“How does that feel?” he asks. He looks worried. I smile. I look at my face; at the way my nearly black hair frames it. “Different,” I reply, my eyes wide in wonder. “Good.”
Xavier grins so wide, his face looks like it might shatter. His teeth are beautiful, his eyes crinkled at the edges from the force of his smile. His joy hits me in the chest like a heavy blow, and my knees go weak.
“Whoa,” he says, catching me before I sink to the floor in a heap. If my long hair was anchoring me to the ground, now I feel like I barely exist. It’s a heady feeling, like lust. Braced against the counter, I turn my body to face his. I tuck my hair behind my shoulders and look Xavier right in the eyes. He’s got that worried look again, and he tries to leave the room. I’ve already anticipated his move, though, and I sidestep so my back is against the closed bathroom door, the whole room a dizzying mix of pheromones and peroxide.
“What are you doing?” he asks uneasily. I reach for the waistband of his jeans, pulling him toward me. He follows the movement of my insistent tug—to a point. But he freezes shy of our bodies touching, placing his arms on the wall on either side of my head. I’m caged in by him, but it’s not like being trapped in a tower; it’s like being consumed by a fire than burns so damn good.
I’m breathing heavily, the feeling inside my chest dizzying. There’s a fine sheen of sweat gathering on Xavier’s chest. He looks afraid.
I stand on my tiptoes, curling a hand around his neck. Our lips barely graze, but it’s like being slapped across the face, like seeing stars. I know Xavier feels it, too, because he jerks his head away.
Without my hair weighing me down, I am a new person. Meek, subservient Seraphina is gone now, her fate braided into the long plait of hair that sits on the counter, dead. I am another Seraphina now.
Seraphina means fiery, and I am burning up inside.
Xavier tries to grasp the door handle. I don’t let him. I am small, but I am fast. And apparently, insistent as well.
“Phina,” he protests.
“Xavier,” I reply.
I unclasp the bra he bought for me, letting it slide off my shoulders and onto the floor, forgotten. In the past four days I have broken myself open, spilled my dirty soul onto the floor, showed Xavier Bishop all of my secrets… and now I want to show him this. I take his large hand and place it on my left breast, shivering as his rough palms scratch my soft skin. Underneath my jeans, my underwear is drenched. Whoever thought something as innocent as a haircut could cause such a raging desire to be unleashed?
“We can’t,” he breathes, tipping his head forward so our foreheads are touching.
I unbutton my jeans and slide them down my legs, kicking them off onto the floor so that I am completely naked.
“Says who?” I challenge him. I want to kiss him. More than anything in the world, I want to kiss him. I take the hand that’s still on my breast and guide it between my legs, into the warm wetness that’s appeared just now, just for him.
“Oh, fuck,” Xavier mutters, sliding his finger through my slick folds. He pulls away, though, putting his hand on my shoulder and stepping back to create the illusion of distance between us.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says urgently, his dark eyes searching mine. “You understand? Whatever he made you do, it was wrong, and it was sick, and you don’t ever have to feel like you have to give me that, Phina. I’ll do anything to keep you safe. You don’t need to do this with me.”
I sag against the door, throbbing and empty and light-headed with need.
“You don’t want me,” I say, looking down at the floor. “It’s okay. I understand.”
XAVIER
Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck. I was just cutting her hair, and then she was taking off her bra, and putting my fingers between her legs. Oh, fuck! She’s so wet. My cock is so hard it’s going to kill me. This is where I die. Not with a bullet, or a knife, but from a brain aneurysm after the impossible pressure in my dick backs up all the way to my skull.
My balls are so heavy, it’s like I’m packing a pair of lead weights underneath my jeans.
“You don’t want me,” Phina says, naked against the door, her wet pussy all over my fingers.
“I fucking want you,” I groan, still holding her at arm’s length. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s not right.”
She narrows her eyes. “You would rather I live with the memory of Ignacio as the only man who’s ever touched me,” she responds. Almost like it’s a dare.
“Just show me,” she whispers urgently, her eyes on the spot where my cock is trying to split my pants open. I can’t. I shouldn’t. But my hands have a mind of their own, unbuttoning my fly, pushing my pants down my locked thighs, gripping my cock in my hand as I stare down the impossibility in front of me.
Seraphina steps forward, her hand reaching for me. She wraps her fingers around my cock and squeezes.
“I want to kiss you,” she whispers. I lick my lips. A kiss, my conscience can handle. I wait for her to tilt her head to me, but she sinks to her knees instead. She presses her lips to me, precum smearing across her lips as she plants a kiss on the blunt end of my cock, and my conscience no longer matters. A growl starts deep in my chest as I pull her back up to her feet, my hands grabbing her ass, lifting her into the air. I turn her, from the door to the bathroom counter, the scissors clattering to the ground as I perch her on the edge of the counter and grip her knees, spreading them wide. I’m going to burn in Hell for this, but an eternity of suffering is easily worth every thrust I can get into her wet cunt before I explode.
“I want to kiss you, too,” I breathe, my heart hammering as I bury one finger in her tight pussy. Oh, God. My cock throbs with raw need.
“Hurry,” she begs, squirming on the counter. I don’t waste another second. I drive my hips forward, my cock finding the wet heat of her core, and I just stay there, barely breaching her tightness. I just want to see the spot where we join, the way my dark cock looks against her pale skin. I rock my hips forward slightly, dipping my lips to hers and kissing her. She tastes like me, salt and sex on her lips, and like something else, as well. She tastes like a cold glass of water to a man dying in the desert. My chest tightens at the relief; she didn’t die. She survived. And she’s here, flesh and blood. And she’s fucking beautiful.
“Do it,” she whimpers, raising her hips toward me. I hold her chest to mine, her nipples warm on my bare skin, and enter her slowly. I savor every inch, every damn second, every wet kiss, every tiny moan. I fuck her on the bathroom counter until she tightens around me, throwing her head back so hard it smacks against the mirror, and then I can’t hold back, moaning as my balls tighten and I empty myself into her.