Неизвестный - 4. Justice In The Shadows

As Catherine caught the skin below Rebecca’s jaw in her teeth, the sharp edge of pain cut through the deep well of pleasure, and Rebecca lost her tenuous grip on control. “Oh God, don’t…go.”

Catherine pulled Rebecca into her arms as she came, cradling her while the breath tore from her on a hoarse cry of fulfillment. “I’m here, I’m here,” she soothed, over and over until Rebecca relaxed in her embrace.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sandy sat hunched on the edge of Mitchell’s bed, and, while Jasmine sorted through the clothes in Mitchell’s closet, studied Mitchell.

What would Mitchell look like as a guy? She wasn’t tall, but a bit above average height and well-built. Her shoulders were nicely developed and her hips and thighs toned and tight. That would help. But more than her body, there was her face. Chin and cheekbones boldly sketched by a few strong lines, large, deep set eyes, a generous mouth. Her dark hair, as close to black as hair could be, was just beyond short, and thick. Combed the right way—yeah, that could work. And of course, she doesn’t have to look like a guy; she has to look like a really good drag king. Yeah, Dell can do that.

“What do you think?” Jasmine asked, addressing Sandy as she turned from the closet with a pale blue silk shirt in one hand and a pair of dark trousers and matching jacket in the other. “Maybe add a tie?”

Sandy studied the very nice suit, then shook her head no. “Too uptown. She’ll fit in better if she just looks like a boy version of herself.”

“What do you mean?” Mitchell asked, uneasy.

“She’s right,” Jasmine said, casting Sandy an appreciative glance. “We can’t just dress you up and expect it to work. You still have to be as naturally you as possible.” She put the clothes back.

“Can I look?” Sandy asked.

“Sure,” Mitchell said, resigned to having little say in the process.

A minute later, Sandy handed Jasmine first a pair of soft, well-worn black leather pants, then a snowy white T-shirt, and finally a pair of scuffed black motorcycle boots with heavy heels and a wide strap across the arch. “Have you got a jacket to go with these pants, Dell?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t suppose you have a bike, too?”

“Yeah.”

Sandy looked at Jasmine. “Well?”

“The guys at the Troc will die of envy.” Jasmine laid the clothes on the nearby dresser and turned to Mitchell, her expression suddenly serious. “The first time or two you’ll need help wrapping your chest. It’s not as simple as it sounds because you don’t want the ace to show under your shirt. Are you okay with me helping you?”

“I…sure.” Mitchell pulled her shirt from her jeans and began to unbutton it. “Let’s just do it.”

“I’m gonna get a beer. You got beer, Dell?” Sandy suddenly realized that she didn’t want to see Mitchell naked. Or rather, she did. A lot. And that was a good reason not to.

“In the fridge. You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Nah. I’ll hang out for a while.” She walked toward the door and said over her shoulder, “Have fun.”

Jasmine opened a small duffle bag she’d carried into the bedroom earlier and extracted a lightweight white cotton ace wrap. Keeping her gaze on Mitchell’s face, she approached with the ace in her hand. “Raise your arms.”

Mitchell complied, and Jasmine quickly and expertly wrapped it around Mitchell’s chest. “Too tight?”

“No.” Mitchell lowered her arms, flexed her shoulders. “Seems okay.”

Jasmine reached for the white T-shirt from the nearby dresser. “Let’s see how it lays. And remember, you’ve got to expand your movements, not make them smaller. Guys take up a lot of space.”

“Like cops.” Mitchell smiled and pulled on the T-shirt. “I’ve had plenty of practice acting like I’m physically bigger than I am.”

“I know. That’s a big reason why I think this will work—you’ve already got the walk. Plus, your face was made for this.” Jasmine took Mitchell’s hand and drew her to the bed. “I made a call to one of the boys as soon as the meeting broke up, and he took me on a quick shopping trip for your drag gear.”

Mitchell rubbed the back of her neck as she stared at the items laid out on her bed. Oh jeez.

“I got a few different ones, because you need to wear one big enough to give you a bit of a bulge—that’s pretty much required for a drag king. But personally, I don’t go for the perpetually hard look. The packing dicks are just for show—they won’t function, but they don’t look like bananas in your pants, either.”

Mitchell picked up the pale pink packing dildo in its clear plastic envelope and squeezed It felt real. “Well, I’m not gonna need it to work.” She kept her face expressionless as she unzipped her jeans and pushed them down.

Abruptly, Jasmine turned and walked to the floor to ceiling windows on the opposite side of the spacious room. Keeping her back to Mitchell, she remarked, “You’ve got an incredible view of the square from here. Of all of downtown, really.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell replied as she pulled the leather pants up and settled herself. “Okay.”

Jasmine turned. Mitchell stood with hips thrust slightly forward, a thumb hooked over the top of her pants, her fingers splayed across the leather, close to but not quite touching the subtle but definite swelling to the right of her fly.

“Well, Mitch,” Jasmine said quietly, “I’m having a gender confusion moment.”

Mitchell laughed a bit shakily. “Good. So am I.”

“Ookaay.” Jasmine took a deep breath, wondering briefly how Sarah would feel about a full out cross-dressing date. Mitchell, just beyond androgynous now, was Eros personified. “Time for the final touches. Bring that chair into the bathroom. I need good light for this.”

A minute later, Mitchell sat down, automatically sliding a hand up the inside of her thigh to cup her crotch, adjusting for the new position.

“Good move,” Jasmine murmured, running her fingers through Mitchell’s thick hair. “Men and drag kings are fond of frequent manual dick checks.” She laughed. “Lest it disappear.”

“Should be fun on the bike,” Mitchell muttered. The unaccustomed pressure between her thighs that escalated intermittently with every small movement was disturbingly arousing. Her entire body was tingling, and she couldn’t wait for Sandy to see her. Oh man. What if she doesn’t like it? Jesus Christ. What if she does?

“Are you and Sandy an item?” Jasmine asked as she altered the arch of Mitchell’s dark brows with several adept strokes of the eyebrow brush.

Mitchell met Jasmine’s gaze in the mirror. “No. Why?”

Jasmine switched to a wider brush and picked up a dark shade of toner. As she accentuated the width of Mitchell’s naturally strong jaw, she said, “She’s hot for you.”

Mitchell twitched. Everywhere. “There’s nothing going on with us.”

“Uh-huh.” Jasmine walked around from behind the chair and held out her hand, then pulled the nouveau drag king to his feet. She checked Mitch’s beard shadow, ran her eyes over the hard muscled chest, let her eyes drop to the prominence of genitalia nestled in soft dark leather. Nice. “Do you want there to be?”

“Want what to be?” Mitch was aware of the languid scrutiny, and unexpectedly, he got hard. If this keeps happening, I’m going to go nuts.

“Something to be going on between you and Miss Cutie-Pie.”

“Yeah.” It felt so good to say.

“Well, then, stud,” Jasmine said, taking Mitch’s hand, “I think you’re about to get your chance.”

When she heard footsteps, Sandy looked up from the couch where she’d been nursing her second beer and rifling through a magazine about vintage cars. Jasmine walked into the living room with her arm around the waist of … Oh fuck, Dell. Look at you. You are so, so hot.