Chapter 5
5
Chloe
When I left this morning and untangled myself from Lachlan, there was no expectation he’d show up at the salon. At least not today. I feel slightly guilty about him doing manual labour when last night he was talking deliriously about hair clips. He must have been on the last legs of it. He looks worlds better today.
I’m surprised he showed up. Yes, it’s his job, and he’s contracted to fix it, but he could have sent someone else. Instead, he came and fixed all the issues. Nothing can stop my smile while I hold his wrist and guide him to the basin.
Usually I wouldn’t be so touchy-feely with a client, but this is Lachlan. He’s here . In my salon. I bite my cheek. Besides, he’s touching me just as much. At least, that’s how I’m justifying it in my head.
When we reach the basins, I wrap a towel around his shoulders and have him lie in the chair.
“Are you comfortable?” I ask, guiding his head to the basin and run my fingers through his hair.
He hums an agreement and watches me the best he can from his angle, brown eyes tracking my movements as I start the tap and smooth warm water through his hair.
His hair is almost black when it’s wet. “How’s the temperature?”
“Good.”
“The hot water’s working.” I soak his hair before grabbing the shampoo, but it’s not until I start massaging his head that he relaxes. He groans and I smirk at his reaction. His eyes flutter shut, and he melts in the chair.
Sometimes the sounds clients make are a bit strange, but having Lachlan in my chair, hearing his quiet groans of enjoyment I’m giving him, causes tingles to spread through my body.
A pulse focused between my legs.
I dig my fingers into the back of his neck, releasing the tension he’s carrying, and slowly move up to his temples. And clench my legs together at the sounds he’s making. Possibly it wasn’t the best idea to do this when I can’t do anything about it.
“Baby, you’re so good at this.”
His hands are clenched in fists on top of the cape I put him in, but it’s covering his lap, so I can’t see if he’s being affected the same way I am. The tension in his arms and the sounds he’s making suggest he is, but lots of clients enjoy head massages. Just because he’s enjoying this doesn’t mean he wants me.
I never thought he would return my feelings—and I’m still not sure he does—but the nicknames he’s using gives me hope.
My face falls.
Unless he calls all women ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart,’ but I haven’t noticed him using endearments for women at the bar. Then again, I was too busy dreaming about him to notice what he calls women.
“Chlo, what are you doing to me?” He reaches under the cape and adjusts himself.
A smile spreads across my face. He wants me. I’m not imagining things. I bend and whisper in his ear, “Making you feel good.”
He opens his eyes and turns his head slightly. Brown eyes flick to my lips. “You are.”
My heart pounds as I kiss his cheek, stand upright, and switch the tap on to wash the shampoo out of his hair, following with a quick condition. His eyes stay open and focus on the plants opposite the line of basins.
I towel his hair dry after I remove the conditioner and nudge him upright, clasping his hand to guide him around the basin to my station. Once again, I’m glad I decided on a skirt and not jeans—they would have been torture rubbing against me.
Need to get through the cut before I do anything…fun.
He sits in the chair, and I comb through his hair. It’s soft and silky with a tiny curl pattern I want to thrust my hands in.
To grip.
I’m standing behind him instead of using my wheelie stool. He’s too tall for me to reach the top of his head when I’m sitting, but it means I can see him in the mirror, so I’m happy. His eyes follow me when I reach for the clippers and my pink alligator clips to part his hair—if he has protests about the colour, he keeps it quiet. Brown eyes soften every time I card my fingers through his curls.
I section away the top half of his hair and begin to clip the back, fading it together, nudging his head forward to get the right angle and running my fingers through the newly clipped hair. Having permission to finally touch him—even from a professional standpoint—soothes me.
Instead of chatting like I normally would, I keep quiet, too busy savouring the freedom to touch him. Lachlan watches me work instead of talking, and I’m all for it. It means I can gather my thoughts, scattered from the high of being here with him.
I switch from clippers to scissors and trim the front pieces, adding in layers so his hair will fall nicely with minimal styling.
Drying his hair is quick, and when I turn the noise off, he takes the opportunity to talk. “Who recommended the original plumber to you?” His voice is growly, as if the idea of someone ruining my plumbing angers him.
“The internet.”
He narrows his eyes at me while I decide what product to use. This time he doesn’t relax at my touch. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t know you were a plumber.” I melt styling wax between my fingers and run it through his hair to emphasise the wave.
Seconds pass before I realise he’s gone rigid. He clears his throat. “You didn’t know?”
His eyes stay on me while I figure out how to respond. It’s clear he’s unhappy, but I don’t understand why. “No, otherwise I would have called you first.”
Lachlan shifts in the chair and rubs a hand over his mouth roughly. “It’s common knowledge I’m a plumber.”
I finish styling his hair, wipe my hands on a towel, and trace my hands down his neck until I can squeeze his shoulders. He’s stopped looking at me and glances at the exit where pedestrians walk past the store in the burning sun. Is he upset because I wasn’t asking people about him?
I step away from him. “I never asked anyone about you except to get your name. I don’t like asking questions.”
“About me?” Lachlan spins the chair around to face me.
Facing me straight on, his gaze is piercing, and I cross my arms. At least there was a level of separation when looking through the mirror. Now there’s no barrier. “I didn’t want anyone to put it together.”
“Put what together?”
I tuck hair behind my ears a few times, the wax tugs at my strands and I bump the hair tie. Chewing my lip, I decide to take a chance. I can’t take his drawn face, the frown and devastated eyes. “That I…like you.” I yank the cape off him and avoid his gaze as I remove my hairdressing belt. Anything to focus on while I bare my heart. “I only go to the bar on Saturdays because you’re there.”
Hands clenched in fists to stop the shaking, I cautiously glance up to see his reaction and inhale sharply when I see his burning eyes staring at me. His hands wrap around my hips and squeeze gently, pulling me between his spread legs. My trembling hands reach tentatively for his shoulders.
“You do?”
My head dips. Why isn’t he saying anything?
A smile spreads across his face, brown eyes crinkle and his drawn expression disappears.
Lachlan hauls me as close as possible before my legs hit the chair and then keeps pulling. I squeak when he tugs me onto his lap and arranges me until I’m straddling him, knees touching his hips, his arms wrapped around my waist and head ducking to lock eyes with me. “I have a secret.”
“What?” I say breathlessly.
“I carry hair ties around for you.”
I jerk back in surprise, but he pulls me back. “What do you mean?”
“You never carry them, but you hate having your hair out when you finish work. I started carrying them in case you ever needed one. I went to a shop and found the pinkest ones they had. I even asked what the best were for hair and they said silk.” He runs a hand over my hair, bumping the bun at the nape of my neck. “I might need to start carrying clips.” He brushes a gentle finger through my new fringe. “This already annoys you and you only cut it two days ago.”
He bought hair ties for me. Because he noticed I prefer having my hair up. And silk ones, not cheap hair ties that rip out your hair.
“You don’t like it?” I wriggle closer until my chest touches his. He’s also totally right, the fringe is annoying.
“You look gorgeous, but I don’t like it when you’re uncomfortable.” He swings the chair gently and analyses my station. I keep quiet, interested in what he’s looking for. His eyes lock on the pink alligator clips I used to section his hair. He grabs them and opens them gently to clip my fringe out of the way.
I glimpse myself in the mirror with hair sticking out the side of my head and roll my eyes. “So sexy.”
“You are.” He nudges his nose against mine.
My heart speeds up, and I grip his newly styled hair. Licking my lips is what does it. Lachlan presses his lips to mine and I melt against him. He’s warm and comforting, and he cups my cheek, running his thumb along my cheekbone. I yank him closer and lick the seam of his mouth. He groans, deep and gravelly, and crushes me to him. Dragging my hands down his shoulders to his chest, I brush his nipples before returning to his hair. Knowing I cut it, that I’m the reason it’s sticking up all ruffled does something to me. I’m burning between my legs.
Lachlan traces his hands up and down my thighs, causing me to make small circles on his lap, desperate for his hands to move higher.
“Can I, sweetheart? Can I make you feel good? Like you do for me?” His fingers circle closer to the crease of my thighs in a maddening tease.
“Washing your hair is hardly the same.”
“Having you here is enough to make me feel good.” He kisses me again, his tongue brushing mine while he moves closer and closer to the pulsing between my legs.
I suck on his lip and breathe, “Okay.” For once, something good comes from the weather and loose clothing. Easy access.
Shivers race through me as he shifts my skirt upwards, trailing his hands up my calves and settling on my thighs.
“Hold this for me, baby.” He hands me the gathered fabric and I hold it out of his way so my black underwear is visible. Why don’t I own lace underwear?
Finally, he stops his circles on the crease of my thighs and brushes a hand over my pelvis. Too high to give true pleasure, but I still shiver and jolt closer to him from the touch. He trails a finger down, dodging my clit and landing on the damp spot on my underwear. I growl when he doesn’t move.
“So wet?” he asks, voice tinged in disbelief.
I shrug. “I like touching you.”
He devours my mouth and brushes a thumb across my clit in reward. Fabric dulls the pleasure, but I chase the feeling and thrust against him, dropping the hand holding the skirt to keep his hand where I want it.
“Demanding little thing, aren’t you? Where’s your patience?”
“Down the sink thirty minutes ago,” I pant.
“You lasted longer than me.”
My eyes widen at his admission, he was turned on when I massaged him. “The cape covered you.”
He hands me the skirt again and sneaks a finger past my underwear. “Were you looking at me? Were you disappointed you couldn’t see anything?”
I suck in a breath when he brushes my clit without fabric dulling the sensation. Calloused hands scrape against me deliciously. “Yes. Do that again.”
“Trying to see if I was hard for you?” His other hand leaves my waist and brushes over my shirt to rub my nipple.
“Yes.” My hips rock on his finger and I gasp at the sensation.
“You’ve gotta hold the skirt up.” Lachlan hands it to me. I didn’t realise I dropped it. “I like watching you. Us.”
I bite my lip and grip my skirt, hiking it higher so he can see.
See the dampness, the heat, and his fingers sweeping over me.
“Good.”
I kneel over him and he tugs my underwear down as far as he can with the restrictions of the chair, dragging me back as soon as it’s done. Resting me on his thighs.
When his finger swirls through my wetness, I groan. He dips a finger through my folds to gather it and massages it over my clit. I thrust against him, following him.
“Can’t believe this is for me,” he murmurs. His hand leaves my nipple and clasps my hip to control my movements. Slowing them.
He dips his finger down again, collecting wetness and dragging it across to my clit. He does it again and again, never giving me enough. Each pass, he pushes his finger inside me deeper, but never fully enters my cunt.
“Tease.” I squirm on him.
“You want it?” His eyes burn into me, hot with arousal, but asking permission before he does anything. His finger hovers in front of my entrance, holding still, waiting for me to allow it.
I lean forward, dropping my skirt to grasp his cheeks and kiss him deeply while running my hands through his hair as his fingers wait. “Yes,” I say, sitting back and arranging my skirt to display us for him. I glance down and see his finger pressed against me and grin. This is really happening.
I watch as he pushes a finger inside me, filling the ache while brushing his thumb back and forth on my clit. Sweat prickles on my body and I’m helpless. Nothing could stop me from moving against him, hands fisted in my skirt, desperate to hold it up for him, while I follow this feeling he’s giving me.
He thrusts his finger slow and deep, not letting up from my clit. We watch as he adds another finger to disappear inside me while his other hand clutches my hip to guide me.
I whimper. “Keep doing that.” His nostrils flare and he keeps the exact pace, continuing the torturously slow rhythm.
“I can feel you pulsing around me. You’re so close, Chloe.” He launches forward and kisses me, stealing the little breath I have left. He murmurs against my lips, “Come for me.”
I groan and clench around his fingers, waves of heat washing over me. He guides me through it, his movements becoming more gentle as everything becomes too sensitive. Eventually, he stops and gathers me in a hug as I slump against him.
My arms wrap around him, squeezing him tight, and I run my fingers through his hair. He breathes me in and presses a kiss to my cheek.
“You okay?”
I smile. “Perfect.”
He drags my underwear into place, and his hand leaves a damp trail on my thigh.
I run a hand down his chest, move my skirt out of the way—why am I still wearing it?—and press my hand against his erection. He groans as I rub him, but he nudges my hand away gently.
“You don’t want to?”
He kisses the pout off my face. “I do. But I want to do it somewhere where we can be naked.” He glances at the window. “Don’t want anyone to see you.”
I forgot we were in a semi-public space. Why is that sexy? Ignoring the flush of heat racing through me, I kiss his nose. He’s making sure I feel safe. I wouldn’t mind, we could always go to the staff room, but the thought of seeing him naked in a bed stops me from suggesting it. “Can I come visit later?”
“If you don’t, I’ll come find you.” He presses his lips together to stop his smile from spreading.
“I’m nearly done here and then I can come over.”
“I’ll wait and we’ll go together.”
I squeeze his hand on my hip. There’s an us. A we. We’re going to do something together. Excitement zips through me.
“Chloe, we’re late for the date.” I freeze when Isla’s voice echoes through the salon, her shoes clicking on the concrete. “Um, or not?”
I jerk away from Lachlan and stare at Isla. “What date?”
He tenses beneath me, hands dropping from my hips, taking his warmth with him.
“The double date I set up last month?” She blinks at us cautiously. “I can leave? Reschedule it?”
Scrambling off Lachlan, I’m glad my underwear is on and I don’t have to face the indignity of them falling around my ankles. “No, that’s fine.”
“It’s fine.” Lachlan stands, a frown marring his beautiful face. “I’ll leave you to it then. Thanks for the haircut.”
“Lachlan, wait. I?—”
He leaves the salon and is striding across the road before I finish my sentence. My nails dig into my palm. What just happened? One second there’s an us, and the next he’s leaving before I can explain what Isla meant.
“Are you okay?”
I run my hands through my hair, heart clenching when they bump the pink clips he’d put there so I was more comfortable. I sniff against the stinging in my eyes and remove the clips. “Yeah.”
Isla gestures to the chair and coughs. “What happened? Were you…”
I swallow against the thickness in my throat. “He fixed the water.” And left without letting me explain anything.
“And you were on his lap, why? I thought you were annoyed he didn’t show up?”
“I was. But he was sick, so I stayed at his place to help him, and I’ve been looking forward to seeing him for so long.”
“What happened to the mysterious guy you like but never mention?” Isla’s eyes widen and glance to the road. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, why are you here and not running after him?” Isla shoves my bag at me.
I lean on the reception desk. “He just left. Wouldn’t let me explain it to him, even after that.” I wave a hand behind me, to the chair where he’d had his fingers inside of me.
“Chloe, if he’s been pining for you, like you have been for ages, he might not know you want him. He might have thought you wanted to get some and leave.”
I grimace. “He wouldn’t think that, right?”
She raises her brow. “If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have run out of here as soon as I mentioned a date.”
My throat closes and blood pounds in my ears. “I’ve got to find him.” I grab my bag, usher Isla out, and lock the door behind me. Have to find Lach. Isla’s right. He needs to know how I feel.
How I’ve been feeling for weeks.