
He glances down at my crotch, then back up, raising his eyebrows. And of course, I give in.
So we finish up our stations and then we leave.
“Why are we both shirtless?” Kaden asks, frowning at me.
We’re in his bathroom, a chair is placed in the middle, and I’ve placed scissors and a comb on the sink.
I’m nervous as hell. I really don’t want to be the reason his perfect hair gets all fucked up.
“I’m shirtless because I don’t wanna get hair all over my clothes. I don’t know why you’re shirtless,” I shrug as I reply.
“Because you told me to take my shirt off?”
“Did I? Hm, I wonder why,” I say, leaning back against the sink, slowly dragging my gaze all over him. When I get to his face, I catch him smiling at me, shaking his head.
“How many times have you seen me naked now?”
Eleven times, and counting.
“I mean,” I say as I tilt my head back and forth, “is that even something that can be measured?”
“Uh, yeah,” he nods. “Yeah, I’d say that’s definitely something that can be measured.”
“Fine! I’ll close my eyes the next time you’re naked. But don’t expect me to find your dick with my eyes closed. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
“Yeah, you are,” he mumbles, shooting me a sly grin.
“Smooth.” I nod, rolling my bottom lip between my teeth. “I don’t know if I should give you a blowie or a haircut right now.”
“If you hurry up, we can do both,” he says, dropping down on the chair, wrapping a towel around his shoulders.
I take a deep breath, grab the scissors and the comb and stand behind him.
I thought I’ve gotten used to his cologne and the distinct scent of Kaden from the hours of grinding our dicks together, and sucking each other’s brains out. But there’s something different about being this close to him, and touching him now without the end goal being sex.
Why hasn’t anyone ever told me how intimate it is to cut someone’s hair?
I comb my fingers through the strands, and his elbow brushes my hip as I move around him. I can see every breath he takes from the way his shoulders lift and drop. They’re long and deep, like he’s relaxed. Like he trusts me. And that makes me even more nervous.
I move in front of him, and he spreads his legs to make room for me to stand between them. He closes his eyes as I comb through the lengths falling over his forehead. I pause my movements, giving myself the opportunity to just look at him. He’s stunning.
I know I stare at him too often and too long for it to be considered platonic. And I’ve tried to dial it down, but I’d be stupid not to capture the moment when it presents itself like this.
And then he opens his eyes, peeking at me under his lashes.
“What?” he says. “Did you fuck up?”
