Page 48 of Taking Turns

“I can see that.”

“Go ahead.” I sigh, stepping aside as I go looking for my razor. I put my foot up on the stone bench in the corner and apply shaving gel to my leg. But before I can start shaving, Smith takes the razor. “What are you doing?”

“I’ll do it.”

“But you can’t—”

“I’m not touching you, Chella. The razor is.”

Clarity ensues and I smile.

“Don’t get excited,” he says, smiling back. A big enough smile to make that dimple appear. “I take the rules pretty seriously.”

I press my lips together to stop the grin. “Mmmm-hmm.”

He shaves my leg so carefully, I want to die. He crouches down so his cock is hanging between his legs. Those shoulders are right in front of me. Begging for my attention. I want to touch him so bad, but I stop myself. I’m enjoying his attention too much to fuck it up.

And he is paying very close attention to my leg. It’s not even like there’s much stubble because I just shaved two days ago. But he is careful and deliberate as he drags the razor down every curve of my calf.

When he’s done, he looks up at me and says, “Next.”

I repeat the process with the gel and I have to bite my lip to stop imagining how good it would feel if he’d do this part too.

“It’s supposed to be fun, Chella,” he says, still working.

“This is fun.”

He looks up and smiles. “We have these rules for a reason. They heighten the pleasure. Everyone’s pleasure. You’ll have a better time if you give in. I promise.”

I believe him. Because it’s already working. But I still have questions. “So you’re never going to fuck me?”

“What did I say about that word?”

“What? It wasn’t an adjective. It’s a verb. To fuck.”

He scowls.

“You’re never going to have sex with me?” I amend.

“I didn’t say never. I just said for now.”

“But when Quin comes on Sunday night—or Monday, if he’s not that into me and can’t stand the thought of that extra time—then he can fu—have sex with me? What’s his rule?”

“You’ll talk it out with him.” Smith looks up at me and then stands up, his task complete far too soon. “Don’t confuse us, Chella. We’re very different people. We want very different things out of this game. But we all like to win. Even you, I’m sure.”

“What is winning?” I ask.

The look on his face takes me by surprise. “Happiness, of course.”

“And not touching me makes you happy?”

“Did you like what I just did?” He sets the razor down on the bench.

“Yes,” I say. “But I’d like it more if your hands were touching me.”

“Maybe one day I will touch you, Marcella Walcott. But that’s a long way down the road. So it’s better to get used to the way things are done now. Are you finished?”

I shake my head. “No, I have to rinse my hair.”