Page 39 of Maid Fohr Love
TWELVE
His hands slid up my dress and onto my boobs, cupping them with a gentle squeeze. I squirmed under his touch.
“They’re perfect, sweet baby.”
“Your hair won’t be if you don’t hold still.”
“How can I with you standing in front of me? Teasing me,” he groaned, lowering his hands to my butt.
He brought me closer, massaging both of my cheeks simultaneously. Fohr buried his head between my breasts and inhaled my skin. His obsession was growing and so was mine. It was almost pathetic seeing our addictions form right before our eyes.In real time.
I powered off the clippers and allowed him the moment. Secretly, I was enjoying it as much as he was.
“Baby–”
“Hm?”
Fohr was in a daze. He was hearing me, but he wasn’t hearing me at the same time.
“Do you want a decent haircut or not?”
I’d perfected my skill in three sittings. It had all begun with Fohr asking me to line his beard. The line was so pristine that he told me to continue to his hairline. It, too, was crisp.
Within four days, he was back in the chair with a towel protecting him from the mounds of hair that fell from his head because I’d moved on to lowering the bush that was growing on top of his head. Together we watched footage that demonstrated different methods of obtaining the tapered Caesar he kept.
Pretty confident in my skills only two days after his second cut, Fohr allowed me to finish his hair entirely. It had turned out much better than either of us had expected. This time, I was determined to give him the perfect cut but he was making it difficult. Standing between his legs wasn’t helping much either.
“I do, but I want to squeeze you until your filling bursts out of you, too. I’m not sure which one I want most right now.”
“Being as though you extracted all the filling I have this morning, I think you should choose yourself this time.”
“There’s more, Kit. There’s always more. And, by choosing you, I am choosing myself.”
“I don’t think that’s the truth, Mr. McClarren.”
“It is, though.”
“Fohr, can I finish your hair or not?”
He sighed, hesitant to set me free. I wasn’t in a rush to flee, either. In his arms, I felt safer. Calmer. Softer. Happier.
“Shit, I guess.”
“Thank you,” I sniggered, knowing how hard it was for him to agree.
The silence led me to power up the clippers. The vibration was jarring and took some getting used to.
“I was thinking– we bump dinner up an hour.”
“I’m fine with that. Is there a reason why?”
“Nah. Not really. We just have too much time on our hands between then and now.”
“I agree.”
“So, six, then?”
“Six sounds perfect, Fohr.”
