by Dee Palmer
“Are you?” His response is so instant and quiet, I have to check I heard him at all.
“What?” The heat between us is at its most intense as his gaze sears through me, but I’m confused.
“Nothing.” He blinks, breaking the contact, and I feel the absence like a blast of the North wind. I shiver in his arms and feel the loss of more than just our shared heat.
“You’re never going to trust me are you?” I mouth.
“Yes, of course I am.” He dismisses my very real concern and I straighten myself and hold his face between my hands and his gaze in mine.
“Prove it.”
“Are you sure about this?” Tia hovers on the threshold of my bedroom and the en-suite. Her hands are twisted into balls of anxiety, tugging the hem of my oversized T-shirt so much the neckline dips perilously close to flashing her perfect tits. She’s naked underneath the And Justice for All Metallica design, and doesn’t my cock just know it. I push back the rising desire and focus on proving to Tia that I do, in fact, trust her.
“Absolutely, I’m all yours, baby.” I do wish she didn’t look so nervous though. I keep my voice confidently calm, but that’s a straight razor I have laid out next to the boiling hot bowl of water, shaving foam, and towels. I drag the wide reclining chair from my bedroom over to the large sash window in pull the blind up. The early morning sunlight light blazes in, and stark brightness fills the room, making me blink.
However, this isn’t the time for shadows and poor visibility.
I push the back of the chair against the wall under the window and near to the sink and the supplies I have laid out. I turn to drop my naked arse directly onto the worn indent of the soft leather cushion. I drape a towel over my cock and, with a slow curl of my finger, encourage her to come a little closer. My eyes drop to where exactly I’m thinking she needs to park her backside. I want her hot little arse and her toned, slim legs straddling my lap. Everything she needs is on the wide wooden window shelf behind my head and within arms length. Despite her obvious nervousness, this was the only thing I could think of to prove I do trust her, with my life.
“Logan you don’t have to do this. I love your beard.” Her fingertips affectionately rake and scratch the inch and a half of growth on my chin and cheeks. I keep it trimmed and neat. I’ve perfected this length over the years, and it takes a good deal of expertise. Since I made this decision to let Tia shave me, I’ve also had to come to terms with losing the beard. A trim doesn’t have the same gravitas as a full shave with a straight razor.
“It will grow back.” I shrug in an effort to dismiss her concern.
“Yes, but if you say you trust me, I believe you.”
“And now I’m going to prove it. Get your sexy arse over here and shave me.” I pat my hands firmly on my legs and keep my voice insistently firm.
“Don’t you have an electric razor, Logan? That thing is terrifying.” Her eyes flit above my head, but I know exactly what her worrisome wide expression is referring to.
“I’ve seen you sculpt clay figurines with a scalpel for fun, Tia. I know you have a steady hand. Honestly, I struggled to think of anything that requires this level of trust. Other than shaving my balls, I mean. I did try and think of something else, and I couldn’t.” I didn’t think her eyes could be any wider but that look of utter horror has me chuckling. “And I thought we’d start with you running the blade up my throat before I let you loose with the crown jewels.”
“I’m not shaving your balls, Logan.” Her hands fly to her hips in a comical mix of outrage and disgust.
“If that’s what it took for you to believe me when I say I trust you, then that’s exactly what you would be doing.” I reach for her tight little fist and pull her forward. Her feet shuffle between mine, her knees press against the chair, and she looks down at me. A soft smile spreads like honey, temptingly sweet and delicious.
“No, this will work just fine.” She hitches the hem of my T-shirt up to her waist and eases herself over my wide thighs. I close my legs to make room. Her smooth legs hover and slide to either side, and her sexy arse settles with a ball-ache-inducing wiggle on the level surface of my legs. My cock swells under the towel and she arches a brow in surprise. Really? You’re surprised?
“That might be a problem.”
“I thought you might need a pointer to guide you.” She snickers when I flip the towel back and my cock springs free, reaching to the sky and ready to do more than just point. “Besides, you didn’t actually expect a no-show with your sweet little centre branding my thigh with its dripping heat.” I lock my gaze on her and enjoy the shudder as it ripples through her body.
“Oh God, Logan, I’m never going to be able to concentrate. I’m going to cut your damn throat.” She whimpers, colour racing up her neck and splashing across her cheeks. Only I’m not a hundred percent sure it’s desire coursing through her veins and painting her skin in bold hues of red and pink; it could just as easily be a nervous rash.
“No, you’re not.” I rest my hands on her thighs, my thumb tracing a little circle on the unbelievably soft skin just above her knee. Her breath hitches when I work my way up, pushing the fall of material from her T-shirt back, exposing her fully to my ravenous gaze. The scoop of the torn neckline hangs over one shoulder and her breasts rise and swell with each heavy breath as she visibly embodies her very astute observation. Her pupils are the size of saucers, seductively large, rimmed with the brightest green, and there is no doubt her desire is saturating the blood pumping through her and liquefying in a pool gathering where her core rocks absently along my legs.
My hands are splayed with my thumbs posted either side of her clit, my fingertips making indentations in her soft flesh. I inhale deeply, savouring her sweet musky aroma, relishing the high drenching my senses. “God, you smell amazing. I’m going to eat you for hours when we’re done here.”
“Not helping.” She squirms on my lap, and her thighs clench fruitlessly against me. Her voice is a strained breathy plea, which goes straight to my aching cock. “Look, Logan.” She holds her right hand out level, and we both take a break from the incendiary gaze and watch her fingers tremble like she’s been mainlining caffeine for weeks.
If I had any doubts, I wouldn’t have suggested this. I’m not an idiot, nor am I suicidal. I ignore her shaking hand and reach over and drop a small towel in the bowl of steaming water behind my head. I pick up the small dish with shaving cream and brush and hand it to her.
“Mix it up until it’s all smooth and creamy.” I stroke my bottom lip with my tongue in a tortuously slow pass, which leaves a wicked smile in its wake. A squeak trapped in the back of her throat escapes. I pick the towel out and stretch up to squeeze it dry with both hands. She has to adjust to keep balance, and one hand rests over my heart to prevent her toppling forward. She must be able to feel my racing heart under her fingertips; it’s damn near cracking my sternum, and her telling smile reveals as much.
“Not so calm now, hmm?” She tilts her head, and wry humour infuses her tone. “You can still change your mind.”
“Not why my heart’s hammering, babe. Now get on with it. This hard-on won’t last all day.” I can’t keep a straight face. “I’m lying. Of course it will, but all the time we’re sitting here, I’m not in there fucking your brains out, and I know which one I’d rather be doing.”
“And who said romance is dead.”
“The same dickhead who thinks romance is all about chocolates and flowers,” I say with complete seriousness. To belabour my point and clarify I’m not being a dick, I continue. “Romance is a gift of something precious, something shared between two people, it can’t be quantified or measured or bought.”
“It’s the little things.” She blinks those impossibly long lashes at me, fixes her gaze, and snares my heart with the depth of tenderness, adoration, and love in that look.
“Hey, who said anything about little?”
“Aaaand there’s the precious moment gone.” She sighs,
and before the breath is out of her mouth, I sit bolt upright and smash my lips to hers, sealing my sentiment with a brutally passionate kiss.
“I love you. You have my heart, Tia.” I cover her hand and keep it captured against my chest. A soft smile picks at the corners of her lips. “I trust you in here.” I tap the side of my head with my free hand. “And the second we’ve proved this trust is restored and you put the razor down, I will worship you with everything I am, my body and soul, my gift to you.” She’s speechless for all of a second.
“Okay.” She grins with renewed confidence and determination.
“Good girl.” I take the towel and press it against my beard. The heat is intense and feels good. I rub and leave it there for a few moments longer. I told her already what she needs to do, showed her how to hold my skin taut, angle the blade so as not to slice the skin but to cut with the grain, as it were. I’ve done this a hundred times; however, I’ve never had it done, and I’m not remotely nervous. “You’ve got this, baby.” She gives a little nod, and with the heel of her hand to my forehead, she pushes my head back. My throat is arched, and I swallow the thick lump with the new awkward angle. She raises a tentative brow.
“It’s just the angle. I’m not nervous. If anything, I’m really fucking turned on. This is all kinds of hot.”
“Not sure I agree.”
“So you’re dripping on my leg for another reason?” I retort.
“You’re naked…do I need another reason?”
“As long as I’m the only reason.”
“Hold still.” She taps a warning on my cheek with the tip of the shaving brush and follows it by smearing a cool tingle of thick shaving cream. She methodically works in circles, stimulating and covering every damn hair follicle on my face. Much to her irritation I have to keep lifting my head and peek at her. She’s engrossed, and it’s adorable. My hands are busy, sweeping her skin with long, languorous strokes from the crook at her knee to the crease of her thighs. I’m not trying to distract her. I’m trying to distract me.
Her eyes meet mine when she places the bowl and brush down and reaches for the razor. She carefully slides the blade free and the sunlight dances along the fine, sharp edge. The reflection catches in her eyes, and she blinks. I hold her gaze for long, sensual seconds. The tension has been rocketing with every swirl of the brush, every hot breath bursting across my face and every erotically charged glance. Even the lightest sigh, subtle roll of her hips or slight tremble when my fingers brush an unseen sensitive spot, I feel in the deepest parts of me. She’s everywhere.
She sucks in a deep breath, and her whole body tenses as she draws the blade down the left side of my cheek. I feel the scrape and coolness of the newly exposed, hair-free skin but nothing else. She moves over my face like she owns it—she does—and wipes the blade clean after each stroke. I can feel the tension flow out of her each time she makes a cut-free pass at my face.
My throat feels like it’s on fire when she’s finished but still no pain. I wasn’t expecting any. I knew she’d be good at this. She’s almost finished, and I’ve been allowed to hold my head upright since she finished with my throat and has been working only on my face. She smoothly moves the blade around my mouth and I have to fight the urge to smile. Her nose has a permanent line across the bridge, concentration creasing her brow, and her face is so close, I’m having trouble focusing. If she wasn’t wielding the blade, I might be tempted to steal a kiss.
“No moustache even?” She pulls back and quirks a curious grin.
“Everything gone.” I confirm.
“Okay, you’re the boss.”
“Not with the blade in your hand I’m not, but I will be…soon.” Teasing with a hint of threat makes her shiver.
She pinches my nose and tugs it unceremoniously to the side, using the palm of her hand to keep the tension in my skin. A few more strokes and she’s done. Just in time. I feel like my balls are going to explode. She takes the damp towel and wipes any residue off my face before throwing it in the laundry basket and appraising her work with a critical eye. I can only hope her gaze reflects mine, because the view is picture fucking perfect. I’m looking at nothing but absolute joy, love, and a heady helping of lust.
“Gosh, you’re handsome.” Her cheeks flash with colour, and just as soon as the blade hits the side, I attack. My hands spear beneath her arms, and I lift her high with my rising body.
“And you are fucking hot.” I stride into the bedroom, my erection bobbing just beneath the curve of her arse. When I drop her on the bed I’m only a fraction of a second behind, unable to bear any distance between us. I smother her body with mine, capturing her mouth in a frenzy of passionate kisses. Hungry and urgent, I dive into her welcoming body.
“Thank you.” Her finger draws doodles on my chest; it tickles and feels fantastic too. Our legs are a tangled mess with her body wrapped like a vine around mine. Every part that could be touching is touching and I’m in fucking heaven.
“For what?” I peer down as she peeks up, her cheek squished against a wall of hard muscle.
“You know what. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I trust you, Tia.”
“I get it now, so thank you.”
“No need to thank me. Just make me a nice cuppa, and we’ll call it even.” I grab a fistful of her arse cheek, massaging it possessively.
“Sounds fair.” She shuffles toward the end of the bed when I relinquish my hold and rummages to find her T-shirt from the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. Slipping it over her head, she sniffs with a laugh when she sees the dark frown drop heavily on my grumpy face. Fucking crime right there.
“What if someone comes to the door? One of us should at least be decent.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at my reply.
“After what we’ve just done? T, that ship has long since sailed away.”
“Another fair point.” She giggles, and the light, happy sound fills the room and makes my damn heart forget to beat. “Right then, Mister Demanding, a cup of tea time.” She slides off the bed, makes it just two steps before turning and backtracking to drop a tender kiss on my lips, skimming the ghost of my beard with the back of her finger.
“Gosh, you’re handsome.”
“So you prefer it?” I rub my hand over the unfamiliar terrain of my face.
“I prefer you, beard or no beard; it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Well, I thought clean shaven is probably called for.”
“Called for what?” She drops one hip, and her face scrunches with an adorable confused expression.
“Your birthday and our date.”
“Date?”
“Remind me never to get a parrot.”
“Funny, I don’t mean to repeat everything you say, but you did just say date, right?”
“I did. Tomorrow is your birthday, and I’m taking you out.” I tuck my hands behind my head and relish the delicious way her eyes devour the landscape of my chest and torso. She’s only distracted for a second but it makes me smile wide and wicked all the same.
“Where?”
“It’s a surprise, but suffice to say, I thought it warranted a clean shave.”
“Oh my god, we’re going to have dinner with the Queen,” she gushes, bouncing on her toes with excitement.
“Cute.” She grins and then panic clouds her eyes.
“I don’t have anything to wear if we’re going anywhere fancy.”
“I thought we could fix that today.”
“Really?”
“Just as soon as I get my damn tea, woman.”
“I’m on it!” She skids to the door in her bare feet and swings it wide open. Her footsteps disappear down the hallway, and I take in a moment of calm. I feel relaxed and, for the first time in a long time, truly happy. Tia’s birthday plans didn’t fill me with dread, and if I didn’t have the niggling concern of my sister plaguing my every thought I would say life is pretty fucking perfect. I hear the doorbell, and Tia speaking to a del
ivery person, then the soft padding of her footsteps approaching.
“Ahhh!” She screams just out side my door and there’s a crescendo crash of crockery, cursing to make a sailor blush followed by soft coaxing sounds. I’m on my feet in an instant.
“You okay? What happened? Are you hurt?” I take in the bull in a china shop debris and Tia sitting crossed legged in the middle of the hallway, cradling a ginger ball of trouble.
“You got a cat?”
“Oh my god, you got a cat.” I answer my own obvious question and lift the surprisingly stocky furball into my arms. The cat moulds around my neck, making itself comfortable. It has the softest fur and the purring sound that rumbles from its little ribcage is hypnotic. I’m instantly in love.
“Not exactly.” Logan narrows his eyes at the interloper now softly padding its front paws into the pillow of my breasts.
“Explain?” I scratch the soft golden fur behind its ear and watch it arch into the sublime pleasure of it all.
“He sort of adopted me,” Logan grumbles with absolutely no conviction. I smile and laugh at the grouchy downturn of his pout. “He turned up one morning and just sort of stayed for a few days then disappears and reappears whenever the fuck he likes. A little like you in that respect.” He keeps his tone impassive, even as his eyes crinkle with humour.
“You’re so funny.” I grin a forced, fake smile. He ruffles my hair to soften the jibe, and I return my attention to the new love of my life. “So he has a home somewhere else, you think?”
“I asked the postman if he recognised him. He didn’t, but said he’d ask around and check the lampposts for missing cat notices. As of yet, no one has claimed him.”
“Well, he doesn’t look like a stray. He’s got a little belly on him.” The cat has curled onto his side, and the soft swell of his tummy is rising with his gentle purring breaths.
“That’s because he’s a crafty little thief jumping on my worktops and stealing anything left unattended. Also a little like you, well, you in the beginning at least.”
