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“Hold this,” Sal said, wedging the jar between my thighs.
“I do have hands, you know.”
“The oil from the coconut flesh needs to stay warm to remain liquid,” she said, snugging the glass against my sex. “Your body is warmer here.”
I peered into the liquid, and she tipped the chair back to lean against the copper tub.
She dipped her fingers into the glass jar and began to massage the mixture into my scalp, her strong fingers needing the sore roots. When she had enough of it worked in for her hands to meet, she began kneading with both at once.
The long, relaxing strokes softened the tight muscles of my neck and rolled down my shoulders.
If I had been a cat, I’d have purred.
“What is this wizardry?” I asked.
“Just a little something I’ve picked up in the Levant,” she said. “You’ve never had a massage?”
I considered this for a moment. Our mother would give us a cuddle now and again, and we had nannies who would rub our feet sometimes after we came in from the cold, but usually, they did it roughly enough to intimidate the blood back into our toes.
Sal’s fingers now slid up the back of my neck and down to the tight triangular knots next to my shoulder blades.
She paused, her vest gapping to reveal the outline of her breast as she reached down into the jar to gather more salve.
Meanwhile, I had developed a curious pulse against the glass. If Sal kept this up much longer, I’d end up boiling the mixture.
My bare toes curled against the stone floor, and I let go of a helpless moan as she discovered a particularly stubborn knot toward the center of my spine.
I found myself wishing they’d covered me with twice as much confectionary gunk if it meant I could stay here with Sal’s hands on my scalp and her half-bared breasts above my face.
“We’re going to need to rinse you,” she said, winding my hair into a thick coil and securing it atop my head. “I know the bath isn’t terribly hot, but I can heat up a couple of kettles to make it bearable.”
“You don’t need to do that,” I said. Not because a lukewarm bath didn’t sound more pleasant than a chilly one, but because I thought the chilly one might serve to cool my ardor.
“If you’re sure,” she said.
“I’m sure,” I said, rocking the chair up myself this time.
The bathwater looked like a brackish sinkhole but smelled like heaven.
Sal cleared her throat and turned her back to me.
“Such a gentleman,” I said.
“Now there is a contradiction in terms,” she muttered beneath her breath.
I couldn’t say I disagreed.
I stripped and stepped into the tub, surprised that the water wasn’t nearly as chilly as I’d expected, with the window open for as long as it had been.
Once again, I wondered if there was more to this huntress than met the eye.
“I’m in,” I said, pleased that the cloudy water mostly concealed my body.
Sal pulled the chair around behind me. “Will you tilt your head back?”
I could and did.
She must have filled and warmed the kettle by the fire again because the water streamed over my scalp was warm enough to raise goose pimples on my chest and arms.
