"Did you want to take off your shirt?"

Crap, now all I can think of is his chest—solid, masculine, and bare.

Chapter 269

| - EPOV - |

"No thanks."

I feel quite vulnerable enough without taking off my clothing, thank you very much.

"You can come on back," she says, leading me to her station.

I follow obediently, eyes locked on her shoes, the only part of her I feel worthy of viewing.

Rounding the corner, I'm hit with the full effect of the 30-x-40" canvas. I taste bile at the back of my throat.

"God, Bella, how can you stand it?"

Bella looks up, regarding the enormous guy with the ridiculous hair and easy-going expression. Inexplicably, she smiles at him. "I love that picture of you."

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==8 BPOV 8==

He glares up at the photo, clearly not sharing my affection for the subject matter.

"Here. Sit."

He folds his long legs and sinks into my chair, staring straight ahead into the mirror as if his life depends on it.

Normally, guys who look this perfect are my "after" picture. We both know it's no accident his hair is flawlessly scrunched and his facial scruff is exactly the way I love it.

Loved it.

Fuck, love it.

"What are we doing here?"

He startles, goes all deer-in-the-headlights. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, how many inches am I taking off?"

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| - EPOV - |

"Oh, that. I don't know. Whatever you think."

She gives me a questioning look. "Really?"

"Yeah. I trust you."

"Really?" she repeats, adding a bit of an edge this time.

"Yes, Bella. Really."

She stares at me for a couple seconds, then says, "Okay, go get washed."

"Oh," I say, failing to conceal my disappointment. Bella has yet to touch me. And she won't be washing me. Or conditioning me. Or giving my head that tingly, scratchy, tickly massage.

What did you expect?

My limbs feel weighted down by cement blocks as I shuffle my sorry way over to Esme.

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==8 BPOV 8==

I occupy myself by reorganizing my scissor roll while Esme scrubs Edward clean of all the gel he carefully applied this morning. I triple check all my product bottles to distract my thoughts from Esme's fingers scratching along Edward's scalp, when mine itch to be doing the job. And at all costs, I avoid staring at his available lap, and focus every brain cell on not straddling his thighs and riding him into oblivion.

"I'm back," he says shyly, all caped and wet and sweet and defenseless, damn him.

"So you are." And we're both stuck there for a second.

A/N: The fallen superhero in his cape. :( Thank you for the love for the characters, and especially your tears. XXX ~BOH