Fuck Lana—two words. I’ve always loved the way he moaned them, breathed them, growled them.
Why is he so hot?
My hands fist his shirt at his back. “Christian.” He thrusts his hips. “Oh my god.”
“Lana, wait,” he breathes.
“What’s wrong?” I pant.
He shakes his head, pulling away and gingerly lowering me back onto the floor. “Nothing,” he whispers, pushing hair behind my ear and brushing his thumb up my cheekbone. “Nothing, baby, I just… I have another surprise.”
“Oh?”
Christian looks down between us and takes my hand in his, I look down and watch our fingers lace together. “Come.”
He leads me toward my bedroom, then my ensuite bathroom, and when he pushes open the door, there is a chair in front of the vanity. “What’s this?” I ask.
“You said I needed a haircut,” he says softly. “I know you don’t like it when it’s too short so…”
I try to swallow through the lump in my throat but choke on the burning ball of tears pushing their way out of me. “Christian, I?—”
His hand releases mine and he sits in the chair. I blink to clear away my eyes and slowly come behind him in the chair. He’s laid out scissors, a hair clipper, a comb, hair clip, a spray bottle, and a towel.
And this, somehow, is just the cherry on top.
I have him back for good.
“Cut it however you want.”
I stand behind him and drape the towel around him, clipping it with one of the clips on the vanity. I grab the spray bottle and wet his hair, raking my fingers through his hair. In the mirror, when I look up, I catch him watching me with those coffee eyes, soft with the tiniest smile at the corner of his lips.
I love him.
“I like your hair a bit shorter around here,” I say quietly,scratching the sides of his head gently. “I like it long enough for me to play with and pull.”
He huffs a laugh that makes me smile.
“Do what you want with it.”
I spray his hair before I grab the comb and the scissors, and cut it the way I’ve done a few times in the past. I remain concentrated measuring his hair between my fingers, but every so often I catch his eyes in the mirror, and they never stray away from me.
I cut his hair in comfortable silence, feeling safe with him here. When I’m focused on a particular area, his hand reaches back and holds my thigh or calf. When I stand between his open legs to get the top of his head, his hands hold onto the outsides of my thighs and his eyes fall closed. With every move I make, he’s touching me, even as I finish.
As I run my fingers through his hair and he drops his head back against my stomach. He inhales deeply and exhales through his nose. His eyes flutter open, looking right up into mine. “Better?”
“Better,” I breathe.
Christian wets his bottom lip and his eyes flit to my lips. I massage his scalp for a few seconds before I walk around the chair, and straddle him. He picks up his head and his hands are immediately on my waist, and I pretend I’m doing this to brush out his damp hair with my fingers.
I thread my fingers through the hair at the sides of his head, measuring but also not really. I’ll fix it later. “I miss your stubble.”
His fingers around my waist tighten just barely. “I thought you didn’t like it,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
“When did I say that?”
He shrugs. “I just assumed when you said caveman.”
“You assumed wrong,” I laugh quietly. “I need to cut some more at the sides with the clippers.”
