The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue 2)

I shake my head. Everyday scissors will give you split ends, but he doesn’t seem to care. I suppose he shouldn’t if he spends his days getting greasy under the hoods of cars. Still. This feels like a betrayal to my industry.

I find a pair in a desk drawer and return to the bathroom. As I set the scissors on the counter, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I don’t like what I see. My normally straight hair is wavy from the water and frizzy from the steam. Black makeup has smeared under my eyes.

“That’s more like it, huh?” Andrew asks, coming up behind me. He meets my eyes in the reflection. “Now you look like you’ve been thoroughly fucked.”

“I look like a mess.”

“A mess I created,” he says, hugging me. Automatically, I place my hands over his forearms. “We don’t look so bad together, do we?” he asks.

I study our reflection. His wet black hair drips water onto his chest. The colorful ink is like a layer of clothes between us, a stark contrast to my white skin. I don’t like marks. I take particular, painstaking care of my complexion, and aside from a bruise forming on my chest where Andrew sucked and kissed, I’m smooth. Flawless. “We look like opposites,” I say. “You’re dark and big.”

“You’re light and small.”

It’s true—we look nothing alike. His height dwarfs me, even though I’m somewhat tall. His hair glistens, reflecting the overhead light, while mine is platinum and matte thanks to a talented colorist.

He sets his chin on top of my head. “Our eyes,” he says at the same moment I notice.

I nod. “They’re the same.”

“Almost.” He peers at me. “Yours are bluer.”

“Yours are the same as your sister’s.”

“And my daughter’s,” he says. “‘Indigo’ is what Sadie’s husband calls it. Totally creeps me out when he talks about how beautiful Sadie’s eyes are and then tells me in the same sentence how alike we look.”

I watch as we laugh together. As he kisses the back of my head. He pulls a bench out from under my vanity to sit on. “All right. Let’s do this.”

I drape a towel around his shoulders and get my comb from a drawer. “Do you normally make women work on the first date?”

“This isn’t a first date.”

“I was joking, because you freaked out earlier when I called it one.”

“It’s more like a second date,” he says, ignoring me. “We already had dinner, a walk, and a night cap. And you put out—bonus for me.”

I comb his hair off his face. I have no idea how I’m going to do this. “So how does date two go then?”

“I don’t know.” Our eyes meet in the reflection. “It’s been a while since I had one.”

My heart skips a beat—to my dismay. I ignore it. “Well, I can definitely say playing barber is a second-date first.”

“Good. I like to set myself apart.”

“You certainly have,” I mutter.

“Use your fingers,” he says, lacing his hands in his lap.

I set the comb aside and rake his long strands back. “How short do you want it?”

“Hmm?” His eyes are shut, his shoulders slightly hunched.

“Are you sleeping?”

“No.” He opens one eye, says, “However you like it” and closes it again.

“You aren’t going to watch? What if I mess up?”

“You won’t.” He scratches his jaw. “Actually, I’ll watch if you do it naked.”

I don’t even respond, just roll my eyes and shake my head to myself. I’ve seen stylists part hair down the middle. I start with that. “How do you normally style it?”

“It’s complicated,” he warns.

I furrow my eyebrows, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. I normally shampoo it, towel dry it, then go to work.”

“Um.”

“Sometimes I brush it. And sometimes when it’s long and bothering the fuck out of me, I gel it back so I can see what I’m working on.”

I sigh, trying to sound annoyed, but I can’t help my smile. “All right. If that’s how you want to play this, then sit back and enjoy. I’ll do my best.” I pick up the scissors and run my fingers through one side of his hair. When I have a chunk, I trim off the top.

“That was the first snip,” I say, since his eyes are still closed.

I wait to see if he’ll stop me, but he just says, “Great.”

I continue, doing my best to make sure the trim is even, careful not to cut it too short.

I want something I can get a handful of—even if it’s only for tonight.

SEVEN

Standing between Andrew’s legs, I make the final snip, and his black hair falls to the floor. Normally, I’d clean up the mess I’ve made right away, but I’m too busy surveying my work. For as much as my trade requires me to judge other people by their appearances, I feel like I should have a better idea whether or not I’ve done a decent job. “I’m done.”

Andrew blinks his eyes open and looks up at me. “Yeah?”

I nod. “You are officially my first client.”

He grins, takes the scissors out of my hands, and sets them on the counter behind me. “You’re amazing.”

“I’m blocking the mirror,” I say. “You haven’t even seen your hair.”

“It felt amazing.” He takes me by the waist, and pulls me a few inches forward until he’s looking straight up at me. “And you did it how you want it. So I know I’ll like it.”

I cup his cheek without thinking and look into his eyes. All at once, the moment feels overwhelmingly intimate. I remove my hand. “Are you leaving now?” I ask.

“Leaving? No. Not now.” He parts my towel and slips a hand underneath. “Now, I’m going to fuck you again.”

I suck my bottom lip between my teeth as my stomach flutters. I came by his hands in the bathtub twenty minutes ago, but already, warmth and need creeps up my chest.

He pulls me forward to straddle his lap. “Wasn’t this the position you applied for?” I ask, undulating my hips once.

He groans. “Woman on top.”

I slide my hand over his pec. “You made me feel good. I want to return the favor.”

“I won’t say no.” He wedges his hands under my ass and brings me closer. My towel parts, and I’m pressed up against his stone-like cock. I put my arms around his neck, gyrating over him.

“Fuck,” he says into my neck, sounding like he’s got a mouthful of grit. “I need to be inside you.”

“You can be,” I say, barely recognizing my own voice, “when I say so.”

He runs his hand up to my scalp, grabs a fistful of my hair, and draws back. “You want to play boss for a little bit? Fine. I’ll let you.”

“You’ll let me?” I ask, doing my best to look down at him as he holds me in a tight grip.

“Sure. It could be fun to watch.”

I grit my teeth and stop moving. I’ll show him how fun it can be to do what I say. “There’re condoms in my nightstand. Go get one.”

In one motion, he stands, lifting me with him. “Yes, boss,” he says before setting me on the bathroom counter.

As he walks into the bedroom, his towel loosens and falls off. He leaves it. His ass is tight and tanned, as if he regularly does naked squats outdoors. My mouth waters.

I hop off the counter and follow him into the bedroom, where he’s stooped over my nightstand’s open drawer. He picks out a condom and holds it up.

“Leave it for now,” I say. “You won’t need it to eat me out.”

He straightens, arching an eyebrow at me. I open my towel and drop it on the floor. He takes a step toward me, but I say, “Stop.”

“Why?”

“Just seeing if you can follow orders.”

By the way he clenches his jaw and swallows, I can tell he wants to take over. I level my gaze on him, and he stays where he is.

“I have ideas,” he says.

I hesitate. Andrew is used to getting his way. So was Reggie. A few times, toward the end of our relationship, he even intimidated me into sex. I let him. He abused his control. I need to know Andrew can stop himself, no matter how badly he wants to be in charge.