O shun trudged up the stairs after a day spent playing “Guess the Big Bad” with Masaki. For most people, she was sure the exchange would've ended after a few moments. But, when you were raised in the underworld, you inherited enemies like precious family heirlooms, their hatred cultivated and passed down from one generation to the next.
Mentally exhausted, she showered, put on a crop top, a pair of comfy sweatpants, and wrapped a satin scarf around her locs. She turned down the linens, prepared to bury herself beneath them when restlessness began to unfurl in the pit of her stomach.
She took a breath and contemplated ignoring the signs. But, she knew if she laid down with feelings of anxiousness twisting inside her, she'd be up all night and miserable in the morning.
She walked back into the ensuite bathroom, grabbed a tub of coconut oil, hair clips, and a comb before heading down to the living room. Never one to waste an opportunity to be productive, if she couldn’t spend the night sleeping, she may as well twist her hair up.
There used to be a time when any free time you had landed you in Masaki’s bed.
She flinched at the reminder her traitorous memory insisted on shoving in her face. No matter what she felt for him, they weren't a typical couple dealing with standard matters of the heart. There was so much more to be considered than just doing what felt good. They each needed time to deal with everything that was happening to and around them.
Determined to let sleeping dogs lie, at least for the moment, she headed for the living room, parking herself cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch. A quick press of the remote and she was watching television as she began the long process of re-twisting her locs.
She’d just dipped her fingers into the coconut oil when she heard, “You want help?”
She looked up to find Masaki standing in the doorway. Topless, with a pair of sweatpants on, he was the epitome of desire. Carved muscles throughout his torso and a dick print that demanded her attention from across the room, all he needed was a flashing red light to complete the warning he should come with.
“I'm sure you've got better things to do,” she argued. “Did you get a chance to talk to your mom yet tonight?” That’s right, throw his mother in his face to kill some of that sexy he has going on.
He pushed off the door jamb and walked toward her. “Yes, I did. Even though I’m using a burner phone to call her, it’s not wise to stay on too long. Your father and his people are treating her well, that's all I needed to know. So, there’s nothing keeping me from helping you.”
He moved closer to where she sat on the floor, looking edible in those damn sweatpants. Either they were extra thin, or his fucking cock was so heavy it looked like a solid rod was hanging between his legs.
She closed her eyes to give herself a reprieve. Looking at him, with his cocky smile and easy nature, had her so damn thirsty for him, she wasn’t certain she could control herself for much longer.
“I even took the time to call Seth Stein and see what’s going on in my organization,” he continued.
“What did he say?”
Masaki shrugged his shoulders. “He still doesn’t know anything definitive about who could be after us. He's following some leads and will get back to me. He says that for now everything appears quiet on the home front. Suggested both our seconds might be the only two involved in this mess.”
He took a deep breath, slapping his hands on his muscular thighs. “Either way, I’ve done all I can do for now.”
She offered him a bit of side-eye, silently calling bullshit on his sudden desire to help her with her hair.
“Need I remind you,” he added, forcing her to look up at him and rejoin the conversation. “We've been hidden in the mountains for six weeks. Helping you twist your hair is just what I need.”
He sat behind her on the couch, then spread his legs to make room for her to lean back against it. She was about to protest his help again when she felt his fingers bury themselves in her hair and lightly massage her scalp.
She tilted her head slightly and smiled as she spoke, “You sure you remember how to do this? I don't need you destroying my locs.”
He leaned down, placed a kiss on the side of her mouth and moved his mouth near her ear.
“I remember everything where you're concerned.”
The low timbre of his voice tickled her ear and caressed the exposed curve of her neck. She settled between his legs, welcoming the playfulness between them. The last six weeks had taken them from easygoing lovers, to patient and caretaker. She was afraid the fiasco they were attempting to find their way through had swallowed up the fire that made them, Oshun and Masaki.
They quietly twisted each of the long locs on her head, keeping a quick and comfortable pattern. Every time his fingers grazed her scalp, a tingle of electricity passed through her making her ache for him.
When people talked about the erogenous zones of the body, very rarely did she hear of anyone talking about the scalp and hair. Getting one’s hair done probably seemed mundane to most. However, to her, letting someone get close enough to play in her treasured strands denoted an intimacy she didn’t share with most people. If you were granted permission to touch her hair, Oshun trusted you.
They worked in concert until they were finished, and her hair was de-frizzed, and neatly tamed. She gathered her locs on the top of her head, pinning them in a noble crown, then tied a headscarf around her head, protecting their meticulous work.
She stood up. Unprepared to assume this would be leading where it usually did, she attempted to step away from him when he caught her hand. He gently pulled, and she eagerly followed until she was straddled across his lap.
He shifted beneath her and she could feel the obvious swell of his cock through the thin material of his sweatpants. “You up for this, Oshun?”
She let her eyelids fall closed, leaned her head back, and swiveled her hips to allow her mound to graze across his length. Even with clothes on, the sensation was profound enough to have her hissing through clenched teeth.
