As she obeyed, the sterile, bright lights of the salon seemed to fade away, leaving only the heat of his skin and the intoxicating feeling of his fingers exploring her most sensitive spots. It was a secret world for just the two of them, where his fingers held all the power.
Not his skill with the shears, though that was formidable. Not the way he sectioned hair, precise as a surgeon. No. It was something baser. More intimate. It was the way he moved just his fingers . As she obeyed, the sterile, bright lights of
When he reached out again, he didn't go for my hair. His hand cupped my jaw, his thumb dragging slowly across my lower lip. The heat from his skin was electrifying. Not the way he sectioned hair, precise as a surgeon
He stopped.
So the next time you sit in a salon chair, watching a handsome stylist snap on a pair of latex gloves, remember: the fantasy is never about the haircut. It is about what happens when the doors lock, the world disappears, and a low voice says, "Ore no yubi de... midarero." More intimate
, an aspiring assistant, and her mentor, the brilliant yet strict Sousuke Nanase.