points. When he rested his hands on her hips, low enough his fingers slid over her buttocks, she paused, holding her position.
“If you keep doing that, I will scalp you,” she said. “It will be an accident, I promise, but it won’t save us from an emergency room visit. Or an unsightly bald patch on the side of your head.”
“I thought women could multi-task.” He kneaded her, sending all sorts of nerve endings around her rim into overdrive, telegraphing arousal between her legs.
“Smug insults might turn an accident into an intentional stabbing,” she promised. “Changing the subject—deliberately, I might add—I now know why there aren’t more topless barbers. Hair clippings get on your skin. And they itch.”
“That’s when the patron has to help.” Leaning forward, he blew softly over her left breast. Her grip on the scissors convulsed, her other hand holding his shoulder for balance. “Better?”
“Loads,” she said dryly, and won the sensual pleasure of his chuckle again. With a reproving glance at him, which, given her state of undress, was as effective as him being chastised by a Care Bear, she continued her cutting.
She’d been right. Taking away the length sharpened the alpha look of his profile, those strong features and piercing eyes. When she finished, she removed the cape and towel, brushing the hair off his neck. She resisted the urge to bend close enough to put her lips on his nape, inhale his aftershave up close and personal, but she did comb the hair back from his face with her fingers, enjoying the thick, soft texture. Catching her wrist again, he drew her arm past his shoulder, turned her hand over and kissed it.
She pressed against the chair, wishing the slats weren’t between her and his body as he teased the lines of her palm with his tongue. When he moved to her wrist, suckled her pulse, heat shot straight to her core, already simmering for him.
He brought her around him once again, only this time it wasn’t for comfort. He pulled her onto his lap, her legs dangling to the floor on either side of his hips as he palmed her buttocks, slid her so her pussy was against the hard length of him. She made a little gasp at that, and his eyes got that dangerous look she was starting to anticipate on both pleasurable and apprehensive levels.
“Put your hands on my shoulders and keep them there,” he said.
She obeyed, and closed her eyes when he bracketed her rib cage, palms curved right beneath her arms, the heels of his hands pressed into the sides of her breasts. Lifting her up, he put his mouth over her left nipple. As she dug her fingers into his shoulders, her heels slid around to hook the rungs of the chair, increasing the pressure between their bodies as he suckled. She moaned, rubbing against him.
His hands dropped then, cupping her buttocks beneath the skirt, heated flesh against heated flesh since the thong covered nothing. Taking over, he stroked her against him as his lips squeezed and tongue lashed her nipple, then he sucked it all deeper into his mouth, moist heat against the areola and the skin around it.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”
“Call me what you called me earlier.”
“Yes . . . Master.”
It frightened her, how natural it was to say it. He lifted his head, caught hers in between those big hands. “You’ll call me that tonight, unless I say otherwise. You understand?”
“I want to. But I start thinking about it too much. I just met you, Logan.” She had to take the risk of breaking the mood with the truth.
He nodded. “Fair enough. You say it when you’re ready. But it makes me want to fuck you all the more when you call me that, Madison.” His hands gentled, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “I usually don’t have a problem with going slow.”
She loved hearing that, loved knowing it was an effort to rein himself back. As she’d anticipated, she was already cursing his control. He wanted her
“If you keep doing that, I will scalp you,” she said. “It will be an accident, I promise, but it won’t save us from an emergency room visit. Or an unsightly bald patch on the side of your head.”
“I thought women could multi-task.” He kneaded her, sending all sorts of nerve endings around her rim into overdrive, telegraphing arousal between her legs.
“Smug insults might turn an accident into an intentional stabbing,” she promised. “Changing the subject—deliberately, I might add—I now know why there aren’t more topless barbers. Hair clippings get on your skin. And they itch.”
“That’s when the patron has to help.” Leaning forward, he blew softly over her left breast. Her grip on the scissors convulsed, her other hand holding his shoulder for balance. “Better?”
“Loads,” she said dryly, and won the sensual pleasure of his chuckle again. With a reproving glance at him, which, given her state of undress, was as effective as him being chastised by a Care Bear, she continued her cutting.
She’d been right. Taking away the length sharpened the alpha look of his profile, those strong features and piercing eyes. When she finished, she removed the cape and towel, brushing the hair off his neck. She resisted the urge to bend close enough to put her lips on his nape, inhale his aftershave up close and personal, but she did comb the hair back from his face with her fingers, enjoying the thick, soft texture. Catching her wrist again, he drew her arm past his shoulder, turned her hand over and kissed it.
She pressed against the chair, wishing the slats weren’t between her and his body as he teased the lines of her palm with his tongue. When he moved to her wrist, suckled her pulse, heat shot straight to her core, already simmering for him.
He brought her around him once again, only this time it wasn’t for comfort. He pulled her onto his lap, her legs dangling to the floor on either side of his hips as he palmed her buttocks, slid her so her pussy was against the hard length of him. She made a little gasp at that, and his eyes got that dangerous look she was starting to anticipate on both pleasurable and apprehensive levels.
“Put your hands on my shoulders and keep them there,” he said.
She obeyed, and closed her eyes when he bracketed her rib cage, palms curved right beneath her arms, the heels of his hands pressed into the sides of her breasts. Lifting her up, he put his mouth over her left nipple. As she dug her fingers into his shoulders, her heels slid around to hook the rungs of the chair, increasing the pressure between their bodies as he suckled. She moaned, rubbing against him.
His hands dropped then, cupping her buttocks beneath the skirt, heated flesh against heated flesh since the thong covered nothing. Taking over, he stroked her against him as his lips squeezed and tongue lashed her nipple, then he sucked it all deeper into his mouth, moist heat against the areola and the skin around it.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”
“Call me what you called me earlier.”
“Yes . . . Master.”
It frightened her, how natural it was to say it. He lifted his head, caught hers in between those big hands. “You’ll call me that tonight, unless I say otherwise. You understand?”
“I want to. But I start thinking about it too much. I just met you, Logan.” She had to take the risk of breaking the mood with the truth.
He nodded. “Fair enough. You say it when you’re ready. But it makes me want to fuck you all the more when you call me that, Madison.” His hands gentled, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “I usually don’t have a problem with going slow.”
She loved hearing that, loved knowing it was an effort to rein himself back. As she’d anticipated, she was already cursing his control. He wanted her
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