Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“Fine.” With my back to her, she quickly strips. I have to remind myself not to let my imagination run away from me. This is about teaching her a lesson.
“I’m ready.” I turn to find her sitting on the edge of the tub, wrapped in a towel. Without saying a word, I drop to one knee in front of her, then turn on the tap for the sake of rinsing between strokes.
“Just stay still.” When I pick up the shaving cream, she stiffens, then flinches away. “What?” I snap.
“Can I at least do this part myself?” she holds out her hand, and since it doesn’t seem like she could do too much damage with a can of cream, I give it to her. She makes quick work of lathering up her leg before propping her foot on the tub.
“Do you do this a lot?” she asks. There’s a nervous edge to her voice.
“Oh, sure. My office has a sign-up sheet for anybody who needs a shave.” I touch the razor to her skin, and she flinches. “Seriously?”
“You’re holding a sharp razor to my skin. Sorry if it makes me nervous.”
“All the more reason to stay still.” She grumbles but offers no further argument while I swipe the blade over her shin. There’s something satisfying about cutting a line through the layer of foam. Exposing her clean skin. I rinse and do it again. Again. She doesn’t make a sound except to breathe—quick, shallow breaths. The way a person breathes when they’re waiting for something terrible to happen.
“See? No catastrophes.” I have to lean in closer and take special care with her knees. “This part is trickier than it looks,” I admit.
“Imagine having to do it all the time.” She cranes her neck, examining the razor while I guide it carefully over her knee. “So there’s only one blade in there, huh?”
“Yes, a single blade.”
“It looks like it does pretty good work. Go figure.”
“People shaved this way for years before manufacturers convinced them it takes five blades at once to get a good, clean shave.” I finish one leg, and she rinses off. This isn’t so bad. So long as she quits with the teasing and smart-ass comments, being with her is almost bearable.
Until she shifts her position so I can take care of the other leg. It means spreading her legs, causing the towel to fall open at the bottom, giving me a look at what rests between her thighs.
Not now. For Christ’s sake, get it together. It’s a pussy like any other. But the sight of it takes my breath away, just the same.
“Everything okay?” Her question snaps me out of it. She’s lathered up her leg while I knelt here, thinking way too much about the fact that she’s not wearing underwear. And I am very close to that pretty little pink pussy of hers.
“Fine.” I should work faster if only to get this over with, but for some reason, I move slower than before. Examining every curve of her leg, from ankle to kneecap to thigh. She’s so young, so fresh.
Once I’m finished with the bottom half of her leg, I run a hand over her calf before holding it still. She can’t suppress the soft gasp at my touch, the sound traveling straight to my cock and making it twitch. “Hold still,” I mutter, my voice choked.
“I’m trying.” From the corner of my eye, I see her chest rising and falling faster with every inch of skin I cover. The closer I get to her pussy, the sharper her breathing.
“Am I bothering you?” I ask, leaning over to rinse the blade. She’s flushed, biting her lip. Somewhere in the back of my increasingly overheated brain, there’s a sense of victory. Maybe she’ll think twice the next time she wants to challenge me.
“No.” But damned if her legs don’t spread wider. Now nothing conceals her puffy lips, the tip of her clit protruding ever so slightly. Dark, pulsing need builds low in my body, thickening my cock, forcing me to remind myself of a line I shouldn’t cross.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you meant that, too.” I hand her the can. “Go ahead. Unless you want me to prep you myself.”
She looks down, then back up at me. Her legs snap shut. “Oh, no. No, you don’t have to do that.”
“It looks like you normally do it yourself unless my eyes deceived me.”
Her cheeks color, eyes lowering. “I normally do.”
“Then, by all means. We need to make sure you’re ready for the doctor.” I look her in the eye, fighting off a grin at her obviously flustered state.
She lets out a long, shuddering breath before spraying cream on her hand and spreading it over her mound. I realize I’m holding my breath as I watch, my mouth practically watering. How tight would she be? How sweet would she taste if I shoved my tongue up inside her?