When I pull my hands away to reach for the shampoo, her eyes snap open. “Why’d you stop?”
My mouth pulls up, “So I can take care of my girl.”
“You were taking care of your girl, it felt nice.”
“This’ll feel nice too.” I assure her, “Wet your hair some more.”
She’s skeptical as she dips beneath the water and drenches her hair, and then I guide her to sit up between my legs. I squirt a handful of shampoo into my palm, probably too much, but I mean, she hasa lotof hair. Tipping my hand at the crown of her head, I lather the shampoo into her hair, pulling up the ends so I can get those parts too and once it’s all lathered up, I rub the tips of my fingers into her scalp, gently massaging as I wash her hair.
She makes a sound, part moan, part sigh, that has my cock jerking in response. I’ve already had her againsince the kitchen while we waited for the bath to fill. She sat on the edge of the vanity unit while I worked between her legs, my mouth on hers, hands touching, feeling, studying. It was softer than before, but no less satisfying.
When I’ve worked her hair, I guide her back beneath the water so I can wash it out and then reach for the conditioner I stole from her room. I don’t have this in here, but I knew she’d have more than I use.
I add some to my palm and then move to repeat the steps I did for the shampoo, but she’s quick to stop me.
“No, no,” She laughs, “Not like that.”
“Well, how?” I frown.
“You put this on the ends of my hair, not the roots.”
“Why?”
“The scalp doesn’t need it, just the ends since they’re the oldest and driest parts. So just gather the ends and — here, let me do it.”
She moves to scoop the conditioner out of my hand, but I move it out of reach like another child is trying to steal my toy.
“I can do it.”
“Roman, it’s fine. I can just put it in, and you can wash it out.”
“I want to do it.”
She chuckles and gathers up her hair in one hand. “From here,” She points at one part of her head and then holds out the ends, “To here.”
“Got it.” Following her instruction, I start to smooth the conditioner through her hair, making sure to get allof it until her hair feels like silk slipping through my fingers. “Now what?” I ask.
“We wait a couple of minutes and then we wash it out.”
“That’s an awful lot of work when you can just simply wash it and be done.”
She winces. “That’s illegal.”
I bark a laugh. “What?”
“No. You can’t do that. Do you do that?”
I shrug, “Yeah. I just wash and be done with it.”
“Oh baby,” She pushes out her bottom lip. “I guess it’s your turn now to find out. Lay back.”
“Niamh,” I try to reject the idea, but her scowl has me rethinking. “You’re going to need to shift if you want me to lay back.”
She scoots down to the end of the tub and orders me to spin around so she can fix my hair. When I lay down, slipping beneath the water, her fingers begin to work through my hair, wetting it before I sit up and she squirts her shampoo into it. Her fingers move like mine did, and when she’s done, she washes it out and puts in the conditioner.
“You’ll thank me later,” She tells me with a chuckle and spins around, “I need to wash this out now.”
I help her with her hair, rinsing the conditioner from it, running my fingers through the dark, silky strands until it’s clean of product and glossy, the light reflecting off the strands. She wrings out the water and then orders me to go under so I can also wash it out, and once it’s done, I run my hands through my hair. It feels softer, sure, but I’m not sure it makes much difference to me.
