He slips one hand between us and the sound that comes out of me is downright embarrassing when he slides my panties to the side and his fingers find the wetness between my thighs.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
I tug harder on his hair, silently begging him to give me more than this. “I haven’t asked you to stop, have I?”
He chuckles at that. “You’re fucking soaked, Ebba. Is all this for me?”
I don’t answer him. I don’t want to admit that it is, but frankly, who else would it be for?
He kisses under my chin. “Come on, baby. Tell me who this is for, or I won’t touch you.”
His fingers slide away, back to rest on my thighs. I mewl in protest. “Touch me, please,” I beg.
“I’m going to ask you again.” He pulls away, cupping the back of my neck so I’m forced to look at him. Both of us are breathless. “Who are you wet for?”
I bite down on my lip. I don’t want to give him what he wants, but if I don’t then I don’t get what I want.
“You.”
He grins, triumphant. “Fuck yes you are.”
He slips his fingers into me, his thumb easily finding my clit. I bite down on my lip, trying to hold back my moan, but he reaches up and pries my lip from between my teeth.
“Don’t you dare. Let me hear what I do to you.”
“Fisher,” I whimper. “Harder, please.”
“Fuck,” he hisses out. “I love it when you beg.” He gives me what I want and I’m helpless to hold back the sounds I make. “You’re close,” he says only a minute, maybe two, later. “I can tell by the way your pussy is squeezing my fingers. Let go, baby. I’m right there with you.”
I cry out, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as I come. My legs tremble slightly and when he slips his fingers free of my body, he licks them clean with a devilish smile before steadying me.
“What about you?” I ask, reaching down to rub his length through his pants. Embarrassment floods me when I realize how damp his pants are.
“I already came,” he says nonchalantly.
“What?” My eyes shoot from his crotch area up to meet his gaze.
“Getting you off, gets me off.”
That’s why his pants are so damp. It’s not just me on them; it’s his release too.
“That was … unexpected,” I admit.
“I certainly didn’t plan it.” He brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“Are you sure about that?” I tease, trying to shove down the panic threatening to rise inside me.
“Positive.”
Clearing my throat, I ease off his lap. “I need to finish your hair. Do you … uh … want to change your pants?”
He thinks it over for a moment. “I’ll shower after this to get all the hair off me, so I’ll just wait.”
I have to re-dampen his hair so I can finish trimming it. He doesn’t put his hands on me again, letting me focus entirely on the task.
It might not be the best haircut in the world, but by the time I finish I don’t think it’s the worst either.
Using the hotel’s hair dyer, I make sure that it still looks good dry before I let him take a look. His beard seems a little too thick now that his hair is shorter, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing the way his hand immediately goes to his face.