Page 66 of The Fighter

TWENTY-THREE

Tav

I sat like a docile kitten, unable to move or think or do much of anything but let Con manipulate my head while he snipped scissors at my hair and buzzed a trimmer around my ears and neck. I kept closing my eyes, my body swaying as I fought to stay awake.

From behind me, Con fixed my shoulders when I slumped forward, and he angled my head so he could check his work in the mirror. “Just a few more minutes.”

I yawned. “Sleepy.”

His smile was knowing. “Yeah, I know.”

“Don’t be smug.” He laughed, eyes glittering, and I found my lips curling into a slow answering smile. Still, I muttered, “You’re a shithead. Using my ass against me."

“But it works,” he hummed as he snipped at my sideburns. He came back to my front, blocking my view of the mirror. His crotch was in my face. He hadn’t come, and I could tell he was half-hard. I leaned forward to nuzzle him, but he gripped myhair and jerked my head back. “I have sharp objects around your face. Don’t make any sudden movements.”

“But I’d welcome a scar you gave me.”

He paused his movements to narrow his eyes at me. There was no amusement in his gaze. “I absolutely do not want to scar you.”

I looked down. “Sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He leaned down and brushed his lips across my temple in that place I hadn’t known I liked, but that Con had figured out within two days. “I like your face as it is. No additions or subtractions.”

He put down the trimmer and scissors on the bathroom counter and stepped behind me, fiddling with the top of my hair and smoothing the sides around my ears. I looked at myself in the mirror, knowing if I didn’t, he’d order me to. And I wanted to see myself.

My hair was clipped short on the sides in a fade, but he had kept the top longer, so that a few strands brushed my forehead and temples. I had never had a haircut like this before. When I was a teenager, Amara usually buzzed it for me, and for the last five years, I had one of the many sex workers around trim it. There was one woman named Ivy who was actually pretty good at hair. But she was nothing like Con.

He beamed at me, clearly proud of his work. “Handsome,” he murmured, almost to himself.

I felt my cheeks heat.

I did look good, even with the fading bruises. I lookedhappy.

“Thank you,” I said.

He clapped my shoulder and went to the sink to clean his tools. “No one cuts your hair from now on but me.” He glanced at me over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

“Okay,” I answered, because of course.

He pointed at the shower. “Rinse the hair off or it’ll itch.”

I obeyed, because the sooner I did, the sooner I could pass out. I just wanted to sleep. I hadn’t worked out in a while, and now today I’d used the weights and heavy bag, and I’d been worked over by Con all while confronting my trauma. I deserved a fucking nap.

I rinsed off in the shower and dried off. Con was already in the bedroom when I emerged. I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and then crawled into bed. I collapsed onto my stomach, and reached for him to join me, but he shook his head. “I have to work.”

My face was already smashed into a pillow. I peered at him out of one eye. “You always have to work.”

“I know,” he sighed and leaned over me. His lips brushed my temple again, and I closed my eyes. His fingers rubbed over the now-short hair at the back of my head, and I shivered. “You were so good today,” he whispered. “So good.”

I would have preened if I was more conscious. “But you didn’t get off,” I mumbled.

“Later.” His fingers left me and his voice drifted as he walked away from the bed. “Sleep now.”

When I woke again, I was still flat on my stomach, face smashed into the pillow, and the sun was low in the sky. Fuck, I’d slept like half the day. I rolled onto my back with a groan and stretched. My sore muscles protested, mostly in my thighs and ass. A bit in my chest too. I scrubbed at my head, unused to the shortness of my hair, and dragged myself out of bed in search of Con.

I found him in the kitchen staring at a heap of food on the island. His gaze seemed distracted, unfocused, and he didn’t jerkout of his thoughts until I was right next to him. I pulled him into a hug, squeezing tightly in the way that he seemed to like before pulling back to smack him on the lips. “Hey.”

He ran a finger down the side of my face. “You have lines from the pillowcase on your skin. I take it you slept hard.”