Page 51 of Reclaiming Izabel

I was like an ex-con who hadn’t had a woman in years.

A knowing smile played on Izabel’s lips.

Oh, my little temptress.

“Everything go well today?” My voice croaked. I lowered the takeout and orchid on the dining table.

“It did.” She closed the distance between us and trailed a finger down my torso. My abs tightened in response. “How hungry are you?”

Every muscle in my body seized, and I forced myself to put our relationship above my lust, but I had to be honest. “I don’t want to mess this up?—”

“I wasn’t suggesting sex.”

Just that three-letter word out of her mouth conjured up all the erotic images in my head.

She bit her lower lip. “I don’t want to mess this up either.” Izabel was fair-skinned enough that a blush on her was discernible. At that moment, though, her face was flaming. “Uhm, I was thinking.” Her eyes lowered to my crotch, widened, and then quickly returned to my eyes.

I smirked.

“Stop that,” she whispered.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Not in the way you mean.”

“Maybe it’s exactly the way I want it to mean.”

“Drake…” she chided in gentle annoyance.

“Iza…” I teased.

She puffed a short laugh. She was adorable and I wanted to snatch her in my arms. Fuck, this was torture.

“So what’s on your mind besides eating this delicious Italian dinner I brought home?”

She looked at me critically. “Do you still use a straight-edge razor?”

“Hell yeah.” I grinned, beginning to see where she was going with this.

“Have it with you?”

“Yup.”

“Then let’s give you a shave and a haircut.”

“Gina suggestedwe engage in a familiar activity that’s also personal,” Izabel said as she tested the sharpness of the razor on a section of my hair. She used to cut my hair and sometimes gave me a shave. “I kinda like this longish style on you. Mind if I trim a bit?”

I shrugged. “Whatever you want, baby.”

We were in the main bedroom. Izabel told me to take a shower, so it’d be easier for her to give me a haircut. Meanwhile I sat on a swivel stool that was part of the vanity table with only a towel wrapped around my waist. My oversized frame probably looked ridiculous on it, but I didn’t care. Izabel was behind me, running her fingers through my scalp, and, if I were a cat, I’d be purring right now.

Holding out a section, she shaved off the edges. Clumps of hair fell to the tiled floor as awareness and heat flicked against my skin with every brush of her body against mine. My cock began to tent the towel and I forced myself to think of Brick in a pink dress because it made me more squeamish than thinking of blood and guts. I played this game with my erection while Izabel moved temptingly around me.

“Do you like this length?” Her eyes met mine in the mirror.

“Looks good to me.”

“Great,” she breathed and situated herself in front of me. I widened my legs to allow her to move between them, the towel precariously gaping open. A hitch in her breathing told me she was as affected as I was. She worked on trimming my beard. Our eyes met briefly. I fought the urge to steal a kiss, and I didn’t want the razor to slice my cheek open either.

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