Cut the Deck (Lesbian Story)

Kinky Slap

"You're late! Hairstylist and makeup team is waiting for you in your dressing room, go, go, go!" Melody barks, already sounding like she's halfway to a stress-induced heart attack. That's what happens when you're in charge of fifty-plus divas — and yeah, I'm one of them.

"I'm not late," I argue, stepping past her. "You said 8AM...it's 9. That's fashionably on time."

I detour to the snack table and... oh, great. Fruit and gluten-free, organic, low-fat muffins.

"Now where's the fucking fun in that?" I mutter, eyeing the sad spread before sliding between photographers to swipe two doughnuts from there table in the far back. They get the good stuff while we get basil leaves and fucking celery ?

Inside the dressing room, I'm instantly swarmed by makeup artists — until one woman storms in, barking orders.

"She gets her hair trimmed and styled first!" she snaps grabbing my wrist aggressively. I yank away and try to lock in. I'm use to the chaos back stage, but I don't know, it seems intense right now.

The swarm backs off and a trembling girl steps forward. "I'm not a hairdresser," she squeaks.

The woman growls — actually growls — and scans the room before yanking forward...my eyes lock in with hers...

Nyla.

My brain short-circuits. What a fucking coincidence, what the hell is she doing here? I say that as if I'm disgusted yet my stomach is doing back flips.

Nyla freezes. "Excuse me, I can't work with her." Ouch.

"And why the hell not?" the woman demands.

"Because I—" Nyla starts, but Angry Hair Queen isn't listening.

"Do the job or go home without a paycheck." She stomps off. Nyla walks away abruptly, I guess signaling me to follow her to her booth. She pats the chair for me to take a seat. I take a seat and she gets to work.

Nyla wraps the cape around my neck — tighter than necessary. I loosen it, smirking.

We head to the sink, and somewhere between rinse and repeat, she "accidentally" gets shampoo in my eyes.

Very mature.

I blink through the sting. "No good morning? No 'Wow, Deck, you look fantastic today'?"

She ignores me, moving in to trim my curls. She's so close I can smell her — something soft, expensive, and distracting. I'm about two seconds from asking what it is just to annoy her.

"I'm doing great, thanks for asking," I continue. "Stopped to smell the roses, skipped here in a field of daisies—"

She yanks my hair hard enough to make me wince.

"Ow. Easy, Edward Scissorhands."

Still nothing.

"You know," I drop my voice, "your silent treatment is kind of hot, but also making me feel like a bit of an asshole. Just a bit, though."

She tilts my head, jaw firm in her grip.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I was a dick yesterday. And yeah, I was sort of drunk, but I knew I was being an ass. My bad."

Nothing. Her face stays unreadable — until a strand slips from her bun, brushing her cheek.

Without thinking, I poke her belly button.

She jolts. "What the hell?"

I grin. "Weird belly button. Cute, though."

She smacks my hand away. I didn't like that reaction enough. I wonder how far I can push my luck, without thinking more, I wrap my hand around her waist to squeeze her plump ass. Hard.

Her gasp turns into a slap — and damn, she's got an arm.

"That was a kinky slap, Ny. Gotta give it to you."

"Imma beat your ass!" she snaps, nose flaring. "Everything's a joke to you. I barely know you and your true colors are already showing."

"Why?" I ask innocently. The slap wore off so I'm back to my teasing.

"Why what?"

"Why do you care so much?"

"Because you—" She stops herself, shaking her head. "Just ignore me and we never have to talk about any of this again."

"Do you own any pets?" I ask casually ask. I don't, have to throw in an icebreaker. All of this arguing is getting me worked up sexually.

She stares like I'm the most exhausting person on Earth. "See? You're impossible to deal with."

"Or maybe," I smirk, "you're just bad at resisting me."

That gets attention from a few nosy stylists. I grab her arm and pull her toward the hall for some privacy. I don't need everyone in my business when it comes to my lady.

"Let go!" she hisses, yanking.

Once we're in a quiet corner, I pin her against the wall, arms braced so she can't storm off.

"I like you. A lot. And I let my ego screw it up. That's not me."

She looks away.

"Nyla, I'm serious." I say yanking her face to stare at me.

She finally meets my eyes. "You expected sex on the first date. You disrespected me. How do I know that's not all you see me as?"

"Because I've seen the way you blush when I talk to you. The way you smile when we're near each other. You like me too — and I'm not letting that go."

"Give me another chance and I swear to you I won't screw up this time," I pout like a fucking poodle. This usually works, it SHOULD work.

We're still locked in that stare when I pull a doughnut hole from my pocket and pop it in my mouth.

Her lips twitch. She leans in, brushes a kiss against my cheek, and walks away.

Over her shoulder: "I have a dog. His name's Rasper."

I grin. "So what about that date?"

She ignores me.

"Maybe later?" I call after her.