The next morning I stood in front of the bathroom mirror with my robe hanging off my shoulders, peering at my freshly cleaned tattoo.

“You’re going to get a neck crick if you keep that up.” Hayden stepped beside me with a towel slung low around his hips. Water beaded on his chest from the shower, and his hair was slicked back from his forehead. When it wasn’t hanging in his eyes, he looked like a ’50s icon.

“I can’t help it. It’s beautiful.” The addition of color to the top of the wings was incredible. Even though the tattoo was still a little red around the edges, the parts that had been shaded were vividly three-dimensional now.

He kissed my shoulder, right beside the tip of the wing. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it. I can’t wait to get back in your chair for another session.”

“Me, neither.” He nipped at the spot his lips had been, then stepped away.

Unlike with some of our previous sessions, I hadn’t broken down after yesterday’s. The tattoo was no longer about punishment for mistakes. Instead, our time in the shop had helped heal some of the wounds I’d created by going to Arden Hills. The intimacy of it made me feel closer to him. We both needed the connection, especially after the past couple of days.

Hayden was anxious today about the storage unit, and I was nervous for him. I wanted him to find what he was looking for, so he could get the answers he needed. He’d been too preoccupied to sleep well last night. I’d woken several times to find him wrapped around me, his hand splayed out on my sternum.

He opened the medicine cabinet and got out his shaving kit. First came the straight-blade razor, next the little bowl and the brush he used to work the shaving lotion into a lather. I pulled my robe over my shoulders, the lavender satin rough against the fresh ink. I knotted it at the waist and hopped up on the counter, crossing my legs. I found watching Hayden shave undeniably sexy, particularly since he used such an old-school method.

“Don’t you have an electric razor? Wouldn’t it be easier?” I’d seen the kit under the counter when I once went in search of cleaning supplies.

Hayden looked at me as if I had two heads. “That’s for cutting my hair, not shaving my face. Your sensitive skin would be chafed to hell otherwise.”

“So this is for my benefit.” I gestured to the collection of items on the counter.

“I would consider it mutually beneficial.” He leaned over the sink, his hair falling in his face as he splashed with water. He ran his wet hands through his hair to keep it off his forehead, but it had gotten so long it had become a constant battle he couldn’t win.

“Speaking of haircuts, how handy are you with a pair of scissors?” he asked.

“Okay, I guess. I used to trim my dad’s hair pretty regularly.”

“Yeah?”

“He had a military cut. It wasn’t like it was a challenge.” Switching out a number four for the fade-out was easy.

“Usually I get Lisa to do it, but there hasn’t been time lately. You want to give mine a go?”

“What if I mess it up?”

“Then I shave my head. It’ll grow back.”

“I don’t know.” I loved his hair. I would feel awful if he ended up having to sheer it off.

He leaned against the counter, twirling the scissors around his finger. “If we find something in the storage unit, I’ll want to take it in to the cops.” He glanced up at me, transparent in his anxiety. “I don’t want to go to the precinct looking like this. I’ve already acted like an asshole there. I don’t need any more cards stacked against me.”

“Is this about Officer Cross?”

“No. Miller made the suggestion. She’s right. It would be easier if I looked less . . . like me.”

“I love the way you look.” It made me resistant to the change, even though it was only physical.

“Yeah, but you’re not a judgmental cop, are you?”

I could see his point. Hayden projected danger and menace; it kept most people out. I was among the privileged few who truly knew him.

“Let me see what I can do. I can’t re-create what you had when I first met you,” I said as he dropped down onto the edge of the tub.

“That’s fine. I just want to look normal.” He passed me the scissors.

“I’ll try my best.” I pushed his hair back from his face. “But just so we’re clear, how you look won’t change the way I feel about you.”

I kissed him and got to work.

It didn’t turn out too bad in the end; I left enough length at the top that Lisa could fix it at a later date. I ran my fingers through the short hair at his nape.

“This is good.” He turned his head to check out the sides.

“The facial piercings are the only things that keep you from looking too refined,” I joked.

“About those . . .”

I should have expected what was coming, but I didn’t. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. Why go to all the trouble to cut his hair and then leave in the most obvious signs of difference?

“What are you taking out?” I skimmed the rings in his lip with my fingertips.

“Those for starters, and the eyebrow piercing.”

“Now?”

“I might as well.”

“Will you put them back in?”

“I’m not sure there’s a point. I’m going to have to lose the metal in my face eventually. I don’t want to be one of those forty-year-old douche bags who’s still holding on to their twenties.”

“What about the industrial?” I touched the shell of his ear.

He smiled. “Everything in the ears can stay.”

“And you won’t take out anything below the neck?” I ran my hand down his chest.

“Definitely not.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. The facial piercings can go.”

“I wasn’t aware I was asking permission,” he teased.

“I thought you might feel less conflicted if I gave it to you anyway.”

Hayden’s lip quirked up. I cupped the back of his neck and drew him down, going for the viper bites. I remembered the feel of that hard, warm steel biting into my lip the first time we kissed. It had been so alien, so alluring.

His arm wound around my waist, pulling me closer, seeking connection or maybe a distraction.

I took advantage of his neediness, which echoed my own, and parted my lips. He responded immediately, his tongue entering my mouth, his other hand tangling in my wet hair. He made a low, impatient sound as he picked me up and deposited me on the counter. His hands went to my thighs, pushing them apart so he could get between them. I had nothing on under the robe. He was still covered with a towel from the waist down.

“Fuck. I shouldn’t be looking to get inside you again so soon.” He gripped the edge of the counter.

Aside from our time at Cassie’s and the tattoo session yesterday, we’d spent an unprecedented amount of time naked over the past several days, christening all manner of locations in his condo. The opportunities for escapism had been endless.

“It’s okay.” I ran my palm down his back, feeling his muscles flex. “You can have me as often as you want.”

He rested his forehead against mine, shoulders rising and falling with his labored breath. “It’s not just about wanting you. It’s this fucking need. No matter what I do, how close I get, it’s like I’m consumed by it.”

“I know how you feel.” I wanted him with the same urgency. I never felt sated. Still starving for his affection; nothing but him would make the ache or the craving go away.

“I don’t know that you do. This feeling”—he swallowed hard—“it terrifies the fuck out of me. And there’s all this other shit happening and I can’t deal with it, and all I want is for you to be mine.”

“I am yours,” I said, his distress heartbreaking.

“Not all of you.” His lips brushed over mine. “Not the part that counts.”

That was it. The emotion I’d been too afraid to express was the problem. The infinite desire was a product of unspoken words. I couldn’t get what I needed from him when I was holding back what he needed from me. It was becoming torturous for both of us.