Gathering a deep breath, his dispassionate gaze moved over my shoulder, and he stared at the wall behind me. I considered him, his sudden mood shift, while trying to listen to Jared's instruction.
"Eye contact can be important in this position, but isn't necessary. Don't be afraid to move your hands, stroking your partner with an open palm if he or she finds it comforting. You can do it on the arm or leg, over the shoulder, down the back. Petting can be very comforting."
Matt's jaw flexed. His eyes still affixed to some spot behind me.
"Fingers in the hair, massaging the scalp or threading in the hair itself, is a technique we use. Matt."
Matt flinched, frowning, his eyes darting up to Jared. "Yes?"
"Try playing with Marie's hair."
Matt didn't immediately move. In fact, he held perfectly still, but I could feel the tension in his stomach muscles beneath his shirt. Eventually, he cleared his throat and swallowed, and his eyes cut to mine. His expression still distant.
I twisted my lips to the side. "Don't worry, I washed my hair . . ."
"Good," he said distractedly as he lifted his hand even with my temple.
Just before he touched me, I said, ". . . last month," giving him a sinister grin. "But don't worry, the lice are friendly."
I was pleased to see my teasing had made a crack in his detached demeanor. He twisted his lips to the side-like he was fighting his own smile-and dropped his hand on my face.
And when I say he dropped his hand on my face, I mean he dropped it, like it was dead weight. Right on my face. With determinedly ungraceful movements, he shoved his fingers into my hair and straightened his arm, like he was trying to flick my hair from my scalp.
It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel good either. And he looked ridiculous. When I caught his expression, which was equal parts smug and silly, I started to laugh.
Matt's laughter soon followed and he mimicked his earlier hair flick, making it even more ludicrous by twisting my hair and throwing it in my face.
"Like this?" he asked, unable to keep the laughter from his voice.
Jared huffed. "No, Matthew. Don't put her hair in her face."
"I think she likes it," Matt said, making me laugh harder.
Jared made another sound of disapproval and peripherally I saw he'd caught Matt's wrist. With Jared holding one hand captive and the other trapped under my head, I took the opportunity to poke Matt in the ribs, making him jump and squirm.
"Hey!" Matt protested.
"Okay, wait." Jared's tone firmed. "Tickling is allowed, but you have to obtain the consent of the other person first."
While Jared spoke, Matt wrenched his hand free and moved it to my side, tickling me in earnest. "Let's see how you like a taste of your own medicine."
"I don't need any medicine!" I tried to retaliate, but I couldn't, because I am and always have been remarkably ticklish.
"Circle, circle, dot, dot . . . " he said, laughing. Not maniacal laughter, more like he was really enjoying himself and was lost to the moment.
"Oh my God." I laughed, twisting, trying to block access to my stomach.
He moved his attentions to my side, but his fingers weren't painful or harsh. They were adroit, applying just the right pressure to make me squirm.
Matt rolled me on my back, freeing his other hand and pushing my legs down as I tried to bring my knees to my chest.
"Sorry, Marie. Can't have your pointy knees near the yarn bag," he said, not sounding sorry. His use of the phrase yarn bag made me laugh harder.
Soon he was straddling my hips, his hands deftly finding new spots at my neck, under my arms, and our laughter was the only sound I could hear.
"Okay! Okay! Truce, truce!" I bowed forward, tucking my arms close to my sides, my hair now wild around my shoulders.
Matt's movements stilled, one hand at my neck, the other behind him, wrapped around my thigh at my knee as though poised to tickle the back of my leg.
I glared up at him, smiling. He glared down at me, smiling. Both of us were breathing hard.
"Truce?" he asked, his chest rising and falling, his gaze dipping to my mouth.
"Yeah." For some reason, my eyes also dropped to his mouth, and I had an incredibly odd thought at that moment.
I wonder what his lips taste like.
Whoa!
Just stop right there.
It must've been our proximity, how we were touching each other as though we were familiar. Perhaps my body was confusing proximity with actual intimacy because I'd never touched someone like this without it.
"So. As I was saying," Jared said, effectively pulling me from my meditations on Matt's lips and to our instructor's frustrated visage, "tickling is allowed, but must be approved ahead of the session first. Matthew, remove yourself from Marie, please."