CHAPTER 22
The next morning, Hannah declares, “I’m putting in extra effort to look pretty since I’m going out on the town with you.”
Since we all have the day off, we’re going to travel to exotic destinations in this city. I don’t know where, and I have no cares. I’m taking up the entire cleansing unit’s doorway space, watching Hannah. She’s standing in front of her cleansing unit’s mirror, a round brush in one hand and a hair dryer in her other. The only thing keeping her from my gaze is a towel.
“You are already breathtaking,” I tell her, staring at her bare legs. They were wrapped around my head in the shower, and I’m very fond of how they feel against the sides of my face.
The handheld hair drying machines humans use are turbulently, thunderously loud, and with her machine simulating aircraft takeoff from an aircraft carrier with afterburner, Hannah turns from the mirror to more directly give me dreamy eyes.
I look up from her legs, and feel my lips curve up in a slow return smile as I stare back at her.
Hannah’s smile turns into a pleased smirk. Movements loose and flirtatious, Hannah rolls her brush toward her head.
I always imagined that I would be taking care of my mate’s mane. I think Hannah will let me someday, but she was a little too shy to let me attend to her yet this morning. And to my surprise, I’m enjoying the simple act of watching.
Slowly she turns to face me so that my act of perusal morphs from admiration to heated contemplation.
It begins when my eyes dip to the top of her towel, which is slowly falling on the side of her body where her arm isn’t holding it in place. The top half of her breast is visible and it’s even more of a distraction than her legs. Towels are laughably easy to remove—
But I sense a change. It’s such a serious switch of energy that I look up to find Hannah’s face has gone blank.
As I watch, her face fills with horror.
“Hannah?” I ask. My wings expand, my talons rising high over my shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Hannah swivels back to the mirror and looks at her head. She shuts off the dryer and drops it to the counter as she yelps, “My hair! It’s stuck!”
“Stop pulling the brush,” I order. And my voice is so firm I surprise myself.
I also surprise Hannah. She freezes, which is good.
But she’s still quite alarmed.
“I’VE NEVER HAD THIS HAPPEN AND I’VE BEEN DOING MY HAIR LIKE THIS FOR YEARS,” she cries, her panic evident in the way she’s shouting every word as if we’re a field away from each other instead of standing in the same mane care area.
Julie’s knock comes to Hannah’s bedroom door. “Is everything okay in there?”
“NO!” Hannah shouts. “I got my round brush stuck in my hair!” she yells.
“Is everybody decent?” Julie asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.
I step forward and reaffix Hannah’s falling towel. “We are dressed enough,” I tell her. I”m already dressed in trousers and an undershirt with long sleeves.
Julie lets herself into Hannah’s room and crosses to the cleansing unit. I”m no longer blocking the doorway and she squeezes into the bathing and cleansing unit with us to stand beside my mate, and as she examines the brush”s overabundance of pegs holding Hannahs mane hostage, a look of abject horror fills her face. “I’ve never seen it this bad, Hannah. I think they might have to cut your hair!” Showing uncharacteristic signs of panic, she fishes for her device, her own voice becoming as frantic as if she were the one with caught mane hairs. “I’ll call stylists. Hopefully someone will be open this early on a Sunday morning!”
“Wait,” tell her.
“We can’t wait—” Julie starts.
Hannah covers her mouth, overcome with anguish at the possible shearing of her mane, I believe.
“Princesses!” I call—and both women go still and look up at me in surprise.
“I will rescue you,” I tell Hannah, for once feeling entirely confident. I reach past her for a comb that looks like it will suit my needs, then I take her hand and lead her to the common social activities area to give myself less cramped quarters to work.
Positioning myself on the middle cushion of the long upholstered tri-seat, I stretch out my wings and arrange them so that they drape comfortably over each of the seat’s arms. Then I look at Hannah, who is abjectly miserable as she clutches her towel to herself. The offending round brush rises out of her hair like a mythical animal’s horn. I pat my lap. “Come here, my lovely mate.”
“I”m not lovely with this stupid brush erupting off of my head!” Hannah cries, giving fresh energy to her panic.
“That is the furthest thing from the truth,” I tell her calmly. “You are lovely still, and the maker of this offensive brush would be honored to have you adorn yourself with their product—only they won”t get the chance. I”m going to free your stunning mane, please mount my thighs.”
She blinks at me and steps forward. Tentatively she sits on my lap, facing the rest of the room and turning her head to gaze out the windows.
Slowly, methodically, I free each strand of her hair, carefully teasing them loose of the offending round brush by way of what the humans call a ‘rattail comb.’
It takes nearly two hours, employing utmost care and thoroughness, to pick her mane free. But I am very patient. And Hannah is extremely subdued and holds very still.
Julie helps occasionally when another pair of hands is helpful, but otherwise it may as well be only myself and Hannah in the room, bonding as I free her from the plethora of snares that are affixed to her head.
At some point, Saphkarra commandeers Hannah’s lap while I work, demanding caresses since Hannah’s hands aren’t doing anything else that my feline deems important.
Hannah asks me where I learned to free humans from brushes.
“It happens sometimes at the compound.” I share some of the more humorous assists I’ve participated in. “This brush design is treacherous on every planet,” I observe.
“I’ll say,” Hannah mutters unhappily.
“Do you want to watch TV or something?” Julie asks at one point, fretting for her friend’s discomfort.
“No, I like talking to Jonoh,” Hannah replies.
“Do you want to get dressed?” Julie says. “Jonoh could stop and you could shimmy into a shirt—”
“No,” I tell her.
“Because my hair would get retangled?” Hannah guesses. “And we’d be back at square one?”
I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her closer against my body. “That too,” I say agreeably. “But mostly I prefer you on my lap nearly naked.”
“Oh,” says Hannah. And I sense her temperature rises several degrees.
“Aww, geeze,” Julie says in that pleased and disgusted way she does for her friend”s happiness. “I’m going to hang out in my room. Holler if you need me.”
“All right,” I tell her.
“Thanks,” says Hannah.
And then Julie is gone, and it’s just Hannah, Saphkarra, and myself.
When I finish freeing her hairs, I run my hand gently through her smoothed mane and whisper, “There. You’re safe from the terrible round brush.” And I place it in her terry cloth covered lap.
Hannah looks down at it and says with feeling, “Jonoh, you’re a hero.”
This is the second time Hannah has declared me her hero. I purr in satisfaction. “I’m thankful I had the privilege of being your rescuer,” I say as I splay my hand over her lower belly, the terry cloth not what I really want to be touching, but I”m rather content to hold her.
Hannah twists around though, shifting in my lap until she can reach for my face.
I oblige her, leaning down until my lips meet hers.
But she stops me and says, “I love you.”
All of my hearts metaphorically burst.
“You… you—” I say, my ability to communicate temporarily disabled.
“Love you,” Hannah says again helpfully.
“Hannah!” I whisper, undone. “I love you too.”
Her eyes stare seriously into my shocked face. Then she kisses me with abandon. Loving kisses. Grateful kisses too—then heated kisses. “We need to get to the bedroom,” she gasps between presses of her lips on mine.
“Yes, princess,” I say, losing my breath as she takes my mouth again as though starved. I will have to time my breaths better or I”ll pass out before we can wildly mate—
“Let’s go,” she urges, still meeting her mouth against mine as if she can’t bear to stop. “I need to give you a blowjob, and I can’t do it out h—”
I have her in my arms and halfway to her room before she can finish pronouncing the word here.