12. Claire
12
The rest of the week has moved at a glacial pace. I’ve worked at the other salon until five most of the week. By the time I get home, Lex has already left for her night shifts at Hallucinogens.
I’ve cleaned my makeup brushes, wiped down and reset my beauty desk and ordered balloons and caterers for the opening party at the salon.
All the renovations should be finished in around five weeks, so I’ve planned our soft launch party two weeks after that, just in case of any delays.
Lex will help me go through job advertising next week when we both have a day off, so it’s slim pickings on how to occupy myself once I get home from work.
It’s nearing seven on a Thursday night. I’m actively trying to avoid sorting my wardrobe, even though Lex told me to just do it. I could dress up and sit at the bar while Lex works, just to see my bestie. I don’t have it in me to dress up and go out, but there’s nothing else to do.
I could text Mum and see what she’s up to. If there’s not an event or high-profile guest staying at the hotel, then she’s probably at home binge-watching Yellowstone . I don’t know if I’m in the mood to hear her trash-talking Kevin Costner, though. I swear my mother has invented a degree in finding men’s flaws. But seriously, how dare she come after Kevin like that? I’m pretty sure it’s just because she has a big ol’ crush on that fine cowboy. My mother is long out of practice with those kinds of feelings, though. At least I’m smart enough to sample men before turning them away completely.
I slump back in the pink velvet chair at my beauty desk. This mood sucks. Maybe it’s Lex’s new work roster, and I’m just missing my bestie. There’s a lot going on with my salon build, and I guess I’m still annoyed by Lee, Mr I Know Best, micromanaging every decision I make.
Westley’s words come back to me. He’s just sharing his knowledge, trying to make sure you walk away as happy as you can be in the end.
It irks me that he so easily makes the better decisions for the salon. I don’t know what it is about him specifically, but it’s making me doubt that I can even do this. I’ve never struggled with confidence, but the salon is the first thing that really feels like my own.
I’ve worked in another salon for six years. I feel like I know what to do, and Lex has helped fill in the blanks from a business startup perspective. But this is the first time I’ve had something that’s entirely mine. It’s my heart and soul all painted in pink.
I’ve never had a boyfriend, a father, uncles, not even a male boss. And my mother loves to encourage independence. For the first time in my life, I feel like I can’t do this on my own. But how does someone I barely know seem to have all the right answers? Answers that speak to me specifically. It’s something that keeps popping up lately. First with the salon, and then in the bedroom.
My previously faithful vibrator has failed in epic proportions to get me off. A frustrating week sans orgasm that was fixed only by the touch of Lover Boy. He didn’t even need his tongue or that heavy cock to get me off. But like a gentleman, he did and pulled me right out of that week-long slump.
Just thinking about it has my clit tingling. I grab my phone off the bedside table, take a seat, resting my back against the headboard, and open up my text thread.
ME: Busy?
I bite my lip in anticipation, my legs already knocking together. Fuck, just the brief thought of him has me ready to go. I press my thighs together. Maybe I could just get myself there.
I jump off the bed and close the door. Lex won’t be home for hours, but it still feels weird doing something with the door wide open.
Stripping my sleep shorts and underwear off, I launch them into the laundry hamper in the corner of my bedroom and dive under the covers.
I check my phone again, but there’s nothing, so I arrange the pillows and sink back a bit before closing my eyes and letting my hands wander.
My fingers caress my breasts, and I relish in the tingles it sends travelling down my legs, the building swirl, like a vortex tightening in my stomach as I gently pinch at the barbells there.
I keep one hand playing and let the other slide down my torso, making it as far as my belly button before the buzzing of my phone stops the motion and my heart leaps with excitement.
THE ONLY VIKING YOU NEED: I think our agreement thus far has depended on me not being busy when you ask. What can I do for you, Bombshell?
I pull the covers down so it rests at my pubic bone, then place my free hand halfway underneath it and snap a picture.
ME: *picture attachment*
ME: Finish the job?
I feel the grin hurting my cheeks with how hard it’s pulling as I watch the frantic way dots stop and start on my screen.
THE ONLY VIKING YOU NEED: Fuck. Keep those greedy little hands off my pussy. I’m on my way.
My clit is throbbing at his reply. Sparks dance over my skin like little flames of ecstasy, and I push my feet into the mattress as I rub my thighs together.
I don’t know how long the drive is from his house to mine, but dear God, I hope it’s not long.
I’m torn between following his advice and being a good girl, refraining from touching myself, or giving in to my desires while I wait.
On the one hand, denying myself now will make it more satisfying once I do get there. On the other hand, the punishment for not listening may be even better.
Let’s be honest, I’ve always been a bit of a rule breaker.