“Thank you,” I finally replied to his compliment, not meeting his gaze. “How do you know about weaves and taking it out?” I questioned, anxious for his answer.
“I date a lot of women, but there was this one. Pretty, long auburn hair, gorgeous body. We went at it hot and heavy, to the point where I gripped her hair. She was into the sex as much as I was so she must have forgotten to warn me about her hair. I gripped a hand full and yanked.”
My mouth dropped open as his wide smile met mine. “No,” I replied to his smiling expression, shaking my head.
“Yes,” he replied. “I yanked her wig off. It wasn’t a full wig, but a half. Back then I was in my early twenties and I didn’t know anything about partial wigs, extensions, or weaves. At first, having that much of her hair in my hand had me thinking I’d scalped her. The fact that she wasn’t concerned was a relief.”
My laughter sounded as I imagined him snatching the woman’s wig in the middle of fucking her.
“So, did you stop when you snatched out her partial?”
“Hell, no. It messed up my stroke a little bit, but I was on a mission, and she didn’t stop me. She actually jerked the wig out of my hand and tossed it when I didn’t know what to do with it. After that night, I learned all I needed to know about lace fronts, partials, sew-ins, and braids.”
I was hooting and howling with laughter with the knowledge that Dax was actually funny and proving bit by bit how much I’d misjudged him.
“That’s a good one, Dax. Funny,” I stated, noticing I’d called him by his name and not by one of the nicknames I usually saddled him with. For the first time, we’d shared a touch of ourselves with each other and genuine laughter.