Page 18 of Play With Me

“Do you trust me?” I asked.

“You haven’t given me a reason not to.”

I carefully slid the blade up his neck at a partial angle against the hair-growth until the line was even. He looked good with longer hair, but now he looked like a gentleman and a drool-producing sex machine.

I trimmed his beard with scissors before covering his face with a cloth I pulled from a warming drawer. “Close your eyes and relax,” I said.

“I’m trying to, but it’s not easy when there’s a half-naked woman I want to fuck distracting me.”

He finally closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, stretching out his legs.

He does trust me.

Not many people did, and I didn’t trust easily either. In life, one minute someone was counting on you, and then they were gone. I swirled the brush in the cream, mixing it into a lather, then brought the bowl to the chair. I straddled his lap and sat down on his thighs, watching him smile.

I removed the towel from his face and brushed the lather over his beard, first downward, and then in circles, the way Eddie had taught me to stir the bristles. I leaned in closer and stretched the skin above his sideburn up before pulling the blade down the side of his face at an angle, this time with the grain. The move was so counter-intuitive when I first learned to shave men that it had taken me months to grasp. Holding my hand steady, I drew down in slow strokes, listening to the sound of metal scraping against his skin. It had been so long since I’d had a chance to shave a handsome man, a man whose need dug harder and harder through his pants the closer I leaned in to finish my job.

The smell of his skin and lemony pine soap scent lifted in the air, making my mouth water and testing my patience. My wrist slipped for a moment, and I nearly cut him.

What’s wrong with you, Lola?

Brook remained still. His breaths were even, as if he knew that patience would win against the swirling lust. I doubted it. I couldn’t wait to feel his smooth cheeks against my inner thighs.

When I finally rinsed the blade in the sink, he sighed and opened his eyes. “I think I may have come already.”

“I didn’t take you for the premature type.”

“Are you done?” he asked.

“Almost.”

“Good enough for me.”

He leaned in, and my wrist slipped. A thin red line formed on the side of his neck and gradually widened.

“I’m so sorry.” I set the blade aside.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have moved.”

“I… I never cut anyone.”Except Sebastian.

I quickly removed a bandage from a side drawer and secured it over the cut.

“Come here. No harm done.” Brook took my hand and kissed it; then in one move he stood up, swept me into his arms, and carried me into my bedroom.

“But you need to wash the cream off.”

“What’s the point? My face will get creamed in a few minutes anyways. You already soaked through my jeans. I know how hot you are, Lola.”

And needy. He forgot to add needy.

All of a sudden all I could think about was the heat between my legs.

Brook gently set me on the bed and removed my panties, then my tank and my bra. I watched as he undressed himself. With white cream still over his chin, he lowered himself to my toes. He kissed his way up, his body keeping contact with every inch of my skin as he advanced over my thigh to my right hip. He left a column of kisses along my stomach and I held my breath. The last time we were together, I didn’t think he’d noticed. The scar above my pubic bone was faint, but I felt its pain each time his lips traced the path and my memory flashed to the past.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

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