He took it, gathered all my hair into his hand and then I felt the brush.Did you know that the scalp has thousands of nerve points which connect to the amygdala, which is the pleasure centre of your brain?‘Melted, rubbery mush’, was no longer the right description. But what on earth was the description for this moment? It was all-consuming and intoxicating; it put me into some kind of altered state where the only things that existed were his hands, the brush and my scalp. I no longer felt my body, my extremities drifted away to another dimension and all that was left was the brain-smelting sensation on my scalp.
Intoxicating: synonyms includedrousing, headyandstirring. And I was being stirred. And when the brushing was over, an even better sensation started. The pulling and twisting and threading.
I could sense his concentration, his focused precision. He took his time. Either that, or the plait was so complicated that it took an infinity to create. Or maybe he could read my mind, which never, ever wanted this feeling to end. Maybe that’s why it felt like he would let strands of hair go from time to time, and then re-braid them all over again. I closed my eyes and pressed my leg into his. I shuffled back to be closer to him. I could hear his breathing and feel his breath on the back of my exposed neck. Without making a conscious decision, my breathing synced with his. I experienced a full bodily connection to him, even though we were barely touching. There was a magical intimacy to this moment that I hoped would never end. But all good thingsdoeventually come to an end.
He finished the braid, but neither of us moved.
‘How does it look?’ I asked.
‘Perfect.’
I touched the back of my head. My fingers landed on what felt like a perfect pattern. I ran them over the grooves of the plait, up and down the length of it, tracing all its intricacies. Andrew finally moved away, and I was instantly aware of a drop in temperature around me, especially on my leg. I peered over my shoulder. He’d sat down in his seat and pulled the jersey back onto his lap. I didn’t need a verbal invite. I stretched out again and lowered my head onto his lap.
‘I hope I don’t mess up my hair,’ I said.
‘I do,’ he replied.
‘Why?’
‘Because then I would have to do it again.’
I looked up at him again. His eyes probed mine ferociously. Was that the right word? Well, even if it wasn’t, his probing look made me want to sit up, put my arms around his neck and kiss him. He smiled. Small. Only the left corner of his lip moved.
‘I would like that,’ I replied, and settled back into his lap. Moments later, his hand was on my head again. He dragged his fingers over the plait and twisted the end of it around his finger once more. I sighed, a long, loud contented one. I placed my hand on his knee, giving it a small and encouraging squeeze. One that said ‘Please don’t stop.’ He didn’t stop. He got into a slow rhythm of stroking my head in a way that reduced me to a puddle of pure relaxation. I started rubbing my thumb in small circles, tracing the curve of his kneecap. The circles were slow. But each time I reached his thigh I dared to rub it with my thumb just a little too long.
And that’s how we stayed for the next forty minutes, not talking, running our hands over each other’s bodies in a way that didn’t feel sexual but also didn’t feel friendly. This felt like the kind of thing two people in love might do. After making love, they curl up together to sleep, each touching the other in a nurturing way that showed just how much they cared. I could feel his care in every single touch, and I hoped that he could feel mine.
CHAPTER40
We disembarked, and I walked past a pane of glass in the airport. I was finally able to see my hair.
‘I love it.’ I moved closer to the window. I’d never worn a braid in my hair before and I didn’t know why, because I loved the precision of it. I loved the way it scooped all my hair back and pulled it away from my face. ‘You’ll have to teach me how to do it.’
‘Or you could just keep me around to do it for you,’ he said, and gave me that same strange smile he’d given me on the plane, where only the left-hand corner of his lips kicked up.
‘But where would I keep you?’
‘Don’t know. Where would you like to keep me?’
‘Where would I like to . . .’ I mulled it over for a while. The concept of keeping him to do my hair seemed odd. ‘Wait, that was a joke, right?’
He stood up a little taller. ‘Not necessarily.’
I squinted my eyes. Maybe if I looked at him like this I would understand what he was trying to say.
‘Sometimes you confuse me,’ I finally said, relaxing my eyes.
He smiled, the right side of his lips kicking up too, so it was now a full, symmetrical smile. ‘I know.’
Because it was relatively late, there were a lot of available taxis. We climbed into one and started the forty-minute drive that took us out of the city and towards the coast.
‘So what’s the house like? A beach mansion?’ Andrew asked.
‘What do you think?’
‘A beach mansion.’
‘Unlike the Italian vibe of our other home though, she went with a Greek feel.’
