Page 62 of Destined Dawn
Her hair’s wet and she’s wrapped up in some silky gown which is begging to be untied. I guess she showered already.
Little man snorts at her and then darts as quickly as his stumpy legs will carry him from the room.
“I’m guessing that’s a no then.” She peers up at me. “Are you shaving?”
I sweep my hand back through my damp hair. “You wanted me looking smart,” I mumble.
“I did,” she says and then she stands and locks the door. Are we about to get dirty again?
She points to the razor. “May I?”
“Are you going to slit my throat, little rabbit?” I whisper darkly.
She doesn’t answer me, picking up the razor in her hand instead and stepping closer to me. With her left hand, she tilts my head backwards, exposing my throat. And, fuck, maybe she is. That or sink her teeth into my throat.
I take a hold of that tie around her waist and drag her closer.
“What you going to do, little rabbit?” I ask.
She meets my eyes and then presses the razor hard against the soft skin beneath my chin, gliding it firmly downmy throat. It slides over the foam and my skin, but there’s still a sting. A tantalizing sting, and I close my eyes and sigh. She reaches down and swishes the blade through the water, the foam dissolving away, and then she presses the razor again.
“Harder,” I tell her.
“Don’t move,” she tells me, like she’s perfectly aware of what I had in mind.
She presses more firmly, scraping at my throat this time and how the fuck did this happen? How did fate make a girl so perfect for me? Dark like me. Prepared to indulge me in my sick little games. I lick my lips, peering down at her as she drags the razor down my throat a third and fourth time, those pretty eyes of hers focused intently at her work, her pink lips pursed.
She grabs a hand towel and wipes at my throat next, examining her work first, before she lowers my head and inspects my chin next, swishing the razor once more through the water as she does. She tilts my head to one side and drags the blade right down my cheek, over the scars, to the edge of my jaw. She does it again and again, cleaning the razor each time. Then she halts and runs the pad of her thumb gently over the place she’s just shaved.
“Soft,” she comments.
“And handsome?” I ask, still unable to believe that claim.
“Very,” she says, sighing slightly in a way that sends shivers all over my body.
“Me?” I say. “Even with the,” I pause, “funny eyes?”
“I love your eyes,” she says, observing first my left eye and then my right. “They’re really very beautiful.”
“Shit,” I say, stunned.
She stares right into both eyes at once, like she’s peering right into my cold, black soul. And fuck, how can awoman looking at me like that turn me so much the fuck on?
She tilts my head the other way, and shaves my other cheek, then my chin and finally it’s just the spot above my top lip.
She hovers the blade right there and bites her tongue between her teeth in concentration. She moves the razor closer.
“No mustache, then?” I ask.
“Jeez!” she says. “Stay quiet. I don’t want to nip you.”
“But what’s the point,” I pout, “without a little blood?”
“I don’t understand your fascination with blood,” she says, cupping my jaw and holding my head still. With concentration, she moves the razor over that narrow bit of skin between my nose and my lip, taking special care around the edges of my lip.
“They’re too beautiful to spoil,” she explains.
“You like my lips too?” I ask her, when she moves the razor away.
