Free Naughty Bits Part II: The Training Session by Joey W. Hill Page B

for a man to have hair this beautiful.”
    “It’s a pain in the ass,” he grunted. “You better appreciate it every day, or off it all comes.”
    “Whatever you wish, Master,” she teased him.
    His eyes flashed, fingers digging into her hip. “Say it again,” he demanded.
    She shook her head, put a quivering hand on his chest, the only defense she could manage. “I know how to cut hair,” she said. “I’ll cut it for you tonight. I don’t want you to be different for me.”
    As much as she loved how he looked with long hair, short hair suited his face, his profile. She wanted him to look like who he truly was.
    “I intend to be different for you, Madison,” he promised. Shifting away from her, he held on to her scarf. “I’ll see you tonight.”
    “Don’t lose that,” she warned. “It’s thirty-five dollars plus tax.”
    Putting it to his nose, he inhaled as he gave her a roguish look. “I’ll buy it. So I can hold on to your scent until tonight.”
    How could she trust something that sprang to life so quickly when, fast or slow, her relationships always ended up crashing and burning? Maybe by merely having fun with it, not making too much of it. Which was probably all he was doing, and she needed to follow suit. He was headed back into his store, but the door hadn’t quite closed behind him yet. She cleared her throat. “No sex, right?”
    The door caught as he stopped it with his palm, peered over his shoulder. She raised an innocent brow. “Just wanting to know how firm you are on that. The terms of tonight’s date, that is.”
    His lips twitched at the double entendre. “You wanted to take it slow. We’re taking it slow.”
    “And you never change your mind about a session, once the parameters are set at the beginning.”
    “No. I don’t. You have a good memory.”
    “Okay. Just checking.” His speculative look almost made her laugh. Then he nodded past her. “UPS, with a late afternoon delivery. You’ll want to get that. Be sure you open it first thing when you get home.” He turned and disappeared back into his own store.
    She watched the truck trundle up. Clarence disembarked with a flat dress box from her regular costumer supplier. She hadn’t remembered placing a new order, though she needed to do so, since she was starting to know which outfits turned over more frequently than others.
    “All good today, Ms. Fine?”
    “Yes, Clarence.” She’d told him he didn’t need to call her Ms. Fine, but she suspected he’d called Alice that. Maybe it reminded him of her, to keep doing it.
    He smiled at her when she took the package and told him she’d have chocolate chip cookies next week. Those were his favorites. Maybe she should expand, buy the empty storefront across the street, hire some help and run a bakery. She and Logan could take over the whole block, their own little empire.
    She chuckled at the thought and went to her car, opening it up and putting her keys and purse in the front seat. Laying the box on the hood, she slit it open with her pen knife, too curious to wait to see what it was.
    On top of the folded tissue paper was a typewritten note.
    Wear this tonight.—L
    Pulling back the tissue paper, she saw he’d ordered a replacement for the Catholic schoolgirl uniform Sam had bought, only this one was in her size. Or at least as much as size was relevant for two scraps of cloth; a white shirt that tied between the breasts and a plaid skirt the width of a curtain topper. He’d gone all-out on the accessories, though, including the long white stockings, black patent shoes and a white cotton thong, which he apparently preferred to the frilly panties.
    The day he’d helped stabilize the shelf, he’d been wearing a gray T-shirt that molded to his upper body. With his size, it had to be an X-Large. That night, she’d lain in bed and imagined herself in the cotton thong panties he preferred and that shirt, surrounded by his scent and body heat, the cotton fabric