moved in front of him to hold a strand straight on either side of his face, determining how much she’d be cutting to put it back at ear level. He indulged in another obvious ogle at her breasts as she leaned forward. It made her smile.
“So when your customers are discussing my tits and ass, do you join in?”
“Yes. We consider them in great detail over morning coffee.” His hand snaked out, gave her an admonishing pinch on her thigh, hard enough to send sensation up the inside muscle. “I’ve merely overheard the conversations, and broken them up with a helpful and pointed question about the store offerings when they get a little too enthusiastic. I haven’t shot a nail gun through any of my regular contractors’ tender parts for their more crass comments, though restraining myself took an effort.”
“I expect the sales you ring up for them helps rein you back.”
“Somewhat. But only to a certain point.” This time she detected an edge to his countenance. It told her his tolerance in that regard was on the flattering side of possessive . . . and protective.
To shrug away such a romantic fancy, she glanced at her bare upper torso. “Yet you’re having me cut your hair like this.”
“A private pleasure, shared between you and me alone. You have superior breasts. Gorgeous Cs.” He eyed them with a potent heat. “But men should always be respectful, especially when appreciating a woman’s body in mixed company. It translates into actual respect when dealing with her privately.”
“I think there are some contradictions there.” Though only if she dissected the words. In terms of emotions, what he said made perfect sense. When he gazed at her breasts, she felt . . . well,
revered
would be a silly, over-the-top word, but something close to it. Cherished, desired. Lust was there, for certain, but tangled up with other things. Things that made her feel pleasure at his regard, and safe in his care.
She cleared her throat. “When they come into my store to find their wives or girlfriends, they’re like scared chickens huddled by the door. I think men have nightmares about lingerie coming to life and smothering them.”
He chuckled. However, when she began to snip, he was quiet, and she was okay with that. She wondered if it was deliberate, since it distracted her from the earlier sad emotions and brought her fully into the present. Him sitting in her kitchen while she cut his hair, her wearing nothing but a tiny plaid skirt over a white thong, long white stockings and black shiny shoes. She was glad she’d left her hair loose to brush her bare shoulders. She hadn’t worn any jewelry other than the cameo, so anywhere he put his mouth tonight, he’d be tasting only her.
As she moved to his side, worked there, he slid his finger along her thigh, catching the garter, stroking the ribbon and skin beneath it. He gave it an easy, provocative tug. Though he kept his head still, gaze forward, she could well imagine his heated breath bathing her breasts.
Focus, or you’ll cut off the tip of his ear.
She liked his ears. And everything attached to them.
She cut the back and sides short, sculpting the top so some strands feathered across his forehead, the rest layering back with enviable ease, even with the natural curl to the thickness. Typical man. He favored a left part, which she was relieved to find was the way nature intended it to go. Her dad had always wanted her to cut his hair according to a part opposite from his hair’s growth pattern, which made cutting it more of a challenge.
After that one touch of her leg, Logan kept his hands to himself, folded beneath the cape, his body relaxed, though she wasn’t fooled. He sat with his knees spread, so when she moved in front of him, she had to step between them to get close enough. Now she felt his breath against her skin in reality, only a short distance between her naked breasts and his lips. She was sure her nipples were high and tight
“So when your customers are discussing my tits and ass, do you join in?”
“Yes. We consider them in great detail over morning coffee.” His hand snaked out, gave her an admonishing pinch on her thigh, hard enough to send sensation up the inside muscle. “I’ve merely overheard the conversations, and broken them up with a helpful and pointed question about the store offerings when they get a little too enthusiastic. I haven’t shot a nail gun through any of my regular contractors’ tender parts for their more crass comments, though restraining myself took an effort.”
“I expect the sales you ring up for them helps rein you back.”
“Somewhat. But only to a certain point.” This time she detected an edge to his countenance. It told her his tolerance in that regard was on the flattering side of possessive . . . and protective.
To shrug away such a romantic fancy, she glanced at her bare upper torso. “Yet you’re having me cut your hair like this.”
“A private pleasure, shared between you and me alone. You have superior breasts. Gorgeous Cs.” He eyed them with a potent heat. “But men should always be respectful, especially when appreciating a woman’s body in mixed company. It translates into actual respect when dealing with her privately.”
“I think there are some contradictions there.” Though only if she dissected the words. In terms of emotions, what he said made perfect sense. When he gazed at her breasts, she felt . . . well,
revered
would be a silly, over-the-top word, but something close to it. Cherished, desired. Lust was there, for certain, but tangled up with other things. Things that made her feel pleasure at his regard, and safe in his care.
She cleared her throat. “When they come into my store to find their wives or girlfriends, they’re like scared chickens huddled by the door. I think men have nightmares about lingerie coming to life and smothering them.”
He chuckled. However, when she began to snip, he was quiet, and she was okay with that. She wondered if it was deliberate, since it distracted her from the earlier sad emotions and brought her fully into the present. Him sitting in her kitchen while she cut his hair, her wearing nothing but a tiny plaid skirt over a white thong, long white stockings and black shiny shoes. She was glad she’d left her hair loose to brush her bare shoulders. She hadn’t worn any jewelry other than the cameo, so anywhere he put his mouth tonight, he’d be tasting only her.
As she moved to his side, worked there, he slid his finger along her thigh, catching the garter, stroking the ribbon and skin beneath it. He gave it an easy, provocative tug. Though he kept his head still, gaze forward, she could well imagine his heated breath bathing her breasts.
Focus, or you’ll cut off the tip of his ear.
She liked his ears. And everything attached to them.
She cut the back and sides short, sculpting the top so some strands feathered across his forehead, the rest layering back with enviable ease, even with the natural curl to the thickness. Typical man. He favored a left part, which she was relieved to find was the way nature intended it to go. Her dad had always wanted her to cut his hair according to a part opposite from his hair’s growth pattern, which made cutting it more of a challenge.
After that one touch of her leg, Logan kept his hands to himself, folded beneath the cape, his body relaxed, though she wasn’t fooled. He sat with his knees spread, so when she moved in front of him, she had to step between them to get close enough. Now she felt his breath against her skin in reality, only a short distance between her naked breasts and his lips. She was sure her nipples were high and tight
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