Chapter 8 - Charlotte #2
The soft sound of the scissors fills the silence.
"Am I the first real person you've practiced on?" Koda asks, his voice soft beneath the snip of scissors.
I pause mid-cut, my fingers still tangled in his damp hair.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Just curious." His eyes find mine in the reflection of the window, dark and unreadable.
I resume cutting, grateful for something to focus on besides the heat radiating from his body.
"Yes, you're my first human guinea pig. I've only worked on mannequin heads and Sarah so far."
"Brave man," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Or foolish."
I smile back, trying to keep my voice light.
"My professor would probably have a heart attack if she knew I was cutting your hair without supervision."
"What she doesn't know won't hurt her," Koda says, and there's something in his tone that makes my stomach flip.
I clear my throat.
"So, um, how's your fighter doing? The one who just won the championship?"
"Ben?" Koda shifts slightly, his knee brushing against my thigh. I nearly drop the scissors. "He's good. Young, cocky as hell, but he listens when it matters."
"Must be rewarding," I say, moving to stand in front of him. Our faces are inches apart as I measure the front sections. "Teaching someone, watching them succeed."
"It is." His breath warms my wrist as I work. "Reminds me why I started doing this in the first place."
I'm trying so hard to concentrate on the cut, but all I can think about is how close we are. How his knees bracket my legs. How his eyes follow my every movement.
The guilt and desire war inside me like twin storms, neither giving ground.
Dad would be horrified if he could see us right now. His best friend and his daughter, locked in this strange, electric dance.
But I can't bring myself to step away.
"Were you always into boxing?" I ask, desperate to fill the silence with something besides the sound of my hammering heart. "I remember you and Dad watching fights when I was little, but I never knew if that was before or after you started training."
"After," Koda says. "Your dad was the one who got me into it, actually."
I blink in surprise.
"I didn't know that."
Koda chuckles. "There's a lot you don't know about your old man." His voice softens with affection. "He was one hell of a fighter before he threw his shoulder out."
The guilt intensifies.
Here he is, talking about Dad with such loyalty, while I'm fantasizing about what his beard would feel like against my skin.
"Almost done," I murmur, making the final adjustments.
I run my fingers through his hair one last time, checking for evenness, savoring the silky texture.
"There," I say as I take a step back. I grab the hand mirror from the counter and hold it out to him. "What do you think?"
Koda's fingers brush mine as he takes the mirror from my hand.
Suddenly, I start to feel nervous.
What if he hates it? What if I've butchered the hair of the most intimidating man I've ever met?
He studies his reflection for what feels like an eternity, turning his head side to side. I've taken off about two inches, cleaned up the edges, but left enough length that it still frames his face in that rugged way that makes my heart race.
"Well?" I ask.
Koda sets the mirror down. Finally, he says, "It's perfect, baby."
His eyes flick up to meet mine, and something shifts in the air between us.
Does he feel this, too, this impossible pull? Or am I imagining it all, projecting my own desires onto a man who sees me as nothing more than his best friend's daughter?
The silence stretches between us.
"Fuck it," Koda growls.
Then his hands are cupping my face, and his mouth is on mine.
He kisses me like a man drowning, and my hands find his shoulders as I melt into him. His beard scratches against my skin as his mouth claims mine, and when his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I open for him with a gasp.
Koda's hands slide into my hair as he tilts my head to deepen the kiss. One of his hands drops to my waist, fingers digging into my hip as he pulls me between his thighs. The scissors clatter to the floor as I press closer.
"Charlotte," he breathes against my mouth.
The sound of my name snaps me back to reality.
I pull back, panting. Koda's eyes are nearly black, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
"I..." I start, but the words die in my throat.
Koda runs a hand through his freshly cut hair.
"I shouldn't have done that," he says. "Charlotte, I'm sorry."
The apology cuts deeper than it should.
"Are you? Sorry, I mean?"
"I should be."
"But are you?" I press.
Koda takes a step toward me, then stops himself, his hands clenching at his sides.
"No," he admits. "I'm not."
I take a step forward and close the distance he created.
"I'm not sorry either," I whisper.
A growl escapes his throat as he surges forward. His mouth crashes against mine. This kiss is different. It’s desperate, hungry, and unleashed.
"I know I shouldn’t want you," he murmurs against my lips as he walks me backward until my spine hits the kitchen counter. "But I can’t fucking help it."
His hands slide down my sides and he lifts me onto the counter in one fluid motion. I wrap my legs around his waist and draw him closer.
"Tell me to stop, sweetheart," he says, his forehead pressed to mine. "Tell me this is wrong."
I shake my head and tangle my fingers in his freshly cut hair.
"I don't want you to stop,” I tell him. “I want you.”
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes.
Koda’s hands find the hem of the sweatshirt—his sweatshirt—and slide underneath, his calloused palms dragging against my stomach.
"Jesus, Charlotte," he groans when he realizes I'm not wearing anything underneath. His thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts, and I arch into his touch. "You're so fucking soft."
He kisses a path down to my collarbone and when his teeth graze the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, my hips jerk against him. Then one of his hands travels lower, his fingertips tracing the waistband of my jeans.
"These need to go,” He growls.
He works the button free and slides down the zipper.
"Koda, wait. I-I’ve never done this, before," I admit. "I mean, I've done stuff, but not... this."
Koda freezes.
"Never?"
I shake my head.
"Is that weird?"
His thumb traces my lower lip.
"No, baby. It’s not weird. But it does mean that we need to slow down."
"I don't want to slow down," I protest as I tighten my legs around him. "I want you."
"And I want you so fucking bad it hurts," he says. "But I need to make sure you're ready for me."
Before I can argue, his hand dips into my open jeans and his fingers slide beneath my underwear.
When he touches me, we both groan.
"Christ, you're soaked," he growls as his fingers explore with devastating precision. "Is all this for me?"
I can only nod as his middle finger circles my clit. I grip his shoulders, nails digging into the muscle beneath his shirt.
"That's it," he encourages. "Show me what feels good."
I rock against his hand, chasing the pressure. He slides one finger inside me, then another, stretching me. His thumb takes over the circles on my clit and the dual sensation makes my head fall back against the cabinet.
"Are you going to come for me, Charlotte?" He curls his fingers inside me, finding a spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. "Are you going to let go and show me how pretty you look when you fall apart?"
"Koda, I—" I can't finish the sentence.
"That's it, baby. Let go. I've got you."
His fingers move faster, harder, and something inside me shatters.
The orgasm crashes over me and I cry out his name, my body clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure washes through me.
When I finally come down, trembling and gasping, Koda's looking at me with something like awe. He withdraws his hand slowly and presses a kiss to my forehead.
"That was so hot," he whispers against my skin.
I'm boneless, barely able to form coherent thoughts. A small smile tugs at Koda’s lips. He lifts me off the counter in one smooth motion. I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs still weak, and he carries me down the hallway.
"Where are we going?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
His eyes meet mine, dark with promise.
"I’m taking you to my bed."