Page 45 of The Last Man on Earth
I watch as she pulls her t-shirt over her head. My eyes snag on the white bra underneath before I force myself to look away. I sit sideways in the cold surf, waiting for her to come over and get situated. Like yesterday, she lays across my lap, but face-up this time with her hair draped over my thigh. I inch further and further into the water until it covers most of her hair.
I cup her ocean in my hands and pour it gently over her scalp while she stares at the big blue sky, flicking her eyes to mine every now and then. Those small looks make me feel lighter than I should. I’m lowkey giddy.
“My hair’s gonna be so fried after this,” she mutters.
“Why you say that?”
“Salt water. It’s not a friend to anybody’s hair, especially ours.”
“So after it’s washed, what then?”
She sighs. “Probably braids.”
I pour more water gently over her scalp. “You should loc it.”
She laughs. “We won’t be here long enough for that.”
I’m glad she said that. She sounds more sure every time.
“I know one thing,” I say. “I need a fuckin’ lineup.”
“Facts,” she smirks. “And a shave.” She reaches up, her fingers wiggling playfully through my bushy beard.
“Aye. Don’t do that,” I say as I twist my face out of her reach.
“What?”
“You just ran your fingers through my beard.”
“So?” Then the surf recedes, her eyes shift left, and she sees what’s happening inside my trunks. “Oh.”
The silence is awkward as hell.
She just discovered my kryptonite.
After a few minutes, she clears her throat and breezes past it. “I wish there was a way to wash my scalp without getting my hair wet.”
There ain’t, so I don’t respond. I lather the body wash between my palms and work it onto her scalp. No suds form, but she looks like she likes how it feels. Her eyes close slowly. Soft moans hum in her throat. The sound tickles my brain and hardens my dick, but I push through, careful and slow, trying not to think about how much I want her to make that sound while I’m inside her.
I use my nails on the third lather, gently scrubbing her scalp until it feels clean. A few rinses later, I tell her, “I think you’re good.”
She sits up and thanks me as water drips down her back.
“Not a problem.” Without thinking, I stare at her body, her wet skin, her big, luscious hair, and say, “You so damnbeautiful.”
When she turns to face me, my eyes can’t help but drop a few inches to her bra, which is basically see-through now that it’s wet. Dark nipples strain against the white fabric, and I shift in the water, hard again.
Her gaze drops. Her eyes catch what I’m trying to hide, and her lips part slightly.
“Sorry,” I blurt. “It’s…your…” I trail off gesturing toward her chest.
She covers her breasts with her hands, but only for a few seconds before she decides otherwise—and lets her hands drop. It feels like her eyes are daring me to make a move, while mypulse kicks up until I’m so hard, I can’t even think straight. I can’t tell where her head is at. Shit is a mystery. A sexy mystery that makes me wanna fuck.
“I’m not trying to be disrespectful,” I mutter as her eyes rake over my body. “I just don’t know how to turn it off.”
She smiles. “I don’t feel disrespected.”
I stand, watching her eyes as she watches the water cascade down my body past the tent my dick is making in my trunks. That cold ass water didn’t stopnothin’.
