HARDCORE: Storm MC(87)

Missy opened the door and stepped in.



Cain raked the shower curtain to one side, naked and glowering at her.



It took all of Missy's self-control to keep her eyes locked on Cain's with his dripping, muscular body inches away from hers. His expression was one of defiance, and she realized that he was deliberately trying to shock and provoke her with this demonstration. He was challenging her to remain neutral in caring for him, instead of hiding behind some veneer of girlish modesty and discomfort. Maybe he thought she'd gawk at his body or run from the room. Either would represent a small victory for him, proof that he could shake her composure.



Missy was determined not to give him the satisfaction. She met his gaze levelly, one eyebrow slightly raised.



Still, it took every ounce of willpower she had not to look down. There were strips of neon-colored compression tape carefully criss-crossed over his ribs, surrounded by a mural of interwoven tattoos with sculpted muscles coiled beneath them. In the lowest periphery of her vision, his cock protruded from a thick brown thatch of pubic hair, just out of focus.



“Well?” Cain asked impatiently. “Are you going to do my hair, or were you expecting me to put tassels on my nipples and do a dance for you?”



“You're too tall,” Missy said.



“Excuse me?”



“For me to do your hair,” she continued. “I won't be able to do a decent job if I have to stand and reach that high. Do you have a step-stool around here somewhere?”



“Yeah, in the closet,” Cain answered.



“Cool, I'll be right back,” Missy said, leaving the bathroom. As she went to the hall closet, her mind kept dragging itself back to the brief glimpse of Cain's crotch. She wished she'd summoned up the nerve to give it one solid look, just so she'd have a firm knowledge what it looked like and her mind wouldn't keep trying to fill in the blanks. That way, she could let these thoughts go once and for all.



And anyway, she thought as she grabbed the stool, if he wasn't prepared for me to look at it, he wouldn't have bared it all for me like that, right? Besides, it's not like I'm planning to openly stare at it for any prolonged period. Of course not. That would give him the wrong idea, and besides, I'm not in middle school anymore. I know what cocks look like. I've seen a decent number myself. I'm just curious about his. A little curious, not even a lot.



So just one solid look when I get back in there, she promised herself. Just one and done. Just to get it out of my system. Okay? Okay. Here we go.



Missy carried the compact step-stool into the bathroom, her eyes immediately lowering to look.



Cain had a towel wrapped around his waist.



Missy felt a pang of disappointment, then kicked herself for being so silly. She couldn't believe she'd even talked herself into trying to look at his rod in the first place. Like she even gave a damn what his cock looked like, right? What the hell was wrong with her?



“Is the nudie show closed for the night?” she snickered, setting the stool in the tub. “Too bad. I was just about to hit up the store down the street, see if I could change a twenty for some singles. Take a seat.”



Cain lowered himself down onto the stool. “Sorry. I was just...”



“Pissed and angry and trying to get a rise out of me. I know.” Missy reached over for the shampoo bottle. As she did, she felt her eyes tug toward the parted edges of the towel, trying to get a look at what was behind them. She chided herself again.



“Try not to get any in my eyes, all right?” Cain said as Missy started to rub the shampoo into his long hair.



“Damn, you just keep ruining my fun,” she replied. As she massaged the gel into his locks, her fingertips pressed into his scalp, massaging it. “Nice hair, by the way. Wish mine had these kinds of waves.”



Cain snorted disdainfully. “Chicks have been saying that to me my whole life. But if they did have hair like this, they'd hate it. It sticks out in every direction when I wake up, and getting it to lay back down again is a bitch.”



“Every direction, huh?” Missy pulled the shampooed strands of hair gently, sculpting it so it looked like it was protruding from Cain's head in spikes like a hedgehog’s. “Like that?”



“Just do my hair, okay?” Cain grunted. “Don't play with it.”



“Oh, come on!” Missy giggled, mashing the sticky strands together and forming a ridge along the top of Cain's head. “What about like this, huh? Don't tell me you've never thought about having a mohawk.”



“Ugh, knock it off,” Cain said. “What are you, four years old?” But hidden just under his annoyance, Missy was sure she could hear the vaguest hint of a laugh.