Gianna
Did Nico say he wanted to shave me?
There?
I couldn’t speak, could only nod, heart racing as he lathered up the body wash in his palm again and spread it gently between my legs. His fingers moved slowly, deliberately, massaging the foam into my skin, and even that had me clutching the wall behind me, thighs trembling.
“You’re shaking,” he said, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
And then he began—precise, careful strokes of the razor gliding over my skin. His free hand stayed firm on my thigh, steadying me. I couldn’t believe he was doing this, my breath shallow with anticipation and pleasure. And the way he looked up at me, focused, hungry, reverent, made me feel like I was something sacred.
When he finished, he set the razor down, then rinsed me gently with his hands,
