“Uncross,” commands Evangeline, tapping my shoulder gently. I resist the urge to grab her wrist and bite my way up the inside of it.
I uncross my legs and straighten, then recross them at the ankle. I just… I cannot sit here without crossing something. One of the many quirks I have which make people uncomfortable.
My brother Mitchell always understood me, always got my introverted personality, my need for things to be a specific way. I’m not a people person, because people are sometimes unpredictable and emotional. I prefer things to work as I expect them to.
Behind me, Evangeline lets out a beleaguered sigh. “Uncross, Alistair, or your haircut will be crooked.”
“Then you will fix it,” I snap, leaving my ankles crossed as a horrible noise emits straight from my chest.
Is that… am I… purring?
Chapter 3
Evangeline
A low-pitched, rolling noise fills the kitchen as I grab my spray bottle and scissors. “Are you purring?” I blurt out before I can think better of it. I wince as the noise cuts off harshly.
“What?” Alistair deflects.
I’m dying to repeat the question, but it was obviously unintentional based on his reaction.
With the spray bottle, I wet his hair, holding my palm along his forehead so the water doesn’t drip into his eyes.
Alistair doesn’t respond, and the noise doesn’t return. Thank God, because the moment I heard that purr, my entire body tightened and tensed, and I felt drawn to press my hand to his chest, to feel that rumble vibrate up my arm and through every nerve ending.
Neither of us say a thing as I cut his hair, dark snippets falling to the floor. He likes to keep it long, so I trim the very ends, moving from one side to the next. Alistair checks his watch, tapping his foot.
“Do I need to finish this by a specific time?” I keep my voice low and quiet, like always. There’s something about the predatory dominance he exudes since the transition that wills me into quiet subservience. I was quiet to begin with, but living with an alpha male is like a lamb tiptoeing around a sleeping lion. Except I want this lion to eat me alive.
“Can you finish this in the next six minutes? I need a shave as well…” Alistair’s deep voice cuts off into another fucking purr as I laugh under my breath. I don’t need to remind him he started up that noise again, because he stops it himself with a hissed intake of breath.
Setting a quick timer on the smart watch he gave me, I cut the rest of his hair while watching the time left. He told me when he hired me he had very specific requirements around timeliness and detail, and damn, that’s really proven true. He bills his time down to the minute, so I suppose it makes sense. When he says finish in six minutes, he specifically means six minutes. It’s one of his charming, frustrating quirks.
Setting my scissors down, I run my fingers through his hair, adding a little product to style. His hair is rough under my fingertips, waves sliding along my skin, tickling me as I style his hair up over his ears the way he likes.
When that’s done, I turn my timer off and walk around the front with a mirror, holding it up for him. He waves it away again. He doesn’t like mirrors much since he transitioned.
“I can never understand why you want it cut, but don’t want to see,” I joke gently as he looks up at me.
His eyes hood as they fall to my lips, down to my chest, where I’m still flushed from his touch.
“Reminds me how much has changed, how little control I had,” he growls, sitting forward in his chair. He gives me a guarded look that feels hopeful, as if he’s wishing I could reassure him that nothing has changed, not really.
“You seem the same to me,” I offer as he sits back to check his watch again.
“Can you do the shave in six minutes too?”
“Definitely not.”
“Ten?”
“Maybe,” I counter. “But I don’t want to rush and nick your neck. Can you give me fifteen?” He usually keeps a short beard, but every now and again he gets the urge to shave it all off. So here we are.
Alistair sighs, but nods once, gesturing for me to get started. When he slides his thighs open for me to step between them, I nearly pant, watching him. I’ve fantasized about him thousands of times with the toys in my room. Quietly, because his hearing is incredible. But when he leans his head back, closing his eyes and exposing his throat to me? There’s nothing I’d like more than to lick my way up that muscular column and bite the shit out of him.
I never really had these urges with other men. Men are… unpredictable. But Alistair has never scared me.
A rush of liquid between my thighs surprises me as I clamp them together. It’s hot and horrible and drips down my leg, soaking my panties with heat. I don’t know what the fuck is happening, but I’m wasting valuable time. He’s always turned me on, but it’s getting harder to control the way my body responds.