by Sally Laces
“You crossdress so no one recognizes you when you go out.”
“Exactly!”
“Christina, that’s silly.”
He called me by my girl name, but the comment stung.
“It works,” I countered. “No one’s recognized me yet.”
“It works, sure. But there are a dozen other ways you could solve this issue.” He let go of his spoon, letting it tilt against the bowl. “You think you’re the only rich kid in Femnos who doesn’t want to be spotted?”
“No,” I admitted. I may have been the most wanted by the Paparazzi, but Harrow was still right. How did the other rich young heirs deal with their burden? I could think of a few methods that would have worked. A payoff here, a buried story there, maybe some formless gender-neutral clothes and a big pair of sunglasses.
“I guess,” I said, taking in a deep breath, “I guess I just… I just like going out as a woman. I dunno. People treat you differently. Nicer. They buy you drinks and flirt with you, hold open doors, act like you’re important, even though they don’t know your name or how much you’re worth.”
Harrow watched me. I was laying my heart out for him, telling the man things I’d never told anyone, not even Elle. Yet my excuses were still lame. Men offered to buy me drinks, sure, but I always rejected them. I didn’t want to be beholden to anyone, and they clearly only wanted one thing from me - something they’d never get. Being a woman wasn’t all adoration. There was a lot of bullshit to wade through, and a lot of work to look pretty.
Harrow wanted truth.
“It’s not just that,” I said in a softer voice. “I feel different when I dress up.”
I completely missed the waiter this time. He deposited two plates of arugula and beetroot salad with a raspberry vinaigrette beside our soup bowls.
“Different how?” Asked Harrow, focused on me and not the food.
“I feel like…myself.”
His eyes softened. I took up my salad fork and stabbed it into a piece of beetroot.
“I’m not the disgraced heir to a company fortune, forced into stuffy suits and trotted out to shake hands with sweaty business men in an office that smells like stale coffee. I’m my own person. I get to decide what to wear and how to talk and where to go, what to do…” I laughed, shaking my head. “And I do crazy things like sneaking into clubs. I shouldn’t do that, I know, but I guess I’m still figuring out my limits and my interests and…” I cleared my throat. “What I like.”
Who I like.
Harrow.
“And who I am,” I added finishing off the flow of speech that came from somewhere deep, deep inside of me.
He took up a portion of the salad and pulled off a bit, chewed, then swallowed.
“Christina.”
“Yes?”
He gestured at me with the end of his utensil. “You said ‘who I am.’ When you go out, you feel like Christina. Yourself.”
Again, Christina was never my name. I was always just ‘Chris.’
But he was right. I did feel like Christina. Just a girl in a cute dress at a fancy restaurant having a talk with an interesting, handsome man. It all felt so right, being out on this date.
“Is this a date?” I asked abruptly.
Harrow paused in his chewing, then swallowed his food.
“I suppose it is,” he mused. “If you want it to be.”
I slipped my nyloned foot out of my heel and ran it up his calf.
“I do,” I said. “If you do.”
I felt his calf muscle tense.
“I definitely do.”
Chapter 18
HARROW
Somewhere between the skirt steak and the pomegranate sorbet, I started trusting.
Christina never talked about the business deal between my Renault Group and her Inverness. She seemed to have no real interest in any of that. If someone had sent her to manipulate me, surely she would have tried to suss out more about me as a businessman.
Yet all I ever saw or heard from her was honesty. I came here thinking she’d met me to ruin my status as chief negotiator. Instead, I found out the exact opposite could have taken place - Christina had a lot more to hide than I did.
Hell, my offer was already on the table. The Board members were at home sweating over the details as we spoke. Nothing more that I could do or say would change anything.
I was just one man having a meal with a local girl, waiting out my time until I could leave the country and get back to work.
Until then…
Couldn’t I enjoy myself?
When Christina placed her foot against my calf I tensed immediately. Something in my head told me danger was afoot, no pun intended. When I looked at her smiling face, my heart relaxed.
This girl didn’t give a fuck what happened with the business deal. Like any 20-something, she wanted to have fun.
I could give it to her.
Lord, could I fucking give it to her.
“Are you staying at a hotel room?”
She asked the question innocently, lithe fingers wrapped around a metal straw, swirling her fruity cocktail around while a glass of rich wine sat barely-touched in front of her. Christina suctioned her red lips and dipped them around the straw, hypnotically pulling her bubblegum-pink liquid into her mouth.
“Airbnb.”
She nodded slowly and dipped her head up. “Wanted get a more authentic experience, hm?”
“Cheaper.”
She laughed soundlessly, mouth quirked up to her rosy cheek.
“Want to take me back there, then? We can get our coffee to-go.”
“Hmm.”
“Unless you prefer tea.”
I leaned my body forward, keen to keep my elbows off the table - Femnosi manners and all - but locking my gaze on Christina’s guileless green eyes.
“And what do you want to do at my apartment?”
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even hesitate. The girl just leaned forward the exact same way I had and laid her manicured fingers on the cuff of my shirt.
“Rock your fucking world, Harrow.”
It wasn’t the alcohol talking. This was all Christina, finally free to speak how she wanted. If she fucked as well as she gave head then yes, my world could’ve been rocked.
I didn’t make it to where I am by letting my emotions get the best of me. I did it by keeping control of the situation, no matter how unexpected.
I flipped my arm over and gripped Christina’s soft, pale forearm. Then I pulled her forward, letting her scoot in her chair closer to me until she was close enough to kiss. Her lips parted. I bit my ltongue, willing myself to not lean in and take what I wanted right there and then.
Patience. The key to winning any negotiation.
“If I take you back,” I said in a low, dark growl, “it’s not going to be to blow me on my sofa. If I bring you home with me, I’ll have you the way I want.”
“What’s that?” She asked breathlessly.
“Obedient. Submissive. Doing what I tell you without a sarcastic remark or huffy sigh.”
“I thought you liked all that.”
“I did. Last night.” I leaned in further, letting my lips graze Christina’s ear. “But when it’s you, and me, alone in my penthouse - you’ll be all mine. And you’ll love every moment. I swear.” I confirmed my words with a kiss to her that made her gasp. When I sat back in my seat, Christina’s hand was in mine, and her eyes were full of an anticipation she could barely handle.
“Okay. Fine. Yes.”
Her words came out sharp and quick. As the piano player hit her final note, I could hear Christina’s feet scampering on the floor, desperately trying to find her heels so we could stand up and leave.
“One last thing -”
“Oh, Harrow -”
“Say please.”
That put an adorable little sour expression on Christina’s face. As much as I liked her, she was still a rich girl. The heiress had every material thing given to her for her entire li
fe. ‘Please’ probably wasn’t a part of her vocabulary.
I wasn’t her butler or her assistant or her little friend. Tonight, I’d be her Man.
“Please, Harrow, Sir,” she said, enunciating every word with a ‘fuck you but fuck me first’ expression.
I hid a victorious smirk behind a quick nod, letting go of her hand to beckon the waiter for the check.
Imagine my surprise when Christina’s claws dug into my sleeve to pull me back. I glanced at her and saw a devious glimmer in her eye.
“Please, Harrow. Please make me your fucking pet.”
Chapter 19
CHRISTINA
The brief look of surprise on Harrow’s face was worth whatever punishment I’d receive later. He hadn’t said ‘pet,’ but I did. The word just came to my mind when he used those sexy terms. ‘Obedient.’ ‘submissive.’ God, I’d love to be on the end of a leash in my sexiest lingerie, kneeling before him, that fat dick in my mouth or my throat.
Or my ass.
I downed the rest of my drink when Harrow turned to get the waiter. If he really was going to use me, then surely he’d want me on all fours, my tight little sissy ass jiggling in the air for him… right? That’s what being obedient means.
Fuck. Once again my mouth had gotten me into more trouble than I could handle. I told him I’d be his fucking pet. How could he not fuck me after that?
“And two green teas,” said Harrow, sending the waiter off.
“What if I wanted coffee?” I asked.
He narrowed his grey eyes. “Are you going to have trouble staying awake?”
I shook my head rapidly. It was barely 8 o’clock. I usually didn’t get to bed until 1 or 2 anyway.
Then again, I usually didn’t have a real man’s cum all over me.
I had one hand on my tea and the other at my side, following my new man out to the valet stand. His luxury car pulled up two seconds later, and he slipped the valet a 50 with a sincere ‘thank you.’ I didn’t know valets smiled.
Once we got into the car, Harrow kept his eyes forward. My dress had slid up to my knees and I let it stay there, showing off the legs that were probably my best asset. I sighed in delight at the heated seat and plush leather, massaging my back and letting one strap of my dress fall loose.
None of that got his attention. He focused on the road and the streets, which were nearly empty because of the holiday.
I pouted. What was the point of dressing up sexy if the one guy you’re interested in doesn’t even see?
“What are you going to do with me once you get me home?”
“I’m thinking.”
I leaned over to the driver’s seat. “I could make a few suggestions,” I whispered in his ear.
Harrow’s eyes drifted toward me for a moment. “I’ve got plenty of ideas, Christina.”
I sat back in my seat. If Harrow didn’t want to hear what I was thinking - all the better, really, because I don’t know how far I could go in vocalizing my thoughts - then I could at least make some non-verbal suggestions.
I slid my hand down to my knee, then crossed over the center console. Harrow’s thigh twitched when I laid my hand on his pants. I waited a moment, then slowly reached further to his crotch.
I knew how big he was. I knew what his cock looked, felt, and tasted like. And I knew the exact sort of light, teasing petting he needed.
Seconds after I ran my fingers up his zipper, he was hard. The bulge pushing against the crotch of his pants thickened until I was sure he was going to burst right out of those tailored trousers.
The car sped up, but the revving engine couldn’t hide Harrow’s groan.
“Do you want me to take it out?” I asked, leaning over in my seat, my face inches from his cock, my eyes up on his set jaw.
He said nothing. I slowly pulled down his zipper.
“I thought you were gonna dominate me,” I teased. “Some pet I am if you let me do whatever I - ack!”
Harrow upshifted when we got onto the highway. Then his hand found the back of my head and pushed my face down to his crotch. The thin fabric separated my lips from his cock, but this was still as close to heaven as I’d been since, well, last night.
“I told you I’d make you mine when we got home,” He said in a low rumble. “Right now, you can do whatever you want.” His hand ran through my blonde tresses, down to the back of my neck, where he held tight. “Just do it right.”
“Yes, sir,” I purred, biting away the single button that kept the door of his boxers together. All I had to do then was rub my face along his crotch until his dick stuck straight out of the hole. I swear he could’ve laid the tip on the bottom of the wheel, even with his chair pulled all the way back.
Somehow, I had that whole dick in my mouth last night.
Tonight, I wanted it down my throat.
I started by slowly licking from hilt to the very tip, watching him all the while for some reaction. He had a good poker face, built over years at sitting behind negotiation tables. I may not have had his stoic look, but I could break the ice like a fucking champ. I took his mushroom tip into my mouth and sucked as tight as I could, then drew my tongue along the underside and prayed we weren’t going to crash when he shut his eyes for a moment.
He downshifted, taking us off the highway and onto the exit ramp. The small jolt helped me get my mouth deeper down his rod. I gagged slightly but didn’t taste my entree so I kept going, eyes shut, breathing out, nose rich with the scent of his manly odor, brain swimming with the delight of being his personal passenger cocksucker.
I kept going until Harrow took the keys out of the ignition.
“Mph?” I slowly pulled my lips off his cock. I tried to sit up, but his hand was still across my shoulders. “Are we here?”
“Mhm.”
“Then let’s go up!” Blowing him in the car was magical, but his apartment had all sorts of wonders and kinky delights. In my imagination at least.
“Nope. Finish what you’ve started.”
I pouted up at him with my best wanting expression, the kind that always got me what I wanted from a doting relative or obstinate bartender.
Harrow didn’t flinch at all.
He told me I could do what I wanted in the car.
I didn’t realize that meant I had to finish.
His cock, his rules.
I was perfectly content to give him a slow, languorous, teasing blowjob on the road. Now I wanted to be in his bed. I dipped my head quickly down his cock, ignoring the tension and ache in my jaw, the reluctance in my throat, and the sweat on my brow. Soon I had him nearly all the way down my throat. I held it there as long as I could, a few seconds that felt like blissful minutes, him twitching inside of me, hands gripping the locked steering wheel, hips bucking upward to push himself further down my throat until I pulled away and let my copious spit coat his entire rod.