Page 40 of One Time Only (One Time Only 1)
His eyes are like sparklers on the Fourth of July. “You mean that?”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Of course I mean it. You’d be sexy with short hair. And you’d be sexy with old-school Bon Jovi–length hair, or a new shorter cut. You’d be sexy with a shaved head. With a buzz cut. With long hair. With wavy hair. With curly hair.”
Stone shudders. “I’m not a curly-haired dude.”
“I know. But the hair length doesn’t matter,” I say, and because he’s way out of sorts, I give him more. I take my time, weighing my words, but doling them out anyway. “If you’re asking if I’d still be attracted to you if your hair was shorter, the answer is this attraction isn’t going anywhere. And it’s not because of your hair.”
He breathes a huge sigh of relief and whispers, “Same. Wait, that’s not true. I mean, yes, it is true. But I just want to say, for the record, I really like your hair. I like it a lot. It’s so you. It’s the perfect length, all short and clean cut.” He makes a circular gesture to encompass all of me. “Everything. Everything you have, it’s just working. You are just so . . .” He reaches out and slides a hand over my chest, sending a hot rush of adrenaline through me.
I try to stay as still as I can as I give him a warning. “Stone.”
His voice dips to a low and dangerous register. “I know . . . I’ll stop.”
“You have a haircut to get to,” I whisper as a tremor works its way through my body.
“I do.”
But he doesn’t take his hand off me. I don’t want him to. I look down at his fingers splayed on my chest. “Why are you doing this?”
“I should stop.”
There is nothing in his voice that sounds like he’s going to stop. There is nothing in my voice that says I want him to.
I take his free hand, lift it up, and press a kiss to his palm. He trembles.
“You should, Stone,” I say quietly. But I don’t stop either. I draw his finger into my mouth, sliding it between my lips, sucking down to the end of his knuckle.
His jaw comes unhinged. “J, I think about that so much. All the time.”
I draw him deeper, swirling my tongue around him. My bones crackle with lust. “Me too,” I say around his finger. “Every night. Every morning.” I let go so I can run his finger along my bottom lip. “Want to taste you. Feel you in my throat.”
He tightens his grip on my chest, fisting the fabric of my shirt. “I have no words,” he whispers.
“Don’t need words.” I suck him back in, nice and tight, showing him what I want.
My eyes are locked with his the whole time.
We are teetering. This moment is tipping dangerously into something we swore we wouldn’t do again.
I want to pounce on him.
And I just might.
His phone buzzes with an alarm.
The haircut.
I shake off my desire as best I can. Let go of his finger.
Rise.
Offer him a hand to tug him up. He takes it. As he stands, his eyes glimmer with mischief. He stares at my crotch. “I turn you on.”
It’s a statement. Not a question.
I roll my eyes. “Wiseass. You know you turn me on. I was just talking about sucking your cock. If I didn’t have a raging erection, we’d have a bigger problem.”
A groan seems to rip from his chest. “There’s nothing problematic about that.”
I inch closer, lining my body up with his, bringing my face near his ear to that spot I love on his neck. “It is a problem, since you just swore me off for more than two weeks.”
“Did I?” Stone asks slyly.
I shake my head. “You swore off getting involved. Evidently, there is no one you won’t bet with. So, whether it’s sex or getting involved, it doesn’t matter.” I gesture to the bed. “You made your . . . bet.”
“And now I have to lie in it?”
This time, I do laugh.
And because I do have control, because I am disciplined, because I’m going to stick to the plan, I step away from him, not giving a flying fuck about my raging erection as I mutter, “Goddamn bet.”
He mutters it too as we leave for the barber.17JacksonThe cherry blossoms paint her skin beautifully, weaving down one trim arm.
Stone tells the stylist as much as she snips and clips his hair in a swank hipster barbershop in the basement of the hotel.
It’s closed right now. Or, really, it’s open only for him. Being a celebrity has its privileges.
She shifts around to bring the scissors to his other side, revealing her left arm now. Calligraphy dances down it too—ink that reads “I believe . . . in me.”
