She shrugs off her zip hoodie and pulls things from her bag, eventually tipping the contents onto my dresser. My shoulders hunch, and I fiddle with my brim. Rosie walks to Graham and gives him a stroke and a treat. He snaffles it before returning to his slumber.
She’s giving me time, but there isn’t enough time for me to be okay about revealing my scars.
I close my eyes and take a breath. I can’t smell her soap. I need something to relax me. Her body bumps my knees, and I open my eyes to gaze at her.
“Niki, from everything I’ve learnt about you and from the kiss in your car, you need to be in control of a situation to help you with your anxiety. When you were in the crash and then in the hospital, you lost your control, so you moved to a Greek villa.”
“Because of the germs,” I stutter.
“Are you sure that was all? You controlled your environment. You secretly like it when I call you sir. You like doing nice things for me, and you need things to be in a certain way. It makes you feel good to have these aspects of control.” She doesn’t sugarcoat her words or soften her voice.
My counsellor suggested the same, especially when I told them how I used to enjoy power play in sex.
She adds, “When we kissed at the aerodrome, you carried the energy of a man who dominated the car and showed me what he was capable of.”
“What are you getting at?”
I need her to say it, because as she stands in front of me, her legs pressing against mine, her hips close enough for me to grip, I need her words.
“I want you to control this haircut. I want you to control me.”
My throat dries. I swipe my lip with my tongue, but it doesn’t do anything.
“Do you want to be in control of me, sir?”
“We can’t. We shouldn’t.” But I want it.
“It’s just a haircut,” she says huskily. “Do you want to be in control of me, sir?”
I nod, all the fight from before leaving me. I shouldn’t want this with her. There’s a sexual edge neither of us canembrace fully, but there’s also the chance to have control in a situation where I feel like nothing.
“How shall we do this? Where shall I start?”
Desire courses through my limbs, replacing terror, and I pull my shoulders back. I grit my teeth and tighten my abs. I move my arms to my side and fist them.
The anxiety is still there, but her suggestion temporarily overwhelms it.
“Niki?”
I lock her stare. “Please remove my cap.”
She does and places it on the bed. “And now?”
“I’d like you to stand behind me and start shaving. I want my hair short but with a generous buzz cut, so the guard needs to be on a two.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.”
A murmur that sounds a lot like pleasure leaves her parted lips. She runs the back of her fingers across her chain and walks behind me. I’d hoped Rosie would be into the games I used to play during sex. I shouldn’t consider that, and yet the fantasy of her on her knees returns like a flash of lightning.
“Will you tell me if it hurts?” she asks softly.
Her fingers run through my hair, and I will my dick to calm. At her featherlight touch, I close my eyes, struggling not to groan. My body’s saturated with need.
“You can’t hurt me.” She could hurt my heart, but I’m not sharing that sentiment.
“You have such beautiful hair. It’s a shame to see it go.”
