Page 49 of Cut Me Down

His teeth begin scraping, gently grazing my pulsing clit, and I have no choice but to anchor myself by grabbing onto his hair. Looking down to see his heart-piercing eyes only amplifies the ripples of my pending orgasm, moving closer and closer together with every swipe of his tongue. One of his hands trails up my body and begins massaging my breast. I arch my back in pleasure, forcing my pussy into his face even more. He moves his other hand underneath me, between us, and he slides a finger into my pussy.

“Oh God…” My breath is being tugged in the opposite direction by my pulling vagina. The climbing sensation yanking my hips to drive on to his face faster and harder and his hand deeper.

My breaths come out in short pants, and the pressure in my lower stomach builds to the point where I'm not sure I can hold it much longer. My moans ring through the bathroom as he gently pinches my nipple, twisting my gut with it.

I tip over the edge, giving myself over to one of the most powerful orgasms I’ve ever had and scream his name. My body tenses as my legs try to flinch closed around his head, shaking and trembling around him as I feel him begin to swallow my release. His gulping sends shots of pleasure through my core, prolonging this euphoric feeling.

Once I finally come down from my high, I slide back off of his face and straddle his hips. Relaxing as I breathe myself down. My hands resting on his chest as I pine for something strong to ground myself to. Fighting the urge to cuddle up next to him on the floor.

He sits up with a cocky, satisfied grin on his face as his devilish tongue licks my arousal off the middle of his top lip. Topping off his obvious feelings of victory by running his fingers through my hair.

“Feel better?” He says with soft eyes before leaning in close to my throat. His soft, plump, now slick lips start to peck, smearing his saliva and my arousal over my neck. Any ounce of anger, resistance, or fight in me is gone. Completely obliterated by my orgasm.

“Much…” I whisper as I unwillingly nudge my head into his. Seeking out more of his affection. My eyes widen and my cheeks flood to the adoring gesture. Forcing me to retreat slightly. It was more of an impulse than a thought, and now I feel embarrassed and clingy.

“Good.” He kisses under my jaw as he moves his hand behind my head and gently scratches my scalp. Then, as if he sensed my embarrassment, he nuzzles his face into mine forcefully and confidently. Definitely much more dramatic than mine was, as if to show that he approved of the notion. “Are you through with your tantrum?” He says as his grins widens, flashing those dangerous teeth. That intoxicating, cocky aura of his radiating off of him in waves.

“Yes…” I can’t help but grin back at him. Why did that just turn me on again? What is wrong with me? I'm such a weak bitch.

“Okay. Let’s go watch our movie.” He uses his strength and grip on my hips to stand me up on shaky legs. Keeping me balanced as he reaches his full height and wraps his arms around me before he starts walking. Guiding me to bed as he begins undressing himself with every step.

Once we reach the bed, he lays down on top of it and pulls on my hand, gently forcing me down with him. The relief I feel as we lay down is foreign, but I repress the instinct to pull away and rest my head on his defined, yet comfortable chest. He drapes my favorite blanket on top of us. Almost in a sweet and caring way, before he wraps one arm around me and holds me close to his warm, snuggly body. I reach for the remote to the TV, but he quickly snatches it and turns on ‘The Strangers.’

Fitting, I suppose.

As we lay and watch the movie, he runs his fingers through my hair, and I make it painfully clear that the motion relaxes me by allowing my eyes to feel heavy. The lids causing my vision to go in and out with every droop. I force them back open each time, trying not to be swept away by his calming waves.

He is gentle with me, and he is always concerned with how I feel or what I want. I suppose for tonight I can stop being a brat.

“I'm sorry you had a bad day.” I tell him without looking at him. My voice coming out so soft I'm not sure he could hear me. I feel his head move downward, and he’s either burying his nose into my hair again, or he’s moving so he can look at me.

“I'm sorry you did too.” There’s a moment of silence between us, and I think we’re both just enjoying the peace. Each of us taking the moment to gather our thoughts. “Need me to take care of anyone?”

I huff out laughter. He just can’t help it, can he? I shake my head against his chest.

“No. Some men are just assholes.”

“Did anyone touch you?” He says with more present anger as his grip on me tightens. It’s such a small reflex, I'm surprised I felt it, but I can feel his gaze burn holes into my body, and I don’t even have to look up to see it.

“Nope. Just crude comments mostly today.” His grip softens, and his fingers move in a gentle, raking motion. As if to reassure me.

“I'm sorry.” He replies softly and I shrug my shoulders into his body. Sinking me into him even more.

“I should be used to it. I don’t know why I get so upset by it sometimes.”

“Because it’s degrading. You have every right to get upset.” I nod my head and relax a little more against his chest. Attempting to glue my attention to the screen instead of the man I'm laying with. “Do you even like being a barber? Why did you choose to do this?” He asks with genuine curiosity. Did he just ask me that? Now that I think about it, I'm not sure anyone has asked me that question.

“Honestly?” He nods against my head. “It was an easy out. I knew I couldn’t afford college. My grades were good, but I never had time to do the volunteering and other things scholarship programs like to see. Cosmetology was free in high school, and I could graduate with my license. Once I had it, it was easy for me to work with Emmett and get dual licensed as a barber. I do like it most of the time. Just days like today suck.” He nods his head again in understanding.

“I’m sure.” I decide to take this opportunity and dig a little. If he can open the door to personal questions, why can’t I walk through it?

“What about you? What made you start Devils Hands?” There’s a brief silence before he takes a deep breath. Like he’s hesitating. Shit. That was a bad idea. The weight of my intrusive question comes crashing down, and I can feel myself internally cower. Like I’m trying to crawl into my own body. Surprisingly, he runs his hand up and down my back. Like he can sense my uneasiness, then answers.

“Not sure really. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I knew I wanted to help people, but my ideas of helping were a little…”

“Unorthodox?” I ask, that word definitely being the understatement of the year. He chuckles.

“Yeah, you could say that. So, at first I looked into the police department, fire station, EMS. I definitely didn’t want to follow in my father’s steps and join the military. So, I was walking down the street on the far side of town one evening, when a mom and her daughter were in trouble. I helped them out and took them to the hospital to be looked over. The urge to do this work started then. I guess something just clicked that day.”

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