“Rich people,” I mutter, trying to be funny. Thankfully, his smile doesn’t die, so at least I didn’t offend him.
As he holds the towel to my face, he studies me. I let him, pretending like I don’t know what he’s doing as I look up at the tall ceiling, but I can feel the weight of his gaze.
A few moments later, he removes the towel, the cool air kissing my skin. He puts shaving cream on his fingers and gently works it along my jawline, his touch slow and purposeful, like he’s done this a thousand times.
My eyes fall closed.
“You tense when you’re nervous,” Harmon says, his voice soft. He isn’t teasing or mocking, just noticing. He likes to point things out about me, but not in a way that makes me defensive. It makes me feel seen.
“I’m not nervous.”
“Maybe not of me shaving you, but of being so close.”
I open my eyes, noting that he somehow got even closer. The look in his eyes is unreadable but warm. He continues to spread the shaving cream along my throat with care, moving it around evenly and maybe even a little too much… like he doesn’t want to stop touching me.
I could hope.
Could I?
Why do I care?
When he pulls his fingers back, I miss his touch. I can’t deny it.
He rinses and wipes his hand, then picks up the straight razor. Now, I will admit that does make me nervous. How easy it would be to nick my artery and kill me.
But why would he do that?
The comment that Cammy made about him collecting poor people to kill since no one would notice them gone jumps to the front of my brain.
“Stay still,” he says.
So, I guess I actually jumped too.
He holds the tool lightly, bringing it closer to my face.
“I’m skilled with this, but you need to keep still.”
I say nothing, because even speaking would make me move. I pretend I’m a statue, even taking care when I breathe.
Harmon brings the blade to my skin, the stroke is slow and delicate. I inhale sharply, because holy shit, this isintimate.
More so than sex has ever been.
His free hand rests along the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, his thumb pressing against the spot right below my ear, searing my skin.
“Good boy,” Harmon murmurs. “You’re doing so well for me.”
For him?
Fuck. There goes my dick again.
Harmon makes each stroke with purpose and skill. Everything else around me disappears, and it’s just his soft touch, hiseven breathing, and the scent of his cologne and the shaving cream.
He’s so focused, as if he too is completely here and not a single thing is bothering him.
He wipes the blade, then brings it back to my skin.
“This requires a lot of trust. It’s not something you let just anyone do,” he comments.