Love Sounds

EXCERPT

Can a Weekend Lead to Forever?

WILL HAYES

I don’t do risky or complicated in my romantic relationships. And I tried with all my might to let Emma leave earlier.

But there is something about her.

Like Reading Rainbow, she piques my curiosity. I sense a new world opening. In the last pew of my mind, I think she might be the more I’ve been seeking.

I retrieve a white mug from the kitchen and a travel-sized bottle of no-tears shampoo from my brown leather toiletry bag. Hair washing is my thing.

Even if it’s been difficult to meet a woman I’m attracted to, who also identifies as a little, I can usually find a submissive who enjoys me shampooing her hair.

I return to the bathroom and sit on the edge of the tub. In just a few hours, Emma’s cartoonish cute has transformed into womanly beauty.

I know from her dating profile she’s 5’1”, but her personality makes her seem taller. In this tub, surrounded by only a few remaining bubbles, she appears just as tiny and mighty.
Slender build. Medium skin with golden undertones. Pert breasts with brown taut nipples. Full brows with an elegant arch. A straight nose with a full flare. Heart-shaped lips. And without her big blue glasses blocking my view, I notice a profound awareness creases the corners of her brown eyes.

“Are you fine with red, yellow, and green as our safe words?” I ask, slowly unraveling the ties from her thick ponytails.

“Yes, but since you don’t engage in impact play, I probably won’t use them.”

I place the blue hair ties on the edge of the white tub. I drag my fingertips from the front of her hairline to the nape of her neck.

“Oh, Will. That’s so good,” she gasps.

Self-satisfaction curves my lips.

Her head falls forward. Goosebumps pebble her skin, and her nipples beg for my touch. I glide one palm over her soft hair, tilting her head backwards. Offering a preview, my fingertips gently knead her scalp. Emma’s guttural moan sends currents of arousal throughout my body. Her hand grips the side of the tub, and she closes her eyes.

Taking care of a woman in this way gives me life.

I scoop water over her crown until every strand is completely wet. After pouring half the bottle of yellowish shampoo in my palm, I lather her hair until white suds form. I love the weight of her mane in my hands.

Using rhythmic circles, I massage her scalp. Applying pressure to all the points, my fingertips soothe and caress. This is not a practice in good hygiene. This is play. And I will not stop until this little lady with the hummingbird tattoo is cracked wide open and pleading.

My touch— precise and commanding. Therapeutic and stimulating. Powerful and controlled. Emma shifts to her knees and leans into my hands. I continue to massage and lather her hair until the inevitable happens.

Emma moans loudly. Her smoky voice echoes over Chopin’s “Nocturne No. 9 in B Major, Op. 32 No. 1.”