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I needed something to comb my hair out. It was a long, wet tangle down my back because I couldn’t find another towel to wrap it up in. But there’d been no hairbrush in the bathroom, and one didn’t appear to be in there either. It was a man’s house, and both Shay and his dad had short hair. They probably only used those tiny combs, which wouldn’t do anything at all to untangle my knotted mane.
Shay was still nowhere to be seen, but I could hear him puttering around downstairs in the kitchen. I opened the door and called, “Shay, um, do you have a hairbrush?”
There was no response, not a verbal one, at least, but I knew he’d heard me. I returned to his room, and he came up the stairs a moment later. His bedroom door opened, and he appeared, carrying a plate of food and a glass of juice. I sat on his bed, my back to the headboard, still clad in only a towel. Shay’s eyes traversed my legs, which thankfully, I’d shaved only a few days ago. Something flickered in his jaw as he set the plate and glass down on his desk, then went to rifle through a drawer. He pulled out a large navy T-shirt and a pair of lounge pants before silently offering them to me.
“Oh, thanks,” I said. “They’re going to be swimming on me, though.”
He shrugged and continued holding out the clothes. After another beat, I took them. Back in the bathroom I’d experienced a moment of bravery when I’d stood from the water, allowing Shay to see me naked. His eyes had flared hot at the sight, and it created a deeper desire in me. I wanted him so much more when I saw that look.
I wasn’t feeling the same bravery now, though. It was like I’d been drunk on his attention, but I’d since sobered up. I motioned for him to turn around, and he did. I quickly removed the towel and pulled on the T-shirt and pants. As expected, they were too big for me, but the soft cotton material was luxuriously comfortable.
I cleared my throat and bit my lip. “I still need a brush for my hair.”
Shay’s eyes wandered over me, his throat moving, then he motioned to the food he set on his desk. There was some ham, potatoes and vegetables, obviously leftovers from the day’s dinner I hadn’t been able to attend. My mouth suddenly watered as I realised how hungry I was.
He typed into his phone. “Eat, and I’ll go look for a hairbrush.”
Shay left the room, and I sat by his desk, taking a long gulp of the sweet but tart apple juice before eating almost the entire plate of food in several hungry mouthfuls. I’d literally finished every scrap by the time Shay returned with a hairbrush and a fresh towel. He grinned when he saw the empty plate.
“Guess I was hungry,” I said shyly.
Shay’s eyes were warm, and my heart flip flopped inside my chest. He went and sat on his bed, setting the brush and towel down as he rested his back against the headboard, then patted the space between his legs. He looked so relaxed and masculine at that moment; it was difficult not to be drawn to him.
My heart beat even harder as I moved towards the bed, then climbed on and settled into the crook of his thighs, my back to his front. I loved how hard and solid his chest felt. Tingles skittered down my spine as he picked up the towel and began slowly scrunch drying my hair.
I adored being that close to him, sitting in the cradle of his large, warm body. When he picked up the brush and began gently combing out my hair, a strange, deep-seated emotion was wrung from me. Shay was always caring, but that was on another level. I didn’t have a word to describe the emotion, but it was the feeling you got when another person took care of you after many years of being alone. Tears rose, but I pushed them back down, breathing deeply as I tried to relax.
Soon my muscles turned liquid, and every worry and stress just left my body. I closed my eyes, my breathing even as Shay gently combed out the long strands.
Finally, he swept my hair over one shoulder and set the brush aside. His arms went around my middle, holding me to him. My relaxation turned into arousal as I felt his chest rise and fall behind me. I was surrounded by his warmth and scent, my nipples beading under his T-shirt I wore. His hand stroked my belly, the back-and-forth motions forcing me to squeeze my thighs together to dull the ache. I wanted him even more now than I had when I’d first arrived on his doorstep, but I was no longer desperate. It was a slow desire, thick and heavy, the result of many weeks of wanting him.
