Anyone But You

by Brien Michaels

  The rest of the office was bustling, and he hoped he could get lost in the shuffle and no one would stop him. He did, however, lean down as he passed Christie’s desk. “I’m taking an early lunch.”

  “Alrighty, sir.” She smiled and typed something into her computer.

  Ryan nodded and continued toward the elevator. This would be exactly what he needed. He hoped. The door slid shut and he was mercifully alone. He punched the button for the bottom floor, then leaned against the wall as the car made its descent.

  His phone buzzed. Praying it was just a news alert or email, he fished the phone from his pocket. But it was a text.

  From Jack.

  He was once again thrilled that he’d given Jack the texting app number so he didn’t figure out his true identity.

  Heart pounding and head suspiciously light, Ryan opened the message. He wasn’t sure if the two words written on the screen made him happy or want to puke. He stared at them until the doors parted and then closed. He shook his head and jabbed the Open button and made a beeline for the front door. This couldn’t be happening. But it was. And God help him, he actually found himself considering Jack’s request. He looked at it again, but refused to respond yet. He’d get his mind right first, and then send back something thoughtful explaining why it couldn’t happen. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Ugh! This shouldn’t be so difficult. He shouldn’t be having this debate with himself because it was absolutely out of the question. He’d already established that. His body had other ideas, though. He read Jack’s text one more time.

  Wanna meet?

  Ryan did want to meet. And more. He’d known when Jack approached him after the show that he should have turned him away, but watching him get closer, all boyish and nervous . . . Sheila just couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing him.

  Ryan often thought of Sheila as a separate being. She was everything he wasn’t: outgoing, witty, overtly sexual. It was her part of his personality that leaned most heavily toward seeing Jack again.

  But it would be a terrible mistake. Especially if Jack found out the truth. What if he already had? Could that be what this was about? No . . . he couldn’t possibly know already. If he had, he would have mentioned it earlier, right?

  Ryan’s phone dinged. He eyed it warily. It was facedown on his desk, so if he just left it like that, he wouldn’t have to read the message at all. But curiosity got the better of him and he picked it up.

  Sorry. I forgot how you like things. You’re going to meet me behind the club tonight. Make sure you’re wearing your shortest skirt and no underwear. I’m going to fuck you against that wall where anyone who walks by can see. Be there by 7:30. If you’re even a minute late, you get nothing.

  Ryan swallowed. He adjusted himself through his pants, resisting the urge to jerk off right there in his office. He typed out a quick I’ll be there and dropped the device in his drawer. Fuck, he needed to focus. He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, counting to ten after each one.

  Ryan didn’t know why he liked having no control so much. He hadn’t realized how it turned him on until college, and ever since then, he’d sought out guys who could fulfill that part of him, but none of them had ever seemed to get that into it.

  Jack seemed to have promise, though. Ryan didn’t allow himself the hope that Jack might be the true top to his bottom, but hell, they could sure have fun trying to figure it out, right?

  Once he got his brain under control again, he finished drafting the opening argument for the trial he had the following morning, and headed out. He was cutting it kinda close on time, though. It would take him at least half an hour to make it home in the rush-hour traffic, and then another hour to get showered and into drag. It would be dark, so he probably didn’t need to go full glam, but he’d still need to apply a layer of foundation and some lipstick, at minimum.

  He called for a car and, by the time he got outside, it was already waiting. He climbed in, gave the driver his address, and they were off.

  There was a nasty accident on the interstate, so it took him almost forty-five minutes to get home. He tipped the driver, then dashed inside, peeling off his suit as soon as he was through the door. By the time he made it up to his bedroom, his belt was off and he stripped down the rest of the way. The faint aroma of gardenias in the air made him pause, eyeing the room suspiciously. His jewelry box was closer to the edge of the dresser than he’d left it. There wasn’t time to look around to see what else was out of place, but it told him the cleaning service had been by.

  Fresh towels had been laid out in the bathroom, and the porcelain sparkled like a diamond in the sunlight. He appreciated the cleaning, he really did. It was just off-putting sometimes to come home and find things different than how he’d left them. But he didn’t have time to focus on that, so he showered, shaved, and was back out in record time.

  He wasn’t a fan of day drag, but it was getting dark enough that he should be able to pull it off without anyone clocking him as a man in a dress. He pulled a tight little black miniskirt from Sheila’s closet and held it out for inspection. He’d probably need to slather himself in oil to get in it and use the jaws of life to get out of it, but it was the shortest one he owned. So he laid it across the bed and paired it with a bright-pink halter top. Next was hair. On the one hand, it might be better to go with something short; that would work best with the outfit, especially since he wasn’t padding. But Jack seemed to like the longer wig he’d worn last night. If he went with that option, though, he’d need to make sure it was pinned down extra tight, because Jack had nearly yanked the last one off his head.

  In the end, Ryan selected a red bob-cut lace-front. The back came halfway down his neck, so it was a nice combination of coverage and just enough for Jack to grab a fistful of. They said that gentlemen preferred blondes, but it wasn’t the gentleman Ryan was hoping to bring out tonight, and this wig, paired with that outfit, said, Fuck me stupid, better than he ever could.

  He put on his makeup in record time, not bothering to contour or add an excessive amount of detail; only one person would be watching him tonight, and Jack probably wouldn’t care how pretty Sheila’s face was when it was pressed against a brick wall. Ryan added a layer of powder to set the foundation, clipped his wig into place, and got dressed. Fitting into that skirt was indeed a chore that took far longer than it should have, but once the whole look was put together, even he had to admit that he’d fuck himself. Ordinarily, he didn’t like wearing the nude lip color, but it worked tonight. He gave his head a quick, but vigorous shake to make sure the wig wouldn’t budge, and once he was satisfied, checked himself out in the mirror. The reflection was basic, but it was Sheila. And Sheila was beautiful. She blew herself a kiss and headed out.

  The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time she got outside, and dusk was starting to give way to twilight. It should be safe enough to walk, by now. The club was only a few blocks away, and she still had thirty minutes before she was supposed to meet Jack.

  Surprisingly, she only met a few people on her trip there, the scariest of whom was a man with a skinned head and tattoos of skulls on his face and a Support Trump button on his collar. Sweat ran down the back of her neck, and she wished she’d brought her purse out with her. There was a pair of brass knuckles in case she ever needed them. Her heels were only four inches, and she prepared to make a run for it if she needed to. But the man only tipped his head in Sheila’s direction and kept on about his business. She sighed, her heart beating a mile a minute.

  The air felt different tonight. Normally, she walked this same route and everything was fine, but tonight unease crept its way down her spine, prickling her flesh. Sheila wasn’t the type to walk with her head down, but she found herself not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. Even now that full dark had spread across the sky, she still felt . . . off.

  Paranoia caressed her, and she spared a glance behind her to make sure she wasn’t being followed. When she turned back around, she collided wi
th someone. Sheila grunted in surprise, then said, “I’m so sorry!”

  He wore a baseball cap pulled low and an upturned collar. “Don’t worry about it.” He kept walking. She hadn’t gotten a look at his face, but she knew that voice. From where, though, she couldn’t place. Her emotions were too heightened; she wasn’t sure she’d recognize her own voice at this point. She shook off the nerves and kept going, glancing over her shoulder every few steps. The nerves crept back. Who was that guy? And why had he made the hairs on her arms stand on end. Something wasn’t right, but she didn’t have time to try to figure it out. She just hoped she’d never see him again.

  When she made it to the club, she had fifteen minutes to spare.

  She debated going in for a drink, but decided against it. There probably wouldn’t be enough time to finish it before Jack got there, and then it would lay abandoned on the ground while she got the stuffing fucked out of her, then stay forgotten until some rat or something carried it away. She dipped into the alley and leaned against the wall.

  It took an eternity for Jack to get there. Every person that walked by, she hoped was him, only to be disappointed. She couldn’t remember being this excited about anything—or anyone—in ages. Mainly because she never got excited anymore unless she was performing. That was the way she liked it. Because when she got happy, she let her guard down. And when she let it down, she let herself get too reeled in. That was how hearts got broken.

  Jack strolled into the alley about ten minutes later, looking all sexy and full of charm and totally different than how he’d appeared in the office earlier, though he was still in his suit and tie. Sheila swallowed and bit her bottom lip. Were those super-nerves? Armored butterflies? Get it together, she told herself.

  “Wow,” Jack said, and his baritone washed over her like warm honey. “You follow instructions well.”

  “I was always taught following instructions was part of life.”

  Jack took a step forward. “That’s good advice.”

  Sheila’s breath hitched. He was right in front of her, now. Whatever he’d used in the shower smelled amazing, and she found herself getting drunk on the scent. And then he kissed her. Full. Deep. She melted into him. His hands gripped her shoulders, pulled her up so they were on more even ground. Sheila wasn’t that much shorter than Jack, especially in these heels, but it still impressed her that he could lift her so easily. Their embrace became darker, more aggressive. Jack shoved her against the wall. In less than a heartbeat he was on her, first simply breathing against her lips. Then he crushed their mouths together again. She heard him struggling with his belt and broke their kiss. She wanted to see his dick spring out the same way it had last night. He was grinning when she next looked up.

  “This what you want?” he breathed. He didn’t bother undoing his pants, just unzipped them and pulled his cock out. It bobbed expectantly, and she dropped to her knees without hesitation. “Ah, ah,” he said, gripping her chin forcefully. “Did I tell you that you could suck me?”

  Sheila swallowed. She stared at him, torn between her lust and desire to obey. He watched her for what felt like a millennium before pushing his hips forward, brushing her lips with the head of his dick. She started to open her mouth, but he raised an eyebrow and she paused. His scent wafted toward her. God, he smelled so manly and she fucking loved it. It was like he’d been on the move and running all day. There was sweat mixed in with the earthy undertones of soap and the faintest trace of the lube he’d probably used to masturbate earlier. Sheila wasn’t sure what she wanted more: the gratification that was sure to come from tasting him again, or the punishment she hoped he’d be able to dole out for disobeying.

  She stayed perfectly still for a minute, perhaps longer. Cars zoomed by on the street beyond, and the barest whiff of urine tickled her senses, but those were the only indications that there was a world beyond the two of them.

  Jack caressed Sheila’s hair, and she racked her brain trying to remember if she’d been forbidden to move or just to suck. It seemed like an admiring touch, a reward for doing as she’d been told, and she wanted to lean into it, cherish it. But she decided to play it safe and not move at all.

  They continued watching each other, and finally, after what felt like a decade, the side of Jack’s mouth tilted up in a smile and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. She licked her lips. She wanted to attack his cock; go at it with everything she had and not stop until he was a shivering mess on the ground. But she was a lady, damn it. So instead she dragged her tongue leisurely across the tip, letting the tang wash over her taste buds.

  She teased him slowly, sensually, tracing every inch of his shaft. Part of her wanted him to take control already, but she was content driving him to the brink of madness until he was ready. Sucking one ball into her mouth, she rolled it around before switching to the other; his soft moans told her that he was enjoying it. She wanted—no needed more. She moved back up and deep-throated him in one swoop. He groaned loudly and tried to press himself deeper. There was the magic. But it still wasn’t quite enough. She tugged at his nuts, massaging them with her hand while her tongue worked him. He stumbled forward, and then there was nothing between her head and the wall and he pulled out, slid back in slowly. Again. And again. Each time, he got a little harder, until he was fucking her face and there was nowhere she could run, even if she wanted to. Every thrust drove her against the bricks.

  Just how she liked it. No respect. Not thinking of her comfort at all.

  She opened her mouth further, tried to breathe in between strokes because she couldn’t do it through her nose at all.

  “Close it!” he barked, and she did so without another thought. “Oh, that’s it,” he murmured. He slowed down just enough for her to catch her breath, and she was grateful, but wanted him to take it to the next level now. She couldn’t ask, though, so how could she signal him that she was ready?

  She reached around, cupped his ass and squeezed, but he didn’t seem to get the message, so she slapped it. After several attempts, Jack still acted completely oblivious, so she pushed him away.

  “I have to go,” she said, wiping her mouth and standing up. She had no intention of leaving right now—she’d never be able to hide the hard-on in a skirt this tight—but if this didn’t clue him in that she was ready to get fucked, nothing would. “Thanks for a great time, sugar.” She headed for the street.

  She felt his eyes on her as she made it ten feet away. Fifteen. Twenty. She sighed. Maybe he wasn’t the guy she’d thought he was, after all. She knew it was weird, but she didn’t want to have to actually say that she was ready for him to be inside her. He was supposed to just know.

  She was about to step out of the alley when his hand closed around her mouth and he yanked her back.

  “I don’t remember saying you could go anywhere.”

  There it was. She flooded her basement as he slammed her against the wall. Fuck it hurt, but come morning she would rub the sore spots and wish he’d done it a little harder.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled against his palm.

  “You still haven’t learned your lesson, have you? Strutting around and teasing me with that pretty mouth of yours? And this ass?” He slapped it for emphasis. “Tell me it’s mine.”

  Desire curled in her stomach. Holy shit, he was good at this. “No. It’s mine,” she said when he pulled his hand away. “Now please, let me go.”

  He struck her ass again, held his hand there, and dug into the flesh with his nails. The pain was intense at first, but then her eyes nearly rolled back as it gave way to ecstasy. She hadn’t felt pain this good in she-couldn’t-remember-how-long.

  “Please,” she sobbed. Tears actually blurred her vision as she struggled to try to crane her neck to face Jack, but his forearm pressed her against the wall and she was all but immobilized. “I promise I won’t tell anyone. Just . . . just let me leave.”

  “Oh, I know you won’t.�
�� He lifted her skirt, dragged a finger along her ass before pressing it against her taint. “You don’t really want to leave me, do you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. She didn’t trust her voice to go any higher because it might crack and betray how bad she wanted him.

  “Really?” He dipped that finger inside and holy fuck it burned. Sheila bit her lower lip to keep from screaming. As long as she’d been having sex, she’d never thought to tell them to do it without lubrication. She filed that away for future use. He added another, and it was all she could do not to push back, ride those fingers until he was ready to give her the real thing.

  But he was apparently content teasing her for now, because he fucked her with his fingers, hard and fast. He curled one, and she wondered if he was searching for her spot. She mumbled something—even she couldn’t tell what it was. Nothing mattered as long as he didn’t ever stop. After a minute or so, he did, and it took everything she had not to turn on him and lose her mind.

  “Don’t fucking move,” he growled as though he’d read her mind.

  So she stayed there, frozen in place while he tore the condom open and rolled it down himself. One hand grabbed the back of her neck, keeping her face pressed against the wall, while the other gripped her waist and pulled her to him. “Don’t you move.”

  “Please. Don’t do this.”

  “Shut up. You’re getting what you deserve, you little cocktease.”

  She didn’t mean to moan so loudly. It just came out. No man had ever been so forceful, so dirty with her and kept it up this long. They were usually bitching by this point how it was too weird and they couldn’t take it. But she would. She would take everything he had to give her and more. Because she was dirty and she needed to be punished.

  Jack spat on her hole, smeared it with the head of his dick, and then sank in with no warning. She bit the inside of her cheek, but not before she let out a strangled cry. Surely someone had heard that. They could come bursting in at any moment and call the cops and then Sheila would be forced into an awkward position where she’d have to explain to the police that no she wasn’t being raped, she was only pretending like she was. That was if they didn’t beat the shit out of her for being a drag queen in the first place.