8. Dane Gallagher #2
Focus on that. Not on how close she is. Not on her hands still moving through my hair. Just the water. The steady rhythm of the scissors. Anything else.
My cock doesn’t cooperate.
A second later, I feel it—low and unmistakable. Tension tightening in my stomach, sharp enough to send a wave of dread through me.
My grip shifts against the log.
No.
Not now.
Not here.
I shift my weight slightly, trying to get ahead of it before it becomes obvious.
Charlotte doesn’t notice. She’s still focused, lifting another section of hair.
My pulse kicks up.
Seriously?
I lean forward just enough to rest my forearms on my thighs, aiming for casual, as I cover the tent in my shorts.
My hands settle there—and stay there.
Better.
Charlotte keeps working, muttering under her breath as she trims. She steps in a little closer, her knee brushing mine again like it means nothing.
To her, it doesn’t.
To me, this just got complicated.
I keep my eyes locked on the horizon and focus on breathing steady, waiting for it to pass before she has any reason to look down.
She trims another section, then leans back to check her work, head tilted as she compares both sides.
“Hold on,” she says.
I don’t move.
Partly because she told me not to. Mostly because moving right now would be a mistake.
Her fingers slide through the front again, adjusting the strands. Then she straightens and steps back.
“I think that’s even.”
Relief hits fast, and I stand up immediately—too fast.
Charlotte watches me as I shake the loose hair free. Strands cling to my neck and chest, and I brush them away quickly.
“How does it feel?” she asks.
I run my hands through it once, not paying attention to the result.
“It’s perfect. Thanks.”
Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Doesn’t matter. I need to get out of here.
“I’m going to rinse off at the freshwater pool. Get the loose hair off.”
She nods. “Good idea.”
I let out a quiet breath of a laugh and head for the trees before she can say anything else. Right now, more than anything, I need distance.
“I was thinking about swimming. Mind if I join you?”
I stop mid-step.
Fuck.
For a second, I just stand there with my back to her, staring down the path toward the freshwater pool. Being alone out there had sounded perfect about five seconds ago. Apparently that plan just changed.
I force my shoulders to loosen. “Sure.”
“I just need to change.”
“No rush. Take your time.”
It comes out a little too fast, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s already heading for the shelter. The second she disappears inside, I turn and move—faster now.
If I hurry, I’ll have a few minutes. And right now, that’s exactly what I need.
I take the path at a quick pace, leaves crunching underfoot as the trees close in around me.
This is ridiculous. It was a haircut. That’s all. Her standing close, her hands in my hair, that faint scent lingering in the air—none of that should’ve been enough to throw me off like that. And definitely not enough to leave me dealing with this massive hard-on.
By the time the trees thin and the clearing opens around the freshwater pool, my pulse is still running too fast. The water lies dark and still beneath the late afternoon light.
I step off the path and move behind one of the trees near the edge, putting solid distance between me and the trail. For a moment, I just stand there, breathing, trying to get a grip.
Because if she shows up while things are still like this, there’s no explaining it.
I could get in the water and wait it out, but I don’t trust my cock to go down.
My rigid length strains against the fabric, desperate for release. I fumble, pushing down the waistband of my shorts, my fingers trembling with a mix of anticipation and fear.
My fingers wrap around the base, sending a shock of sensation through me. A sharp hiss escapes my lips.
No time to go slow and savor it. I spit into the palm of my hand, and I’m off like a racehorse at the sound of the shot.
My breath comes in ragged gasps as I imagine her—her body beneath mine, her legs wrapped around me. I can almost feel her, soft and warm, her hips meeting mine as she begs to be fucked harder.
My hand moves faster, my grip tightening as the pleasure builds, a wave gathering strength, ready to crash over me.
My muscles tense, my abs clenching as my release approaches. I bite down hard on my lip, tasting blood, as I pump harder.
“Oh fuck. Come on. She’ll be here any minute.”
I imagine her lying on her back beneath me, looking up, a smile on her face because she’s happy.
With one final, powerful stroke, I come, my body convulsing as thick streams spill onto the ground, my cock pulsing with the force of it.
When it’s over, I lean back against the rough bark for a second, dragging a hand through my freshly cut hair.
Okay. Good.
The edge of it fades, leaving me steadier than before.
I push off the tree and head to the pool, crouching to splash cool water over my face and neck. It helps clear some of the fog.
By the time Charlotte gets here, everything should be back to normal. No weird reactions. No spiraling thoughts. Just a swim.
I hear movement on the path behind me. I straighten, wiping my hands on my shorts as I turn.
Charlotte steps out of the trees, and for a second, my brain doesn’t quite register what I’m seeing.
The shirt she had on earlier is gone. In its place is one of Tara’s swimsuits—a revealing red bikini.
Oh, fuck me.
Sunlight catches along her stomach as she crosses the clearing. Her hair hangs loose, falling down her back.
I just stand there for a second.
Charlotte doesn’t notice anything off. She walks past me like this is completely normal, brushing her hair back as she looks over the water.
Then she steps in. The water climbs from her ankles to her calves as she wades in.
“It’s a little cooler than I expected,” she says.
A second later, there’s a splash as she dips under. When she comes back up, the water covers most of her, leaving only her shoulders and slicked-back hair above the surface.
That’s better.
I focus on the ripples spreading across the water. The trees. The steady background noise of the jungle. Anything except the fact that she’s ten feet away wearing… that.
I clear my throat and fix my gaze on the opposite bank.
You’re fine, Dane. Completely fine.
“Everything okay?”
I glance over. She’s floating near the center now, arms moving lazily as she treads water, sunlight flickering across the surface around her.
“Yeah, all good.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You coming in?”
“Yeah.”
She’s drifting closer, cutting through the water in slow, easy strokes. Small ripples spread out ahead of her, heading straight for shore—which means if I don’t get in now, she’s going to be right here.
Close.
Again.
I get to my feet before I can overthink it and step into the pool.
The water closes around my ankles, then my calves as I wade in. It’s colder than the lagoon, fed by the stream up in the rocks, and the chill sends a quick shiver up my spine.
“Colder than usual, isn’t it?” Charlotte asks.
“A little.” And exactly what I need.
I keep moving until it reaches my waist, then duck under. The cold hits all at once, washing over my shoulders and neck, taking the last of the loose hair with it.
When I come back up, she’s closer. Not right next to me, but closer than I’d like.
She treads water a few feet away, watching me with a small, easy smile, like this is completely normal.
For her, it is.