Page 31 of The Fake Out

“Just clean it up?” she whispered the question.

Swallowing thickly, I nodded.

As she ran her fingers through my hair, I had to fight a shiver. It was far too easy to imagine another moment, where her hands were in my hair. Where it wasn’t clinical judgment but a meaningful moment, where she’d pull my mouth to hers. I glanced up and locked in on the way her teeth pressed lightly against her full lips, imagining that lip between my own. Where instead of fighting this need, I simply gave in and let myself ride the high of it. My skin tingled.

I heard the snipping, but I was in a world where nothing existed but her touch. The drag of her nails against my scalp, the brush of her fingers along my skin. When she stepped in front of me, I got an eyeful of her tight cropped shirt. My hands itched to touch her. To feel more of the soft skin peeking out between her black shirt and leggings. My mouth was almost lined up with the pale flesh. The urge to press my lips against it was almost impossible to resist.

Slowly, I lifted my hand from under the cape. My fingers barely brushed the smooth skin. The harsh suck of her breath echoed through me. Goose bumps broke out on that inch of skin, leaving me desperate to touch her again.

“Anyone want a drink?” Chris yelled from the kitchen, jarring me back to the moment. To the reason I wasn’t touching her.

An electric energy pulsed through the space. My hand still hovered in the air between us. My heart hammered in my ears. Her eyes met mine, and she swallowed.

“Anyone?” he called when we didn’t answer, like he was oblivious to the tension in the air. Could he be? Because to me, it felt like thick smoke hovering over all of us. I dropped my hand, and Gi glanced away.

“No thanks,” I croaked, then cleared my throat.

“I’m fine.” Gi’s attention refocused on my hair. Shoulders back, she lifted her arms. Her hand brushed my ear, sending a shiver down my spine and launching my heart into overdrive. She froze in front of me, her breath catching once more.

Haircuts were supposed to be a mundane chore. This felt anything but. Instead, the interaction was charged, and a blazing fire burned inside me.

When her finger brushed the back of my neck, my cock pulsed. I shifted on the stool, thanking God I was covered by the damn cape, because my dick was tenting my shorts. I couldn’t stop the images of her hands running down my body from playing in my mind. Visions of her looking up at me as she dropped to her knees between my thighs. The way her tongue would run slowly along her lips before she leaned forward and took me into her mouth.

I fisted my hands in my lap. I couldn’t meet her eyes. If I did, I knew what she’d see. I was half-terrified and half-thrilled by the idea that my desire would be reflected in her gaze.

She ran her hand along my jaw to my chin and lifted, turning my head one way, then the other, her fingertips soft like silk against my rough skin. Tilting at the waist, she lowered herself and studied my hair, looking from one side of my face to the other like she was checking the evenness of the cut. Fuck. The scoop of neckline hung loosely, giving me a fantastic view of cleavage. My mouth went dry. I longed to run my tongue across the perfect swells. To feel the weight of her tits in my palms. To tease her nipples with my tongue until she writhed against me.

Blinking myself out of the fantasy, I forced my eyes up, only to find her watching me with a heated intensity that seared straight into me.

“Do we really not have any Easy Out?” Chris called.

With a quiet gasp, Gianna jumped back.

Her brother stomped around the island back to us.

I cleared my throat, silently telling my dick to shut it down. “I’ll put it on the grocery list.”

“Great.” Chris dropped onto the couch and reached for the remote. “Avery’s out with the girls tonight, so how about a movie night?”

Normally, I’d be all-in, but tonight, I didn’t want to hang out with my best friend. At the moment, all I wanted to do was pull his sister onto my lap, strip her down, and let her ride my dick until we both came.

I was such a shitty friend.

That should be my new mantra. I should tattoo it on my eyeballs so that every time I looked at her, I’d be reminded to stop. But as I studied her—the concentrated expression as she focused on my hair—as I was hit with yet another whiff of her orange blossom scent, all I cared about was seeing her smile.

“How about we watch that one about the next civil war?” I suggested.

She smirked, and I felt like I’d gotten a win.

“Or the new thriller that Netflix just released.” Gianna turned away to pull out the clippers.

“Sure.” Chris flicked through the list of movies until he found the one she wanted.

The scrape of the clippers sent another wave of shivers through me, but it was nothing compared to the pressure pounding in my dick. I needed to cool off.

When the buzzing finally stopped, I breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re done. Might want to hop in the shower to rinse off the stray hairs.”

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