Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
SCAR
Standing beneath the hot spray of the shower feels like the most incredible thing I have ever experienced in my life. I use her shampoo and soap, loving that it all smells of her; sweet citrus. I run my hands over my body, feeling my ribcage under my fingertips. Exhaling a breath, I lift my head up towards the shower, letting the hot water cascade over my face.
I’m not stupid. I know that if she hadn’t come and got me, I would have been dead. My body aches, every part of me feels tired. With little to no strength to do anything, even having this shower is exhausting me. After switching off the shower I step out, not wanting to risk fucking passing out again. I don’t like her seeing me this weak. This isn’t the man that I am. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.
After wrapping a towel around my waist, I walk to the sink to brush my teeth. I’m thankful the mirror is steamed up and I can’t see my reflection. Mirrors weren’t needed. I can feel how fucking battered I am, and I don’t need to fucking see it. Once I’ve brushed my teeth—thankful for the freshness in my mouth—I slowly walk out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. She’s stood there with a chair in the middle of the room, with a sheet of plastic underneath it and a pair of scissors in her hand.
“Sit,” she orders, patting the chair.
“You know this looks like you are about to murder me, right?” I point out, leaning against the door frame to keep myself upright.
Her gaze narrows. “Are you okay?” she asks. I try and give her a reassuring smile, but she sees right through it. She places down the scissors and swiftly moves to me, her eyes searching my face. “Come on, get to bed. I can do your hair tomorrow. This is too much, too soon,” she says as she links her arm with mine. She tries to guide me to the bed, but I refuse to move. Pausing, she turns around and frowns up at me. “Come on,” she urges.
“Cut my hair. I want to feel like me again,” I tell her honestly.
She halts for a moment, as if she is deciding whether to argue with me or not. After giving me a curt nod, she helps me to the chair. I sigh, feeling relived that I’m not having to hold myself up.
Suddenly, she shoves a drink in my face. “Drink it,” she orders.
I roll my eyes and take it from her, knocking it back in one go. I scrunch my face up in disgust at the taste. “What the fuck is that?” I ask, fighting my gag reflex.
“That is a drink packed full of minerals and vitamins,” she states as she brushes my hair. “And maybe a good helping of sugar to keep your levels up,” she adds.
“Fucking thought so. Too fucking sweet,” I say with a shudder.
I hear her chuckle a soft laugh as she places a towel over my shoulders. “No, don’t move,” she orders.
“Yes ma’am,” I salute. “Please don’t give me a bowl cut,” I beg.
“Aww, damn it, that’s all I know how to do,” she mock whines. I laugh. “I am just giving you a good trim. I like your hair,” she compliments. My hair has always been long, well long for a guy anyway. I sit there while she trims it, and as she moves around the front of me, the concentration in her green eyes is adorable. Instinctively, my legs open and I grab her curvy hips, pulling her closer so she is stood between my legs. Her hands rest on my shoulders, and as she looks down on me, her gaze is wide and her cheeks are stained a rose pink.
“Is that easier for you?” I ask, my voice rasping with the tension I’m feeling, and I know she’s feeling it too.
She swallows and nods. “That’s great, thank you.” She clears her throat and regains her focus on my hair. I don’t remove my hands from her hips, liking the feel of her beneath my fingertips.
She continues to cut my hair for a while in silence before she breaks it. “So, what’s your real name?” she asks, killing the silence.
“I’ve told you, my name is Scar,” I answer, and she raises her brow at me. “My name is Micah,” I answer.
“Hhm, Micah,” she mumbles.
I despise being called it. “Don’t ever call me that. Scar is my name now,” I tell her sternly. She doesn’t ask why or make further comment, sensing my unease about it.
She continues to cut until she lets out a pleased sigh and leans back. “Done.” She smiles as she looks down at me, still stood between my legs. I watch as she drops the scissors and comb before she runs her fingers through my damp hair. I groan at the feeling of her nails delicately scraping along my scalp. She stops immediately and I open my eyes. Her gaze flickers back and forth, probably trying to decide what I am doing. Truthfully, I don’t know. She inhales and smiles before her hands cup my heavily bearded face. “How about a trim here, too?” she asks.
“You can do whatever you want to me,” I tell her truthfully.
Her cheeks blush again as she smiles and reaches for a pair of clippers. “I won’t get rid of it completely. Just going to cut and tame it,” she says as she switches the clippers on. Her brows furrow in deep concentration as she glides the clippers through my beard.
I know if it was left any longer to grow, I would look like a band member of ZZ Top . My hands are still firmly on her hips, and my fingers twitch, wanting to pull her to me, to grab fistfuls of her plump and round ass, but I don’t. I’m obviously still lightheaded from the lack of food and nutrients, and Elsie is the first woman I’ve been this close to in months. She isn’t the type of girl I could use for one night, because she deserves more, not that anything would happen right now. I’d probably cum with one thrust from where it’s been so fucking long. Definitely wouldn’t be the night she deserves.
She finishes trimming and as she switches off the clippers, she runs her eyes over her work. I watch as she leans in closer and gently blows across my lips, then she swipes her thumb across my bottom lip. My hands tense on her hips, and as her eyes lift from my mouth to my eyes, she licks her bottom lip.
“Sorry, you had a hair on your lip,” she says softly. “Let me wash your hair in the sink and rinse out any loose hairs. You can stay seated,” she assures me. “My fault really. I should have done it before you showered,” she apologises.
I swallow and nod, too focused on my own thoughts and trying to not get an erection. Rage’s ugly ass, Rage’s body part collection, I repeat in my mind as she takes my hand and helps me to stand. Then with one hand, she lifts the chair, and in the other retakes my hand. She lets out a huff as she struggles to carry the chair.
“Let me,” I say, holding out my hand.
She shakes her head no. “I’m not having you exert yourself.” She grunts as she walks into the bathroom, setting the chair down next to the edge of the tub. “Sit,” she orders.
“You know, you can be quite bossy.” I smirk.
She smiles as she reaches for the shower head and switches on the water. For an en-suite, this bathroom is huge, with a deep large tub with a shower head attachment and a separate huge waterfall shower.
“Head back,” she orders.
I shift on the chair and lean back. If I thought fighting an erection while she was cutting my hair was hard, then her washing my hair was even harder. As she leans over, her breasts are practically in my face. With the smell of her perfume and her fingertips massaging my scalp, it’s no good. I can feel my dick hardening, pitching a fucking tent under the towel. She is unaware of the effect she is having on me, too busy washing my hair to notice. I need to pass out. Fuck, I need to just black out now to save myself from embarrassment.
“Are you okay?” she asks as she rinses the shampoo.
“Fine,” I grit through my teeth. She falters what she’s doing and steps back, looking at me with concern. My face is set rigid, and every thought in my head is trying to deflate the massive and painful erection.
She presses her hand to my cheeks. “You’re burning up,” she says, her voice etched with panic. “Come on, under the shower. We need to bring your temp down,” she says in a rushed breath. Her face is full of concern, and I mean, she isn’t wrong. I need a fucking ice cold shower to control my fucking dick.
I open my mouth to protest, but she’s too busy moving around the bathroom in such a panicked frenzy. She grabs my hand and some-fucking-how manages to yank me upright. Her gaze flicks from my face to adjusting the shower temp.
“Come on, I will get in with you,” she ushers. I step into the shower, immediately tensing as the cold water hits my body. She quickly steps under it with me. “Oh shit, that’s cold.” She shivers.
“Angel, you don’t need to be in here with me,” I tell her through chattering teeth.
“No, it’s, it’s okay.” She shivers. “I don’t want you falling and hurting yourself,” she says, shuddering.
“You’re getting soaking wet,” I tell her.
She looks down at her jumper and jeans. “Oh shit, I didn’t think.” She shivers. I’m unable to tear my eyes away as she removes her jumper. “I was just worried you would end up passing out,” she says as she chucks the jumper out of the shower and begins unbuttoning her jeans.
It’s at this point I look to the ceiling to avoid looking at her very wet semi-naked body. “I’m good now,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Oh, um...” She pauses. “Maybe I was a bit hasty in doing this. I just know it’s good for keeping your temperature down.” She sighs. I glance down at her, and her wet hair is now stuck to her porcelain cheeks. She anxiously nibbles on her bottom lip while looking up at me, and the temptation is overwhelming. My eyes slowly trail down her body, and if my dick was hard before it’s fucking rock hard now. Her voluptuous body is so soft, and I want to trace every curve with my fingers and tongue. She sucks in a sharp breath, and her arms quickly move around her middle.
I frown and grab her wrists, pulling her arms to the side. “Every curve of you is stunning. Don’t ever cover it,” I tell her.
Her gaze finally snaps to the tent I’m pitching, now covered with only a wet towel which just clings to it.
“Oh, um, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you, um...” she stutters, trying to look away, but her eyes keeping landing right back on it. “It’s like a car crash I can’t look away from,” she mutters.
“Angel, please don’t ever refer to a man’s dick like being in a fucking car crash,” I warn her.
Her big green eyes look up at me. “Do you want me to, um, leave you to relieve yourself?” she asks, gesturing down to my crotch.
I shiver as I remember that we are in fact stood under a cold shower. “Unless it’s going to be your mouth, pussy, or hand relieving me, I’m good. I don’t wank off like a teenage boy,” I grit out.
She tries to push her wet hair away from her face. “Right.” She nods, tapping her chin with her index finger, like she’s genuinely trying to solve an everyday solution.
“Angel,” I growl. Her gaze snaps up to mine. “I’m getting out of the cold shower now,” I tell her.
Her eyes go wide, like she has forgotten where we are. Then she moves and quickly turns the shower off. She steps out of the shower and I ogle her behind, not caring anymore that she’s already seen I’m hard. May as well make the fucking most of it at this point.
She turns with a fresh towel in her hand, and as she holds it out to me, she looks away. I drop the towel that’s around my waist and stand there completely naked before her. Taking my time, I don’t rush to take the towel she’s holding from her, wanting to see if she will chance a look. I want her to chance a look. Suddenly, my head feels light, and I wobble slightly. She turns as if knowing something’s wrong, and her eyes land on my dick. They go wide with shock, and I smirk with pride and amusement. My body may be thin, borderline malnourished and covered in bruises, but my dick can still cause that reaction.
I place my hand on the side of the wall to steady myself. She huffs and rolls her eyes, wrapping the towel around my waist, only she accidentally knocks the head of my dick with her hand as she does it.
“Fuck!” I hiss in pain.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she apologises, still holding the towel around my waist. “Put your arms over my shoulders and let’s walk you to the bed. There are some sweats and a T-shirt there for you,” she demands. Her tone stands for no messing, but I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My body is still feeling weak. She helps me to the bed, and I sit on it with a sigh, sounding like an eighty-year-old man. “Do you need me to help you dress?” she asks. I glare at her. “Okay.” She smiles. “I’m just going to go and get dressed in the bathroom,” she states awkwardly, pointing her thumb over her shoulder before she quickly scurries across to her closet. After grabbing what she needs, she then scurries back into the bathroom.
I watch her go, a smile spreading across my lips. After she closes the door, I pull on the sweats, not bothering with a top. I slowly and stiffly climb into the bed, and a deep groan escapes my mouth.
Elsie comes running out of the bathroom, her hair freshly brushed, dressed in a tank top and shorts. “What’s the matter? Do you need me to call you an ambulance?” she asks, panicked.
My eyes instantly drop to her large breasts that are moving freely, barely contained in the tank top. Her nipples pebble, and as I look into her eyes, I quickly pull the quilt over me.
“I was moaning in pleasure. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept in a comfy bed,” I tell her.
She sighs in relief. “Oh, thank god.” She turns the lights off, apart from the small bedside lights. I watch as she rummages around and places another fresh bottle of water on the table beside me, as well as a cereal bar, a protein bar, and some kind of sports energy replenishing drink. She then walks around to the other side of the bed and climbs into bed. After checking her phone, she picks up a huge bucket of popcorn and sets it down between us. “So, what do you want to watch?” she asks as she presses a button on the remote and a TV comes up from the bed frame. Before I can open my mouth, she answers for me. “Oh, I know,” she says as she selects a movie.
I look at the screen. “Beverly Hills Cop?” I ask, looking at her.
She smiles and nods, popping some popcorn into her mouth. “It’s one of my favourites, do you not like it?” she asks as she picks up the remote, ready to turn it off.
I place my hand over hers. “I like it,” I tell her, my eyes feeling heavy.
She must notice, for she quickly moves the popcorn and switches the last of the lights off, surrounding us in darkness, apart from the light from the movie. “Good night, Scar,” she whispers.
“Good night, my angel,” I say before yawning.