The Human And The Satan

29.

They say, touch is fire. The flames that erupt from a touch have the power of burning someone into ashes. But what they didn't tell me was touch could make you freeze. It can make every inch and every stance of your body burn under the fingertips of the person touching you. I had no idea until the day he touched me. It was barely a touch though. But still a touch.

His fingers kept running through my wet locks before he grabbed the towel and started to gently rub it against my hair. Despite the fact that these were my hair, I had never dried them as gently as Satan was doing. He was slow, gentle and patient. Something that had always lacked inside me. I could barely contain myself as his fingers occasionally, unintentionally, touched the nape of my neck, making me suck for a breath.

When he said he was my soulmate, it felt like crap. As if he was lying to me. But his touch was proving me otherwise. His touch was so alluring, so addictive that every time he accidentally touched me, my body kept anticipating the very next touch he gave me. But it shouldn't surprise me as much as it was surprising me. After all, he could hear my thoughts. He was hearing and feeling every bit of the emotions that were woken up by a mere touch of his fingers.

And then I started to feel something warm. And a faint fragrance of sandalwood filled my nose. He was drying my hair using the drying pot. The smoke out of the drying pot made me feel warm. I could smell a lot of ingredients in them. But the most intense one was from the sandalwood. Or maybe it was to make my hair scent like them.

I remember learning a thing or two about dancing hair drying but I had never experienced it until the day Satan himself decided to dry my hair. And for some reason, the aroma coming out of the drying pot made my muscles relax. And my eyes closed, making the eyelashes press further into my skin. It was relaxing, no doubt. But the way the warm smoke made my body heat up and his proximity was making it far more erotic than it should have been.

"Do you feel it?" He suddenly asked me, and I blinked out of his trance, swallowing my saliva down, to make my parched and dry throat feel a bit less dry. If that even made any sense,

"Feel what?"

"This," he said, his fingers slipping inside my damp hair. And when his fingers touched my scalp, I felt something running inside my veins. Inside my blood. Like a current. Like soothing bliss. Like a jolt. I didn't exactly know what it was, but it was still something that made me gulp.

"Don't you feel anything when my fingers touch your skin? Maybe like calmness or the loss of calmness. You must be feeling something. Because I don't know how to make you believe that we are soulmates other than this." He said with a humorless chuckle.

This was the first time I had heard him chuckling. And it was so dark. So deep, like the depth of his chuckle could make me feel the depth of my core. I felt his chuckle reverberating in the darkest and deepest part of my body, making me shudder for a breath. I gripped the sides of the wooden sofa chair. My eyes clouded with the need and unknown emotions bubbling inside me.

"It makes me feel calm. I feel this serene feeling when you kept massaging my scalp. But every time your fingers brushed my neck or face, it made my body tremble; it sent chills down my body. Not bad trembles or quivers, but quivers nonetheless." I mumbled, blinking my eyes to get rid of the cloudiness that had surfaced my eyes.

"And when you have retracted your fingers back, I miss your touch. It's like your touch was burning me, but the pain was so moreish that I didn't want this burning, this pain to ever lessen. But this is a dangerous habit. You, drying my hair, so gently. And my craving for your touch is even more dangerous." I continued, and all I heard was silence. My back was facing his face and hence I had no idea what his expressions were, and neither was I too brave to turn around to glance at his beautiful face to know his reaction.

For an entire minute he didn't speak. Only my harsh breathing was echoing between us. But for some reason it didn't trouble me as occasionally it does trouble me. But he didn't have to answer me. When he can simply make me feel his response.

He grabbed the drying pot again and I felt the smoke drying my hair yet again. His fingers occasionally stroked my hair. My eyes fluttered closed for the umpteenth time since morning. I could feel the gentle caress his fingers tried to give me, giving me my answers softly. And his every unsaid word made me gulp. His every unsaid emotion made my toes curl.

"Can I brush them? Can I brush your hair?" He asked me, and I licked my lips at his question. Holy s**t! Who knew Satan could be this romantic? And that too, when he was just trying to prove his bond with me. What will he be like when I accept this damn bond between us?

"Then, Leah, I'll make you feel happy about your decision to stay here. I'll always make you feel proud for giving me this chance." He answered the question I didn't even ask him. He wasn't supposed to answer me anything. It was a rhetorical question. A rhetorical question I had thought of in my mind. He didn't have to answer my thoughts, boasting about his powers. Making me feel embarrassed about thinking out loud.

But then, I had signed up for this embarrassment for the rest of my life.