Page 17 of On a Fault Line

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?” she repeats.

Daydreaming about fucking you with just your collar on…

I shrug. “Having fun.”

“Okay. Now I’m nervous.”

“Why?”

“I get scared over the unknown. Plus, fun isn’t in your repertoire of emotions.”

I start to laugh and then find the sudden need to know more about what she’s thinking. “What emotions do you think I am capable of possessing?”

“Grumpy and grumpier—but mostly grumpier.”

“Well, then I better live up to my true potential,” I deadpan, making her eyes turn even bigger when I start twirling the razor that was resting on top of a pile of fresh towels in my hand.

“You want me to shave your ball sack?” she asks, with a huge smile. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Taking a towel, I lift Penny’s hips, splaying her out for my viewing pleasure. “Oh, Penelope, what am I going to do with you?”

“I promise to be gentle.”

I stop smoothing out the towel to look at her. “Funny. But no. I’d prefer not to go to the emergency room for some stitches to my genital area.”

“Same!” she says, bolting upright.

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, really? How many bushes have you landscaped before? Huh? Actually, no. Don’t answer that.” She takes a few huffy breaths, clearly getting herself worked up. “No, yeah. Tell me. Tell me now.”

“None, Penelope.”

“Oh, great.” She then throws her hands up in the air. “I’m the guinea pussy for you to experiment on?”

Confusion hits me. “Would you rather me have a ton of experience making pussies bald?”

“Yes. I mean, no. Of course not! But how do you know if you’re qualified for the task?”

“Because I’m certain that I won’t ever approve of anyone else, professional or not”—I rub my palm over her core while giving it a firm squeeze—“touching this sweet pussy.”

“That doesn’t speak of your skill.”

I turn the razor over in my hand, examining the blade. “I am a man who values precision and attention to detail. You’re going to have to trust me on this one.”

“Okay, fine. But I’m going to want to show off my new haircut at the beach. So let’s plan a trip.”

“We can go to the beach, but this”—I slap it—“is for my eyes only.”

She scissors her legs together, trapping my hand from exiting her hold. “That hurt!”

I smile, mainly because I can’t help it with her. “I’ll kiss it and make it feel all better.”

She shakes her head adamantly. “No. Then you’ll make me forget I’m mad at you.”

“Mad? You can’t be mad at me if you are dripping from that little bite of pain.”

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