Page 93 of Finding Kenna
“Okay, but if I stab you and you bleed out on the bathroom floor, don’t blame me,” she joked as she stood in front of him.
Marshall reached up and took her wrist in a loose grip. “I trust you,” he said solemnly.
Kenna swallowed hard and nodded. It wasn’t as if she was actually cutting his hair in some kind of style. She couldn’t mess this up…unless she cut his face. Mentally grimacing at that image, she took a deep breath, then got to work.
She started with the easy stuff, the hair hanging down from his chin, snipping it off and letting it fall into the bin. Carefully, she cut off more and more of his beard, until she got to a point where she had to put the scissors right next to his skin to get as much hair off as possible.
“Relax, Kenna, you’re doing fine,” Marshall told her.
She nodded, still tense.
It didn’t help when she felt his hands grip her hips. She looked down. “What?” she asked, thinking she’d done something wrong.
“Keep going,” he urged.
Kenna snipped some more hair—and luckily had paused to inspect her work when his hands snaked under her T-shirt and caressed her bare skin.
She squirmed and reminded him, “Ticklish.”
His touch immediately firmed, but she still froze as his hands roamed.
“You done?” he asked, knowing full well she wasn’t.
“No.”
“Well, don’t take all night,” he teased. “I’m thinking we have other things to do.”
And just like that, the mood in the room changed, electrified.
Kenna’s nipples hardened under her shirt, and since they were at Marshall’s eye level, he definitely noticed. His hands slipped upward, pushed under her bra, and cupped both her breasts.
Kenna closed her eyes and moaned as she put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, careful not to poke him with the scissors.
“You are so damn responsive,” he muttered as he kneaded her flesh.
“It’s just you,” she said honestly. Kenna couldn’t remember reacting like this to any other man’s touch. All Marshall had to do was breathe and she was putty in his hands.
After a moment, Kenna said his name in almost a whine.
It was his turn to take a deep breath, then he stood, startling Kenna. He removed his hands and reached for the scissors. Then he pulled her over to the counter.
Kenna watched quietly as he made quick work of removing the last bits of hair he could with the scissors. Then he grabbed a can of shaving cream and slathered it on his face, his movements quick and economical. He picked up a razor and asked, “You want to do the honors again?”
Kenna’s eyes widened in horror. “No,” she said emphatically.
Marshall chuckled, then got to work shaving off the rest of the facial hair he’d grown in the last six weeks.
The thought of wielding a razor anywhere near his face made Kenna shudder, but she watched in fascination as he quickly did what he’d likely done thousands of times in his life. She snuggled up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist as she watched him in the mirror.
When he took a break to rinse the razor, she grinned and slid her hands under his T-shirt.
His gaze immediately met hers in the mirror. Even with his face half covered in shaving cream—which should’ve looked ridiculous—Kenna was turned on. He was a beautiful man.
Her fingers roamed upward until she reached his nipples, which she began to play with. Pinching and flicking. They immediately hardened, and Kenna couldn’t help but press closer to his back.
“You want me to finish this?” he asked.
She grinned. “Yes.”
