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  Sheila studied him through the mirror and shook her head. “You really are bad at this, aren’t you?” She turned back around, spread her legs far enough to run a finger up her inner thigh. “I assume this is what you wanted?”

  Jack’s mouth went dry. He opened it, but couldn’t make a word come out, so closed it again. He simply nodded.

  “That’s all you had to say, then,” Sheila said with a seductive glint in her eyes. “Get your sexy ass over here.”

  Jack’s stomach knotted as he took one step forward. Then another. And another. When he was in arm’s reach, Sheila tugged him closer. She slid down his sweats and appraised his dick through his boxer-briefs.

  “I’ve always admired a man who can pull off canary.” She sank to her knees and slid the underwear down, and thank God he was still hard. He usually would have lost it by now.

  Her face faltered. He didn’t have the biggest cock in the world, only average by the American standard, but he hoped it wouldn’t stop her from going through with this.

  She wrapped her hand around it, looked up at him, and smiled. “This should be fun.”

  She started forward, but hesitated, eyes closed. Jack’s breath hitched. What was happening? Why had she stopped? He needed her to keep going, before he completely lost his nerve.

  She stood up and put a few feet between them. “I can’t do this,” she said, sighing. “Not like this.” She looked Jack dead in the eye, and he thought he saw something beneath the lust in her gaze. If he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn it was terror. “There’s something you should know,” she said, reaching for the wig.

  Jack practically shouted, “No!” She paused, face a mask of confusion. “I don’t want to know. I don’t care who you are underneath all that. I just need this right now and I want it to be you. The you that’s right here right now.” If she pulled that hair off her head, it was over. He’d lose his hard-on and he’d never get it back, and he couldn’t have that. Not when he was so close to what he’d wanted for so long.

  Sheila studied him a moment longer, then shook her head. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  She raised an eyebrow and watched him for a few seconds before she closed the space between them again. Back on her knees, she looked up at him once more. Finally she dragged her tongue from the base to the tip, taking the head into her mouth and sampling it, then going further. Holy fucking shit his erection was still fully there. Throbbing even. She stroked him at the same time, and he grabbed her head, not to control her but he needed something to hold on to; if he reached for the edge of the table behind her, he’d topple over. It had been far too long since anyone had been down there, let alone anyone he was actually attracted to.

  He tangled his fingers in her hair and fuck him sideways it felt real. He’d been with enough women to know the difference between the human and the synthetic. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but it turned him on even more that Sheila had spent the extra to complete her illusion. The head of his dick brushed the back of her throat and his knees buckled, but she wrapped her arm around his waist without missing a beat and dragged him closer. Deeper. She gagged, and that one sound almost did him in. The idea that someone was choosing him over oxygen was pretty much the sexiest thing in the world.

  He pulled back as much as her guardrail of a forearm would allow, then pushed forward. She murmured her approval around him and he did it again. And again. A moment later he was fucking her face.

  Fuck yes. I’m still hard. I can’t waste this.

  “Please,” he panted. “Please let me fuck you.”

  “Uh-uh, sugar,” Sheila said after letting him slide from between her lips with a satisfying pop. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I need more aggression than that. Consent is the bee’s knees, and all that, but I like to play a little darker.” She kissed the tip, left more of her smeared lipstick there. “Make me feel like I don’t have any control.” The shaft. “Like you’re one of those big, strong, stupid men and you’re just going to take what you want, even if I don’t like it.” His abs. “You think you can do that for me?”

  “That sounds like—”

  “I didn’t say rape me. I just like it really rough. Call it consensual nonconsent. You have my full consent. I just don’t want to be in control for a little while. Is that okay with you?”

  He wanted to, if only because she might not let him fuck her any other way. But what if she said stop? He’d do it and then she’d get mad and he’d have fucked everything up. How was he supposed to know the difference between a real no and a pretend one?

  She brought their lips together and, when she slipped her tongue into his mouth, he could taste himself. “My safeword,” she said when she broke away, “is ‘rhythm nation.’”

  “I don’t know what that is . . .” Jack said, then kissed her again and ground his cock against her thigh.

  “If it gets to be too much for me. That’s how you’ll know you’ve gone too far. I’ll say ‘rhythm nation.’ Other than that, you keep going until we come. Spank me. Humiliate me. Pull my hair. But if you snatch my wig off, I’ll kick your ass.”

  Jack nodded. He understood, now. “Okay. I’m in.”

  Sheila flashed him her pearly whites. “Great. Give me a second.” She removed her tights and panties before squatting and reaching beneath the front of her dress with one hand and down the back of it with the other. Jack heard something ripping away from skin, and Sheila winced. A few seconds later she stood up straight, balling up a length of duct tape; she breathed a sigh of apparent relief. “Tucking is a bitch. And anyone who tells you otherwise is a lying sack.” She tossed the trash into the bin next to her bag. “Now let’s get this party started, shall we?”

  Jack slipped the condom from his pocket, tore it open with his teeth. He wanted to tell Sheila to put it on for him so he could get to full mast again—the untucking had made him slightly uncomfortable—but that probably wouldn’t fit the particular fantasy she had in mind. So he stared at her lips, tried to imagine his dick between them again. But it didn’t work. He was losing steam and fast.

  “Turn around,” he grunted.

  “Why don’t you turn me around?”

  He imagined anger flaring inside him, lapping at the underside of his skin and making him sweat. He dropped the rubber on the table, spun Sheila around, and forced her forward. “Don’t fucking play with me,” he growled, hoping he wasn’t taking this too far. “When I tell you to do something, just fucking do it!”

  “Okay!” Sheila whimpered. “I’m sorry!”

  He lifted her dress above her hips and holy shit that was a nice ass. Plump. Round. She clearly did her squats.

  Jack slapped it, first with his hand and then with his cock. Sheila shivered beneath him, and part of him wanted to ask if she was okay, but another, darker part, wanted to make this experience as real as possible for her. “You’re so fucking dirty,” he said. “Flaunting yourself around like that, teasing me. Teasing all of us. You wanted this from the minute I walked in the club, didn’t you?”

  “No! I swear! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Shut up! I didn’t tell you to talk, bitch.” She shuddered and fell silent immediately. He must be on the right track. “And then those songs you were dancing to? This shit here?” He yanked at the sequins she wore. “You asked for this.” He put his dick between her ass cheeks, humped a few times.

  “Please,” Sheila whispered. “I don’t want this. I’m sorry for whatever I did.”

  He pulled back and brought his palm down as hard as he could. The fiery imprint it left stared up at him as Sheila sobbed. Maybe she was faking. Maybe she wasn’t. That didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that she have a good time. He grabbed the condom. He still wasn’t totally hard again, but the erection was manageable. More than he would have had any of the times before.

  He rolled it down himself and spat on Sheila’s hole. He’d forgotten his lube at hom
e and was afraid that asking her if she had any would ruin her illusion. He smeared his saliva against her taint and pressed inside.

  He had to fight to keep his balance. She was tight. Tighter than anywhere he’d ever been, and fuck all if he wasn’t already trying to figure out how to control himself.

  “Please!” Sheila cried. “Please, I’m sorry! Stop!”

  But that wasn’t the word. So he kept going. Grabbed her shoulders and fucked her like she’d stolen from him. It was working. He was completely erect again, and even though the fact that Sheila was really a man niggled at the back of his mind, it didn’t matter. He looked in the mirror and saw her hair falling around her face in curtains. Every thrust sent another shock wave, and her face was scrunched up, lips pulled away from clenched teeth. But then their eyes met and she gave him a small nod.

  “Don’t fucking look at me,” he barked. Her walls constricted around him, and he grabbed a handful of her hair and held on. He wanted to yank, to see how strong the hold was, but he didn’t dare have the wig come off in his hand and scar him for the rest of his life. He was close anyway. So he wrapped his other hand around her throat, and that was clearly all she needed. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her body convulsed, and suddenly she was mumbling incoherently, shuddering from head to toe. He let her go and she fell forward. Jack slowed his strokes, but she met him, throwing her ass back and dancing on him. The visual of her cheeks engulfing him like that was too much to handle and he shot his load.

  He couldn’t keep his eyes open so he closed them, pressed in as deep as he could go, and rode the wave.

  When he could breathe again, he pulled out and promptly tumbled to the ground. He panted. Sheila turned around and knelt between his legs, dabbing at his face with a towel she must have grabbed from her makeup kit.

  “That was amazing,” she said. “Thank you.” She slipped the condom off him and tossed it into the bin. “Let me see your phone.” He obeyed without even thinking about it. “That’s my number,” she said after punching a few buttons. “We should do this again sometime.”

  Jack grunted his agreement. He heard the chair slide by the mirror and from the corner of his eye saw Sheila sit down gingerly. After a moment, he had enough strength to climb to his feet, clean himself off the rest of the way, and pull his pants back up. “Thanks.” He didn’t know what to say, so he turned around and let himself out of the dressing room.

  He’d just fucked a guy. Damn near thirty years old and he’d actually lost his dude virginity. It was a dream come fucking true. Maybe now he could really be himself. Maybe he could find a woman who was okay with him being bi. Or a man, even. Maybe the universe was finally smiling on him.

  Or maybe it was setting him up for the biggest fuck you of all.

  Ryan shuffled through the papers on his desk, searching for the Benning case file for the twelfth time, but still no luck. Hopefully Christie had made copies. A knock on the door gave him pause, finger hovering over the intercom button.

  “Come in,” he said.

  When Jack walked in, Ryan almost fell over. Jack stood in the doorway, suit pressed and hair gelled up, flashing that Welcome-to-Jack’s-place-I’ll-be-glad-to-fuck-you-now smile. “Morning, boss.”

  His shoulders seemed broader this morning and God, that jacket fit so well to his body it seemed to be made specifically for him. His eyes sparkled; they stood out more than usual because of his silver tie. The man knew how to accentuate his features. Ryan flashed back to the way Jack’s hard-on had pressed against the fabric of his sweatpants and sat down before something popped up he didn’t feel like explaining. He pretended to search for a file on his desk so he didn’t seem to be staring. “Good morning.”

  After a few seconds, Ryan glanced back up at him. Did he know that they’d hooked up last night? That he’d had Ryan practically begging for his cock? What if he did? Ryan’s pulse quickened at the thought.

  “You look like you’re in a good mood this morning,” Ryan said, clearing his throat.

  “Do I?” The smug bastard. Did Jack know the truth? Was that why he seemed so happy? Maybe he was about to bend him over the desk and show him a repeat performance. But then Ryan remembered that he’d been getting ready to reveal himself last night, and Jack had nearly jumped out of his skin trying to stop him.

  Ryan readjusted himself under the desk. He needed to be professional. This was a place of business, after all. “Yeah. You do.” He scanned Jack’s face for a sign of anything else. Any inkling that his secret was out and that he should be at home packing so he could run for the hills. He suddenly regretted giving Jack the number of the texting app he’d downloaded. Sure, he could delete it, but Jack wasn’t the only one with the number. Other queens at the club, promoters, and club management had it too. It was how he kept his professional day and professional night life separate.

  Jack shrugged, but never lost that grin. “I’m finished going over this, so I figured I’d bring it back.”

  Ryan zeroed in on the folder in Jack’s hand. There was the fucking file. “I’ve been looking for that everywhere. I thought I’d lost my mind.”

  Jack set it on top of Ryan’s in-box and hovered there for a moment.

  “Was there something else I could help you with?” Ryan swallowed, bracing himself for the bombshell.

  Jack opened his mouth, but said nothing. Now that he was standing so close, it was clear that something wasn’t right. He still looked downright jovial on the surface, but there was pain there too. Maybe Ryan hadn’t noticed it at first, but Jack’s smile suddenly seemed fake, and it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He appeared . . . tormented.

  After nearly a full minute, Ryan said, “Are you okay?”

  Jack’s mouth snapped shut, and he shook his head as though shaking a thought away. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, sorry. Just . . . zoned out for a second there.”

  “You sure?”

  Jack nodded. “I was thinking about something that happened last night, but . . .”

  Ryan’s heart plummeted into his feet. Fuck. Jack did know. What was he going to do?

  “I, uh, I’m gonna get back to work. I’ve got some more research to do before we go to trial.”

  Ryan drew a breath. Timid relief spread through him. “Okay,” he said, trying to mask the shakiness of his voice. “Would you shut the door on your way out, please?”

  “Sure thing.” Jack licked his lips, his tongue sliding first across the top and then dragging the bottom slightly into his mouth. Ryan thought he might pass out. Jack turned to leave.

  He paused with his hand on the knob. Maybe he wanted to say something else. Or talk about something. But before Ryan could question him, Jack shook his head once again and was gone.

  That was unusual. Jack was the poster boy for workplace professionalism. Always on time, never talked back when it wasn’t necessary, never zoned out. On one hand, Ryan wanted to find out what was bothering him. He knew people thought he was heartless, and that was how he needed them to think. He had a law firm to run, and he and the other partners had reputations to uphold. But really he was a great big softy inside and cared deeply for most everyone that worked for him. On the other hand, it wasn’t like he and Jack were friends. Sure, they’d fucked last night, but that didn’t mean they were close now. Jack obviously didn’t know he’d been banging his boss. It would be strange for Ryan to suddenly start chatting him up and taking an interest in his personal life. Right?

  Ryan pushed the thought from his mind. If Jack wanted to talk about whatever was bothering him, he would. If not, it was none of Ryan’s business.

  He paged through the case file. Stephanie Benning had a good case for workplace discrimination. She was suing her former employer for wrongful termination. Her boss hadn’t been too happy when Stephen began showing up as Stephanie, and had been pretty vocal about it until he’d fired her. At first, Ryan had thought the case would be open and shut, but then the company’s lawyers had cried about religious freedoms, and now things
were getting ugly. Ryan had brought Jack on to second chair, but he might need more help than that. They still had a few weeks until they went to court, so he had a little bit of time, but not much.

  They were going to do their best to stick it to that asshole.

  He wondered if his own colleagues would act like Mr. Pompeo if they found out about Ryan’s alter ego, though. Someone who had worked for him for sixteen years had one day shown up to work, announcing that she was no longer the person they’d known her as; drag wasn’t the same as being trans, but many people related the two. The other partners’ reactions, not to mention Jack’s, would probably be similar if it ever got out that Ryan Swift spent five nights a week at Neon Trees as Sheila Saltue. There’d be shock, of course. Maybe even some backlash. But nothing to the extent of termination.

  Ryan wondered—as he’d done more and more often lately—if he should just come out and let everyone know the truth. Honestly, what was the worst they could do?

  You let an associate fuck you like a dirty little bitch boy, his mind supplied. Told him to do terrible things to you and you fucking loved it. Ryan took a deep breath. That part definitely couldn’t get out. Not ever. And it could never happen again. Not to mention the fact that clients would leave the firm in droves. People don’t want to be represented by a drag queen, now do they? Right again. Drag still wasn’t all the way accepted, and he couldn’t risk what he’d worked so hard to build. So he would keep under the covers. No one needed to know.

  Especially not Jack. Even though it had been some pretty spectacular sex. It was absolutely a one-time thing. It didn’t matter that he could still feel Jack inside him, or that his ass cheeks burned where Jack had spanked him. Yeah, maybe he had wanted to jump Jack as soon as he came through the door, but Ryan had controlled himself. Because that’s what being an adult was all about.

  But he was getting hard again. He needed to get out of the office for a bit. Get outside and let the fresh air clear his mind. Grab a bite to eat, maybe. Everything would still be here when he got back. He flipped the folder closed, and pulled his jacket off the stand just inside the door.