I whimper and arch into his handhold, completely at his whim. He strokes me dry, my only lubrication the precum trapped between my foreskin and desperate cockhead. He’s merciless as tortured vowels and incoherent consonants fall out of my mouth.
God, oh God,oh God.
I shudder through the intense orgasm as cum spurts onto my sweat-damp belly, then I whine and try to pull away when he curls forward to lick me clean.
Too much, too much.
Don’t stop.
I whine again when he steps back, but I’m too fucked-out to do anything about it. I’ve become one with the chair, like some avant-garde art installation.
Here we haveBoneless Slut, and he’s one hundred percent pure trust-fund baby.
I snort.
“What?” he asks, still a little out of it.
“God,” I answer, breathing in the smell of sex and bodies and hair products, “what I could do with that Excalibur swinging between your legs. Give me a weekend, a box of condoms, and a bucket of lube, and I’ll turn your world upside down.”
He huffs out a laugh, pulling up his jeans. “Yeah, right,” he says under his breath. “I’d be hanging from a meat hook by Monday.”
My brain, still drowning in sex hormones, doesn’t bother to make heads or tails of that.
“Okay, then. You got what you wanted,” he says, breathless as he zips himself up. “Time to go.”
I’m still one with the chair, unable to process language, taking in his ruffian style and nimble fingers as he puts himself back together.
“Hey.” He shakes my shoulder. “I need you to leave.”
My unfocused eyes finally find his. “Wh-what?”
“We’re done here.”
Oh.
“But I thought?—”
“It’s like you said: there’s no reason not to have a little fun. And now we’re done.”
“What about my hair?”
“Get the fuck out of my shop, Bash.”
I should’ve paid attention to thatKeep Outsign.
5
TRUETT
I doubtRami Bash has ever been talked to like that, but it’s effective. Seconds later, he’s out of the chair, fumbling with his clothing.
In under thirty seconds, he’s at the door, fingers reaching for the handle. He stops and dips his chin. “Hey, man. I’m sorry if?—”
I look away, unable to avoid his reflection in the mirrors around the shop. “Nothing to be sorry about. Just find yourself another barber.”
Inhaling sharply, Rami gives me another searching look before turning, dejected, to the great outdoors. He closes the door so softly that the bell gives a muted, sad littleding.
Why the hell am I anthro-fucking-pomorphizing a goddamned bell?
