So—even though I shouldn’t because he is who he is and that monster inside is loose, and has been loose for maybe decades—I do believe him.
And I say, “OK,” as I come.
Chapter Thirty – LOGAN
The moment she gives in something changes.
I don’t know what it is. It could be love, I just don’t think so. But whatever the emotion is that floods the blood inside my cock, it changes things.
The promise I made her becomes real.
I come too. I don’t even expect it. Don’t even realize it’s gonna happen until it happens.
Her body goes limp. Utterly soft. Her head drops to my shoulder as her legs drop to the floor. She quivers and shakes. Like she is spent.
And she should be. I have literally lost count of the number of times we’ve fucked.
I pick her back up and walk over to the bench where AJ is sitting, then sit next to him. Close enough that our shoulders are pressed up against each other.
Yvette sinks into my chest like she might fall asleep, her arms around my waist, her thumbs swirling lazy circles on my wet skin.
I sigh and look at AJ, find him smiling. I glance down at his cock, still in his hand, and see that he came as well. All over his fingers. He’s still massaging the tip. He’s looking me in the eyes when I glance back up. “What?”
He shakes his head, stands up, steps under the shower head to rinse off, then opens the glass door and walks out.
“Where are you going?”
“Hold on,” he calls, grabbing something from the medicine cabinet. When he returns to the shower he says, “OK, Logan. Your turn.”
He’s holding up another razor.
I look down at my dick.
“No.” He laughs. “Your face. Give Logan a shave, Yvette.”
“Oh,” I say. “OK.”
Yvette forces herself to sit up, her eyes heavy and half-closed. “Seriously?”
“Fuckin’ serious,” AJ says. “It’s good for us, trust me.”
I think about that for a second. How he wanted me to shave her to bring us closer. And how he’s gonna make damn sure that the tenuous bond we’ve formed grows stronger.
He’s really invested in this. More than I am, for sure.
Yvette takes the razor and AJ hands her the shaving cream, then settles back down in his corner to watch.
“Have you ever done this before?” I ask Yvette.
“Did I question your skills when you took a blade to my pussy?” She raises one challenging eyebrow at me.
“No.” I laugh. “You didn’t.”
“Then shush and trust.”
She squirts a large dollop of foamy cream onto the side of my face, sets the can down, and then begins to smooth it out across my jaw.
Her touch is gentle, and easy, and tender.
“But no,” she says, dragging the cream over the top of my lip. “I’ve never done this before. I have, however, shaved other things hundreds of times.” She stops, looks down at me with a serious expression, and says, “I won’t hurt you.”
A long exhale escapes my lips. Something that might be relief on another occasion. One where I was stressed. I didn’t think I was stressed out right now. Had forgotten all about why I’m here and how this day is supposed to end. But the exhale proves otherwise.
“Hmmm,” Yvette murmurs.
“What?”
“Maybe you need a cool chevron mustache?”
I laugh out, “No.”
“A goatee?”
AJ laughs now too.
“No,” I say. “Just color inside the lines, Yvette.”
“Oh, no. Wait. I got it. Mutton chops!”
“Yvette,” I say, starting to get a little worried.
“I’m kidding, you oaf. One boring shave coming your way. But a chin strap is always an option.”
I can say, for sure, that I’ve never had a sexy, naked woman sitting in my lap talking to me about beard styles. But I might like it. And AJ’s idea to do this was a good one. It is bringing us closer.
That’s stupid, I realize. But then again—shaving another person involves a lot of trust and vulnerability. So maybe not.
“OK, hold still,” Yvette says. “I gotta concentrate on your new gunslinger sideburns.” She winks at me as she gently drags the razor down my cheek.
AJ laughs again. I glance over at him. Find him relaxing in the corner. One leg up, foot on the bench. The other on the floor. His cock is still semi-hard but he’s not jerking off. I guess we’re finally all satiated. “It’s all fun and jokes until she’s sitting in your lap with a razor,” I tell him.
He rubs the ever-present stubble on his chin and grins. “She’s not touching my pride and joy.”
Yvette points the razor at him. “Is that a challenge? Because I can rise to the occasion.”
We all laugh a little, but it’s true.
She can rise to an occasion. She built this life, after all. Got away from psycho Damon, started over with strangers. Gave birth among them. Then sent her baby away to have a better life. And then, when all that was over, she squared her shoulders and moved on. Started over from nothing.