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Orgasms tie knots into the hair at the back of my head, so after we were done for the evening, I propped my chin on folded arms and presented him with the mess. “Fix me please?” I requested.
“You’re a mess,” he said, gently (and not so gently) separating the tangles. “I’ve never been with someone who needed to be groomed after sex.”
“I’m special,” I murmured into my arms.
“My friends are going to ask me what I did tonight, and I’m going to tell them I spent it grooming,” he said. “Maybe next week we’ll work on preening.”
“We already preened!” I popped up my head with his hand still trapped in my hair. “You were flexing before I took pictures of you. That counts as preening.”
“Oh, maybe so,” he acknowledged. “We groomed and preened tonight. Let’s groom and preen more next week.”
“Definitely,” I promised.
I let him work in silence for a few more moments before speaking again. “But just to be perfectly clear? I draw the line at nit-picking.”

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