by Lia Riley
“Pretty please with a cherry on top?” I bat my eyes, mostly as a joke.
“Very well. One.”
“One?” Does eye batting really work?
He holds a single finger. “You get one unequivocal yes from me. That’s it.”
I can’t repress a triumphant grin. Perhaps I don’t have magical powers, but I just bent Rhys MacAskill to my will. Good enough. “I want to use it now.”
“You’re sure?”
“Do you have scissors?”
“Aye.” He frowns slowly. “On my utility knife.”
“OK.” I take a deep breath. “Here’s the deal. I want you to cut my hair.” Time to start the New Year as my own person. The fact that I almost stooped to Harper’s level scares me, and I want to put more distance between us. I’ve never looked drastically different from her, and this is a perfect opportunity.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“But why? You have beautiful hair,” he says crossly.
“I look exactly like someone I don’t like or respect.”
“Your sister.”
“Exactly. And I’m ready for a change. More than ready.”
“I can’t cut girl hair,” he says. “I’ll cock it up.”
“Come on, please. I would do it myself, but I can’t see what I’m doing. Anyway, you promised.”
“Thought maybe you were after a shag.” His smile is wolfish, pure feral magnetism.
Imagine him taking me Animal Planet style, thrusting from behind, biting my neck as he takes his pleasure. Whoa, mama. Looks like lust has seriously rewired my brain. Is lust-washed a word? Because it totally should be. “You have a high opinion of yourself.” As soon I say that, it strikes me as the worst possible thing I could have uttered. Rhys has this complex from me faking it, a crazy complex considering the problem is all with me. “That was a joke.”
His posture is stiff again. Back to retreat. “My humor must be off with my pride.”
It’s strange to have had sex with someone and know nothing about him. I suppose people do this all the time, hook up, wham, bam, and then that’s it. But I’m like human Velcro. Stuff sticks to me. I get attached. “Please. I just need to do this for me. You have your own crazy ideas. Let me have this.”
He shifts, and visibly relents. “Very well. How short do you want to go?”
OK, we’re in business. “I actually haven’t thought that far ahead. Hmmm. Not too short. I don’t want to look like a fat little boy or anything.”
He stares at me like I’m insane. “That’s not a danger.”
“You’re kind, but I’m serious.” Bad haircuts can do worse things. “Maybe a bob.”
“Right then, a bob.” Twin lines appear between his brows. “What’s a bob?”
“Like the hairstyle?”
He blinks with a blank expression.
“God, men.” I mimic a length right below my jaw. “Maybe somewhere in this area would be good. Do you think that will give me mushroom head? Like a poof? Because poof isn’t a good look.”
He gestures to his shaggy hair and scruffy almost-beard. “Do I look like an expert in personal grooming to you?”
“Um, maybe not. The whole mountain man look is sexy, no doubt. It works for you, but… you’re sort of starting to creep close to a hermit in a cave.”
He tips his head back. “Pardon?”
“Right now that beard is perfect, but give it a week or two and little birds might start building their nests in it,” I tease. “Or you could start running around in a pelt and people will definitely give you space. Rumors will spread that the Valle del Frances is haunted by the ghost of Cro-Magnon Man.”
“No’ a bad idea.” He give his chin an exaggeratedly musing rub.
“How about this—you cut my hair and then I’ll shave you? I’d love to see your face.” And that’s the truth, God as my witness.
He shakes his head. “The beard stays, but I’ll do you.”
I’ll do you? Can he see that I’m turning five different shades of red? I duck my chin and sit on the stump, combing my hair out with my fingers.
He picks up a lock and rubs it between his fingers. “I’m nervous,” he admits. “Once Cameron made me pierce his ear when we were lads. With a safety pin.”
“And?”
“He bled and I spewed.”
“Good thing hair doesn’t bleed.” I close my eyes. “Go on.” This could be a terrible idea, or a chance to be more me, myself, my own person. Escape Harper. Hair is a trivial first step, but as he begins to tentatively snip with his Swiss Army scissors and long strands fall over my lap, I feel no different from a butterfly emerging from a cocoon or snake shedding its old skin. “How’s it look?”
He makes a shushing noise.
I open one eye. “Did you just seriously shush me?”
“Aye, stop talking. It makes your head move. Don’t muck up my line.”
“Whatever you say, Vidal Sassoon.”
He snips, and I’m lighter every time a new tendril of hair falls to the earth. I needed this, distance from my sister, from looking like someone who enjoys making me suffer. “There. Finished.” Wind licks my neck. I reach up to run my hands through my hair and the feeling is disorienting.
“It’s all gone.”
He’s staring.
“Do I look weird?” Self-consciousness replaces relief. “Am I a fat boy all of a sudden?”
“I would no’ have thought it, but you look even prettier this way. Your eyes are bigger.”
His breath is a little ragged, as if he’s as affected by my proximity as I am to his. It would be nice to think so. Optimism isn’t my strong suit. Not that I fall into the glass-is-half-empty camp either. More like, “What’s exactly in the glass and what’s the outside temperature? LET ME CALCULATE THE DAMN EVAPORATION RATE.”
He points in the opposite direction from the trail we’ll take out. “Follow me.”
I make a show of balking. “I don’t make a habit of following strange men into the woods.”
“It’s a little late for that, ken.”
“I’m not sure what I ken.” I give him a wink. “Maybe some haggis?”
“That’s it.” He throws me over his shoulder. “Now you’re in for it.”
“What are you doing!” I tilt precariously as he adjusts his grip.
He moves through the woods, finally setting me beside a fallen tree well out of sight of the main trail and still-empty campground. He takes off his fleece vest and splays it over the wood before setting me on top of it with one easy lift. The moss underneath is damp, soaks into my pants, making my ass a little cold. “Hey.” I wiggle. “My—”
He cuts me off with a bruising kiss, nothing slow or gentle about it. He conjures my response before I can question whether this is a smart idea. When he slides his tongue against mine, I taste his essence, a hint of coffee and a trace of dried pears, and moan a little, the hum rising through the back of my throat.
He savors the hollow of my neck. Takes his time to ensure every square inch of my throat receives attention. Through the tree canopy, the sky is overcast, but it doesn’t matter when I blaze inside.
“Take off your pants,” he whispers. “I want to feel you.”
I give a shaky laugh and lift one of my boot-clad feet. “That’s going to be hard. There’s a lot to untie here. I made a triple knot.”
“Aye, fitting.” His next kiss takes what’s left of my breath. “Seeing as you’ve tied me in one hell of a knot, too.”
17
RHYS
The skin on the inside of Auden’s elbow is soft, and I can’t quit skimming my finger over it even as she trembles. When she’s close, I feel better. More settled. I’m never comfortable in my own skin unless I’m pushing myself to the limits. This girl’s a shot of novocaine, dulling the gnawing, relentless grief inside me. “Before we leave, I want the truth from you.”
“Ask me anything,” she whispers.
I take my ti
me studying her face. “Was no’ intending to talk.”
“Oh?” Her gaze gives nothing away. No small feat with those expressive blue eyes.
“Although saying ‘Yes, good,’ ‘Right there,’ or ‘Rhys, you are a fucking god’ will be acceptable.”
“Sorry, Charlie.” Her lips form a ghost of a smile. “My condoms are in the clearing with my backpack.”
I shake my head. “We moved ahead of ourselves yesterday, and I’m easily jealous. I want you mentally with me, not wandering back to your past.”
She wrinkles her brow. “I don’t understand.”
“Forget what you think you know about sex, lass, how it can be between a man and a woman. All those past failed experiences. You are going to show me the truth of you, right here, before we take one more fucking step out of this valley.” I unbutton her pants and she cants her hips, allowing me to tug them to her knees. I could strip them off. No doubt she expects me to, but the idea of restricting her movement appeals. This way she can spread for me, but only a little. She’ll need to focus down to the micromovements. Pay attention to every detail.
I step back and take my time looking my fill. Her head is down, turned shyly away. How can she not understand that she’s stunning?
“Look at me.” Let her see how badly I want her.
She doesn’t move. “Um, I feel a little exposed over here.”
“Because your pussy is bared to me.”
She flinches, a bolt of hectic color shooting across her cheeks.
“You don’t like me talking like that?” I press.
“Um.” She clears her throat. “I’ve never had anyone talk dirty to me. Especially not using p… You know, those kinds of words.”
“Pussy?”
She makes an uncomfortable face.
“Do you prefer cunt?” I ask softly.
Her head snaps back. “Jesus. No. God.”
“You didn’t strike me as the type. What about fanny?”
She chokes on a giggle. “Sounds like someone’s grandmother.”
“Muff?”
“Cute, if you’re a poodle.” She tries to close her knees, and I catch them, keeping them spread.
“So what, then?”
She shifts her weight. “If you insist, I guess circle back to pussy because I can’t hang with vagina even though it’s probably the most mature.”
“Vagina comes from the Latin word vaginae, which means ‘sheath,’ or ‘scabbard.’”
“A sheath for a sword?” She sounds incredulous.
“Exactly.”
She lets out a huffy breath. “Why can’t women get the equivalent of cock? It’s not fair. You can’t go wrong with cock. The word is like a little black dress, always ready to party.”
“We’re off subject.” Her pussy, cunt, muff, whatever we’re going with, is in plain view, and I haven’t come remotely close to looking my fill.
“Let me close my legs?” There’s a pleading note in her voice.
“Hell no.” My cock strains against my boxer briefs at the sight of her soft curls, the hint of slickness between her lips. “Touch yourself.”
“No.” Her eyes go wide. “No way.”
“Go on, for me.”
Her mouth twists. “I’m not your puppy. I don’t play fetch on command. And forget about telling me to roll over.”
“Stop joking and do it.” I keep my voice soft but insistent.
“You do it,” she responds petulantly, tapping the back of her boot against the wood.
“So it’s like that, is it?”
She twists a lock of her hair. “Look, I think you’ve got me pegged all wrong. I’m not the kind of girl who does this sort of thing.”
“What about all that talk about saying yes to new experiences?”
Her glare is formidable. “Breaking out the heavy artillery, huh?”
“Simply reminding you of your resolution. ‘Yes’ is your word this year.”
“I can’t say it to everything. What if you ask me to kill someone?”
“Masturbation isn’t murder.”
She rolls her eyes. “Insert a rubbing-one-out joke here.”
“Can I tell you why I want this?” Fair’s fair. I want her to give of herself, so I need to offer something of myself.
“Please.”
“First, I can’t think of anything hotter than watching you pleasure yourself. Second”—I lower my voice—“I don’t ever want you to be false to me again.”
“So this is punishment?”
“Reframe it as pleasure. Show me a sexy, beautiful, gorgeous girl getting herself off.”
“What if I fake it again?” She sounds half-cheeky and half-peevish.
I brace my arms on either side of her thighs and lean in, sucking the lobe of her ear in a slow, wet kiss before whispering, “You won’t.”
“How do you know?” She gasps.
“Because I’m going to give you something.”
“Which is?”
I pull back and hold her gaze. “My trust.”
Her mouth forms this perfect little O.
“Go on, then.”
Her fingers slide up her knees, travel her inner thighs, and my brain flatlines even as my pulse pounds harder and harder. Though I thought she’d do it, seeing her in action is a whole other box of dice. Fuck me, she looks good—better than that, bloody incredible.
“This what you want?” She eases two fingers into her slit, pupils dilated like she didn’t think she had it in her. I don’t get that about this girl. She doesn’t recognize how special she is. No one’s ever looked at me like this. She’s not intimidated. Maybe a little nervous, but hell, so am I.
She’s working herself properly, fingers glistening.
“How do you normally do this?”
“Alone.” Her teeth latch to her top lip. “In the dark.”
“I meant fast or slow.”
“Slow. It’s not like it’s going anywhere.”
I laugh long and loud, which is something I’m not sure I’ve ever done with a hard-on before. Auden’s brand of sexy is fun, and I’ve never known that was possible. It’s good to be turned-on and smiling.
I really meant to make her do this—touch herself, come while I watch—but fuck, my plan unravels with every rise and fall of her breasts. I could tell myself it’s pride at work, that I want to have another chance to assert my manliness, that she isn’t going to fake it with me again, but there’s something else more simple happening here.
I want to touch her.
So I do. And it’s bloody brilliant. I set my hands in the small of her back and before lowering my mouth to hers, say, “Don’t stop.”
She parts her knees a little more and gives me a clear view of dusky pink slickness. Fuck. Never could I tire of such a sight.
“What about pressure? Hard or soft?”
“Light first.” Her voice cracks. “So light it’s almost not touching. Only use the tips of my fingers.”
I glance down as she flicks herself. “Like that?”
She nods distractedly.
I’m transfixed, undone by her small circling movements.
“This is something you’re into?” She breathes. “Watching?”
“I’ve never done this before.”
“Not something you make all the girls do?” She arches her back, gives her breasts a subtle thrust.
“I’ve never asked any girl for this.” My voice is husky as hell.
“Guess I better make it memorable.”
She already has. This girl’s put me under a sort of spell. Despite the fact I’m not even sure if I fully trust her, I find myself hoping, though I’m not even sure what for.
“You can’t control everything—you know that.” She pants.
“Maybe no’, but it’s worth a try.”
She pauses what she’s doing. “But if you’re always in control, then you’re never surprised.”
I swallow back a frustrated groan. “Don’t like surprises.”
>
She pops one of her fingers in my mouth. I jerk in surprise as her flavor spreads across my tongue. Before I can grasp what’s happening, she’s palming my cock straight through my trousers. She drags her thumb along my shaft, and it responds like she’s its high lord and master. “That’s nice?”
“Aye.” I’m reduced to single syllables.
“See? Surprises aren’t all bad.” She winks, smug as the cat who ate the cream. She moves her hand over mine, and her wet heat is better than anything.
“What if I do this?” I ease back her hood and brush my thumb over the exposed bud.
“Oh, God.” Her thighs give an inadvertent twitch.
“I’ll be taking that as a yes, then.” I do it again and her legs jump, and she’s laughing and then I’m laughing, but our kiss intensifies. My tongue thrusts with as much fury as the fingers I’ve added inside her. This is good, incredible even, but I need more.
I fall to my knees between her spread legs and tug her pants to her ankles. When she’s open enough, I lean in and tease with my tongue, a slow lick up and down before she can gasp. Her taste is incredible, tangy and addictive. My hands roam to her hips, holding her, and I don’t just lick. I kiss and add a soft bit of suction until her hips buck, keep it up until she’s coming, hard, right on my face. I want to pull back, finish her with my fingers, watch her fall apart, but can’t bear losing the taste of her.
Afterward, she collapses, limp and spent against me, rubbing her still shivering thighs. “They won’t stop.”
“Elvis leg?”
She looks puzzled.
“I get it climbing sometimes. Cameron and I called it ‘Doing the Wild Elvis.’” I shake my own in an impersonation as I rise back to standing.
She is quiet a moment, her ribs rising and falling through her shirt. “I wish I could have that effect on you.”
“Don’t think for a second you don’t affect me. How are you? Want to go again?” I’m as greedy as a kid in a candy store.
She gives me a lazy smile and stretches over her head. “Sorry. I think Elvis has left the building. You, on the other hand—”
“Me?”
She reaches, skimming my hard-on again, and I hiss, sucking in a breath. “I owe you one.”