Chapter 30
Chapter
I was definitely a last-minute addition to Tasha’s wedding party because the event is scheduled for only two weeks after Shawn showed up with my invite. Still, I appreciate being included.
George—after checking in with me to make sure I wanted to spend the night with him—books us a room in the hotel where the reception is being held. But that doesn’t mean I don’t tease him about the gesture.
“I don’t know,” I say in my best unimpressed voice as I wander around the suite. “I mean, I guess it’s nice. But it lacks the mildewy charm of the motel.” With a dramatic leap, I plop onto the bed. “This isn’t even damp. I’m calling the front desk to complain.”
George leans a shoulder against the doorway, watching my antics with a silent smirk. Then he firms his lips and shakes his head.
“Stop rolling around on the bed.”
“Why?” I ask as I continue to roll around on the bed, luxuriating in how soft the mattress is.
“Because it makes me want to fuck you.”
I pause my rolling to pretend glare at him. “And that’s suddenly a chore?”
“No. It’s something I want to take my time doing. Which we don’t have because the party starts in an hour.”
I scoff. “It takes you that long to get ready?”
“It does when I want to shave my head.” He runs a hand over the stubble on his skull, and I realize it’s the longest I’ve seen his hair.
“Can I do it?”
“Shave my head?”
“Yeah.”
George regards me as his teeth dig into his lip. “Sure.”
Excited, I hop off the bed and follow him into the large bathroom. The tub is big enough to fit us both. I might need to take a bath later.
He digs through his bag, then sets down the clippers and glances around the bathroom. “Where do you want me to sit?”
“Really? You’ll actually let me? You don’t even know if I’m any good at it.” Still, I step forward and claim the trimmer, not wanting him to change his mind.
“Are you?”
“You’re lucky because, yes, I am very good.” I point to the edge of the tub, and he settles, the seat putting him low enough that I get a good view of his head. “You have a perfectly shaped skull. Did you know that?”
George snorts and bumps his shoulder against my hip. “Thank you. How did you get to be very good? Did you go through a shaved-head phase?”
“No. I’m too vain.” With a twitch of my chin, I send my red strands flipping over my shoulder.
“Plus I think I have a lumpy skull. The look wouldn’t work for me.
” I check the clippers to make sure they’re clean.
Then I stroke my palm over the bristles regrowing on George’s scalp.
Just because I enjoy the feel. “I cut my mom’s hair for her.
She likes to keep it short. I also used to take care of Billy’s, although he’s been growing it out lately. ”
In the mirror I catch George’s frown.
“He’s not growing it out because I’m bad at trimming it,” I add, in case he’s having second thoughts.
George reaches back to squeeze my calf. “Of course not.”
“You do a uniform cut, right? Number one for the whole head?”
He smirks. “Have you been studying my perfectly shaped skull?”
Leaning down, my lips brush his ear. “Only because it looks so good between my legs.” Then I nip his earlobe and George lets out a grunt.
“You can cut my hair later.” He tries to stand, but I hold him in place with a hand on his shoulder. “You need more time to stare at my head.”
Laughing, I press kisses to his scalp, then shoot him a stern look in the mirror. “Sit still, Bunsen.”
He sighs, then does as he’s told.
The clippers buzz to life in my hand, the vibration familiar. I’m careful as I start at his sideburns and work my way up with steady strokes. There’s a freedom in not having to worry about different lengths. Trimming his hair becomes almost meditative, my body relaxing as the minutes go by.
“There.” Done, I meet George’s eyes in the mirror to find his lids have gone heavy, while his stare has turned hot. “What do you think?”
His eyes hold mine. “That was the best haircut of my life.”
I pluck at the shoulder of his shirt. “You should take this off. To clean up.”
George slips the trimmer out of my hand, sets it on the bathroom counter, then stands to face me. In one swift move, he jerks his T-shirt over his head and lets it fall to the ground.
“You need to clean up, too,” he rumbles, leaning toward me where I still stand in the tub.
“I do? Wait, what—” I shriek when George turns on the shower.
The spray is cold to start off with, and like Jet would likely react to getting dropped in a bath, I try to scramble away from the water.
But George hooks me around the waist with one arm, steps into the tub with me, and tugs the curtain shut.
“Shoot. Your clothes are wet.” The asshole is smirking. “I know how much you hate that. You better take them off.”
“Oh really? You think you deserve to see my tits after that?” At least the water is warming up.
“It’s for your own good. You hate damp fabric. But fine. Keep your shirt on.” George kneels—still in his jeans—and dips his fingers into the waistband of my shorts. “But these are coming off.”
“On whose authority?” I cross my arms, lean back against the tiles, and glare down at the man as I try not to let on how much I’m enjoying watching water spill over his bare chest.
“The authority of the man who is about to lick your sweet pussy while you study his perfect head to make sure the trim is even.” He gives me a shit-eating grin before pressing a kiss to my inner thigh.
I let out a peal of laughter that ends in a gasp when he tugs my bottoms down to my ankles, then parts my folds with his thumbs. I kick off the soggy fabric so I can spread my legs wider. “I thought we didn’t have time for you to fuck me.”
“I’m a liar. I’ll always have time for this,” he murmurs against the red curls on my mound. “You’re soaked.”
“It’s the shower,” I claim, obstinate to the last.
“Hmm.” George guides one of my legs over his shoulder, then swipes his thick tongue along my center. “Doesn’t taste like water.” His silver eyes meet mine along the stretch of my body. “How do I look, baby? Got a good view while I worship your cunt?”
“Hell,” I gasp as my body clenches, because George slipped two fingers inside me when he said the word “cunt.”
“Focus, Beth. I don’t want to knock a star off your rating because my barber got distracted.”
I gape, and he curls his fingers while shooting me a taunting smile.
“That is a five-star haircut,” I hiss around my panting breaths that grow ragged as George leans in to tongue my clit, eyes on mine the whole time. “You better give me a five-star orgasm in payment.”
Damn it to hell, I can feel his grin against my pussy, and it’s one of the most erotically sweet experiences of my life.
“Yes, ma’am.” George sinks a third finger into my channel. “You want a tip, too?”
I bark out a laugh, then mutter curses as he commits to his task, savoring me like I’m more delicious than whatever gourmet spread we’re about to have at this wedding.
The pleasure builds fast, rolling up and down my limbs in a constant pulse that settles deep in my belly and sets my muscles to shaking.
When my legs quiver beside George’s head, he loops the second over his shoulder so all I have to do is sit and cradle his freshly shaved skull in my palms as my hips rock against his eager mouth.
“That’s so good,” I moan as his curved fingers press into the exact right spot. “Don’t stop. Please. I’ll kill you if you stop.”
He chuckles, my horny threat amusing him.
And it’s that extra rumble against my clit that sends me over. As I ride out my orgasm with happy gasps, George straightens and lifts me until my legs wrap around his waist and my still-pulsing core settles against his hard length.
“I want more than the tip.”
“Oh yeah?” His wet pants land with a slap against the bottom of the tub before he kicks them away. Then he drags off my shirt and discards that, too. “What do you want, Beth?”
“You.” Our eyes meet and hold, mine going wide as I realize how that simple answer may have revealed more than I meant it to.
George’s expression blends gentle caring and fierce intensity. He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding my face still so I can’t look away.
“I’m yours.” He rests his forehead against mine, so close that all I can see are pupils surrounded in silver. “Wherever you go, take me with you. That’s all I ask.”
And I can see that. Us, side by side. And I realize how lonely I’ve felt.
But not anymore. Not with him.
“For now,” I whisper, “just take me.”
He lets out a harsh breath, and there’s the press of his hard cock against my entrance.
The decadent heat of his bare skin has me grateful that I got an updated STI check last time I renewed my birth control prescription.
When I texted George my results, he immediately followed suit with his, both of us eager for this exact moment.
He sinks in slowly, even as I writhe, and his panting grows heavy.
“Fuck, Beth. It’s even better…how do you…god, I might die…”
Then I squeeze my internal muscles and he lets out a choked grunt and slams himself deep, followed by a few more hard strokes before he regains an ounce of control, growling as he does.
“You want me to come in fucking five seconds?”
“It’s kind of a compliment, right?” I tease back, breathless at the stretch of him in me.
“I want to stay here forever.” He has his head tilted down, his gaze locked on where his bare cock pulses in and out of my pussy.
I drag my nails along his fresh buzz and rock my hips, trying to take him deep, whimpering when he holds back.
“You want me so bad, don’t you, good girl?” He palms my ass, massaging the cheeks, pushing and pulling me as he feeds his length into my body. “Say it again, Beth.”
“I want you,” I sob, so close to another orgasm but unable to reach the pleasure with his restrained movements. “I want you. I want you. I want—ah!”
George buries himself in me until I feel the press of his balls against my ass, then he thumbs my clit, stroking in steady circles until I’m screaming his name, my body plummeting through an orgasm that feels like a free fall.
He curses, the words muffled as he presses his face against my neck. Hard arms wrap around my body in a relentless hug. Inside me I can feel his cock pulse, spilling evidence of his pleasure until I’m full.
For a while we stay locked together, trying to breathe. Eventually, with a groan, George lets himself slide out. But he doesn’t really leave me, not when he reaches for the detachable shower head and carefully washes me off.
Reverently.
I revel in the attention, letting him take care of me.
“I was going to suggest you come to our next salon night,” I murmur. “But I’m not sure that’s a good idea if this is how me cutting your hair ends.”
He chuckles, the sound deep and delicious. And when he bends down to rinse my legs, I lean over and plant a kiss on the top of his perfectly shaped skull, smiling at the tickle of his short hair and the pleased noise he makes in response.
We’re a little late to the party, but with how the evening goes, I’m glad I stole a few extra minutes of happiness when I could.