"Weekly haircut or its a wig!!!" she mocked boldly
The cat slipped out of her arms again
He walked over crouched and chalenged
"You think this is a wig?" he asked he was actually amused
Her heart was hammering now
She nodded and shook her head all at the same time
He reached for her limp warm wrist picked it up and ran it through his hair.
Cold and clean hand
He wore navy slacks and a grey white Oxford shirt
He tousled his hair using her hand,for her, he bent her fingers to grip some of it to pull
His "ready for office" mane was messed up using her robotic arm
The cat stood at a distance growling at him its tail curved up like a tiger
It was the most softest luscious hair she had ever touched
Softer than the cat's
Rich, scented with whatever shampoo he used that morning
Still moist in places
The inside of her forearm encountered his smooth cheek
Their eyes frozen on each other
His grip firm yet gentle.
He kept at it... massaging his scalp with HER fingers
"Wig? No?" he goaded
"No" she whispered shaking her head and through dry lips
He brought her arm down still holding it
"Good"
She had to look away at the balcony afterwards
Her face was so red and her insides bulging, ready to splatter.
She nervously felt the spot he had gripped, using her other hand. It was still warm
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