Every time I ‘accidentally’ brushed my hand over hers, she’d take a gasping breath in. When I brushed my body against hers when I leaned in for something, she’d shudder. Then there were the times I’d catch her staring at my mouth.
Somehow, even with all of the touching, heck, even with the pecks on the lips and hints I’d dropped, it’d never clicked for her that we could be more than friends. Now, she knew, especially after that kiss, and I wasn’t going to back away unless she said no.
Passing the showerhead down to her, I leaned over again, only just holding back the groan when my dick slotted perfectly in the crevice between her two butt cheeks and picked up the conditioner.
This time, when I stood up again, I didn’t move my hips away. Instead, I kept the position and placement of my dick, poured conditioner into my hands, and then repeated what I’d done with the shampoo.
I preferred doing the conditioner to shampoo on her. With shampoo, when I rubbed it into the length of her hair, it went slightly tangled and knotty, and I always worried about hurting her when my fingers accidentally tugged on it. As soon as conditioner touched her hair, though, the knots seemed to slide out of it, and my fingers breezed through it.
I was doing just that when she started chuckling, the slight movement of her ass almost making me go cross-eyed.
“You always make this sighing noise when you put conditioner on,” she snickered. “It’s kind of cute.”
Gliding my fingers through the next section of hair, I admitted, “That’s because I’m always afraid I’m going to pull your hair out or hurt you when I put shampoo in it. Your conditioner has magical powers and unknots whatever’s tangled, so my fingers go through it like butter.” Well, at least butter that’d been out of the fridge for a while.
“I don’t know why shampoo makes my hair do that, I’ve tried loads, but my hair just seems to rebel. God forbid I don’t put conditioner in it either.”
“I just use body wash.”
“Men, you don’t know how lucky you are,” she sighed dramatically. “And don’t even get me started on waxing, threading, plucking, exfoliating, and all of the other fun things we get to do.”
The solution to it seemed so simple, so I said simply, “So don’t do it.”
It was a good thing she was bent over the edge of the bath with water being sprayed down on her, otherwise, I’m reasonably sure I’d have gotten a kick to the shin at least.
“Why are men so stupid? If you picked up a woman in a club and she had hair that was long enough to be braided under her arms and on her legs, with pubes that could be styled they were that long, and eyebrows that were half an inch thick, would you run or stay? What about if she had a mustache? You’d run, wouldn’t you?”
Would I sound shallow if I said that I’d—for curiosity’s sake—take at least thirty seconds to check out the braiding and styling of the aforementioned body hair before I ran?
I mean, come on. It wasn’t something you saw every day, and if she’d taken the time to style it, then the least I could do before I bailed was compliment her on it.
My response to Zuri was very different from my thoughts, though. “Um…”
Wincing when I realized all the conditioner was out of her hair, I edged around her and turned the water off before putting the showerhead in the bath—a mistake you only made once. Fine, fuck, twice.
Now it was time for the turban towel, another phenomenon I hadn’t known about. Zuri had a towel that you put over the back of her head, the length of it was twisted with her hair inside it, and then I pulled it up and over her head, popping the button on one end through the elastic loop thing on the back of the material on her head. It was hard to explain, especially when you had no clue what the fuck it even did, but I guess if you had long hair, it was pretty cool.
Drying off my hands, I avoided eye contact and moved back to the bedroom where the detangling spray, leave-in conditioner, and some oil gook was. I had no idea how women kept up with it, but I was so grateful for my grooming ritual being so low maintenance. Bathing, soap, shaving, and deodorant.
Sitting with my back against the pillows, I opened my legs and patted the space between them for her to sit down. We usually did it like this with her on the edge of the bed, but this way, she’d have to lean back against me while I did her hair.
As I sprayed, brushed, combed, gooked, and dried her hair, she chewed her thumbnail and watched Clyde act like a hooligan with a sock he’d found.