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When he catches his breath, he meets my eyes. “I didn’t come here for this.” He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip, then leans forward to suck it gently into his mouth. When I moan, he lets it go and gives me a quick peck. “But I’m glad I got it.”
“It was … my … first.”
Michael’s eyes grow wide. “Your first kiss?” I nod. “Why?”
Shrugging and feeling a little inadequate, I remove my arms from around his back and wrap them around my middle. “I don’t know.”
I drop my head, wondering if something is wrong with me that I waited until I’m twenty-four to kiss someone. Most people get it out of the way in their teens. I didn’t plan to wait—it sort of happened that way. Factor in that I can’t really do anything on my own without my family finding out, I didn’t think it was worth the headache.
“There’s nothing wrong with that, Damon. I asked because I’m curious. Not because I’m judging you. I’m honored that I was your first kiss. Did you enjoy it?”
“So much,” I answer quickly. “I have nothing to compare it to, but it felt so good.” I feel my face heat and know that, even under my brown skin, the red blooms show.
With a finger under my chin, Michael tips my head up until I’m looking at him once more. “I’m glad.” He pecks me once more on the lips then tugs my arms from around myself to put them back around him. “That’s better,” he says when I run my hands up and down the muscles of his back. “Were you asleep when I knocked? Took you a while to open the window.”
“No, I was doing my hair.” I bury my face in his chest and breathe in. “God, you smell good.”
“So do you. Your scent is intoxicating.”
If my face heats anymore, it will be on fire. “Thank you.”
“Can I watch?”
“Huh?” What were we talking about?
“I take it from you only having one braid done that you have to finish the other. Can I watch?”
No one has watched me do my hair before. No one has seen me this … naked.
“Oh … um … yeah. Okay. Yeah.”
Michael steps back and allows me to slide off the counter. I don’t miss the massive erection straining against his pants, which means mine won’t be flagging anytime soon.
“Your hair grew a lot in the last few years.” He reaches out but pulls his hand back. “Can I touch it? It looks soft.”
I shake it over my shoulder, and he thrusts his fingers into it, rubbing his fingers along my scalp. I moan, moving closer to him so he can rub more. “That feels amazing,” I say. I’m not sure if it’s the scalp massage or just because Michael’s hands are on me.
By the time he releases me, I’m standing against him, one hand on his chest and the other gripping his bicep. Chuckling, Michael kisses my forehead and moves me back a step. “Go on, do your hair.” When I look up at him, he groans and drags me back to him, kissing me long and deep. This kiss sets my soul on fire, and I find myself trying to climb Michael like a tree.
He snatches his mouth from mine and steps away, sitting on the closed toilet seat. With a wry grin, he says, “You’re trouble when you look at me like that. I’m going to stay over here and watch you do your hair. If I move any closer, my mouth will be all over you.”
With quivering hands, I pick up my paddle brush and finish detangling my hair. Then I start the braid, stopping every so often to add a bit of product so it’ll stay. When I’m finished and have a rubber band tied to the end, I turn to face Michael, who watched me work in silence.
“It looks really good.” He stands and moves behind me. He tugs on one of the braids and I smile at him in the mirror. He smiles back and leans forward, kissing the back of my neck. “Can you teach me?”
Surprised, I face him with a raised eyebrow. “How to do my hair?”
“Well, yeah,” he shrugs. “I’ll be with you for two weeks. Maybe I can do your braids for you.”
Grinning, I nod and kiss him quickly. This whole encounter with Michael has been a surprise. I haven’t thought about being my usual shy, reserved self. I just do what feels right, and that’s being more uninhibited when I’m with him. I like this me.
Taking his hand, I pull him out of the bathroom and lead him to my bed. I tiptoe over to the door and lock it, knowing I’ll get shit if anyone tries to burst in. I learned years ago not to lock my door. Tiptoeing back over, I sit beside Michael on the bed.
He laces his fingers through mine and whispers, “You didn’t answer my question earlier.”
“What question?” I whisper back.
“Do you want to fly with me?”
