Heiress: (Feminization, Crossdressing) Read online

  Shit. I’d been trying so hard to blend into the background and wait for my opening to leave - now I brought all attention on myself just because I spoke. And I was so close too! Suggesting that Harrow lead everyone to the dance floor was my ticket out of this joint. I couldn’t leave by myself. Ella got out with Martin, but if I went alone the bouncer would take the chance ask me some ‘questions.’

  And I couldn’t leave with these people anymore either. The way their eyes were set on me, I knew the questions they were about to ask.

  “You know, you look very familiar,” said Trevor.

  “Yeah. Are you with Inverness?” Added Amanda.

  My hackles were fully raised now.

  “Their modeling team?” Asked Trevor.

  I let out a sigh of relief. My family’s company did sponsor a world-famous modeling agency, but I wasn’t -

  Wait, did I really look that good?

  “No,” I said with a flippant laugh and a hand wave. “I’m just a college kid like Ella. Different universities though.”

  “You’re in college?!” Marveled Amanda.

  “I look that old?” I remarked.

  “That’s a Vivenci dress!”

  They all stared at my crotch before I realized they weren’t checking for a bulge. Rather, they were keenly interested in the 4-figure fabric wrapped around my waist. Goddammit. I never paid attention to what things cost when I shopped online…

  “Oh, it’s fake. A gift. A fake gift.”

  The women exchanged a look, but Trevor and Trent cared about fashion about as much as they cared about feminism. “You think he’s coming out?” Asked Trent.

  “I’m sick of seeming desperate. When he fails tomorrow we’ll at least be able to say we tried to tell him.” Clearly feeling a sense of vindication by his comment, Trevor tightened his necktie and inclined his head. “Coming, darling?”

  I lowered my chin. “My name’s Christina.”

  “Yes,” said a voice from behind me. Harrow laid a hand on my shoulder. “It is. Christina, would you mind helping me clean up a bit? Won’t take more than a few minutes.”

  “Sure. Fine.”

  We waited for the others to leave. I locked the door behind them.

  I still have no idea why I did.

  “Don’t they have maids to clean this place up?” I asked. As soon as I turned around from the door I saw Harrow carrying glasses to the sink and emptying their dregs into the drain. He even took a napkin to wipe crumbs off the counter.

  “Doesn’t mean we need to leave it in disarray. Do you know how much a nightclub cleaning person makes?”

  “Enough.” Everyone in Femnos made enough - or, rather, they made a wage commensurate to the value of their labor. Capitalism, baby. We perfected it so stop complaining.

  “Enough to live three to a studio apartment.”

  “Well…” Someone had spilled a drink on the small table in front of the couch. I glanced back at Harrow, who was actually sweeping up the crumbs he pushed onto the floor. I paused, staring, before I sunk to my knees on the plush carpet and began to wipe down the table.

  “You probably don’t want to say things like that to Femnosi people. We can be a bit touchy about foreigners talking shit about our country.”

  “Noted. Although I wouldn’t call it ‘talking shit.’ Those two saw the exact same living quarters I did when we visited one of our properties.”

  I stopped wiping the glass table and turned my head. “You went to the Servant’s Village?!”

  The neighborhood where maids, cooks, and other service staff lived wasn’t called ‘Servant’s Village’ on the map, but it was the historical name and the one most Femnosi used. Judging by Harrow’s slight grimace, I could tell he preferred its actual name.

  “Forum West, I mean,” I muttered, correcting myself as I cleaned.

  “Yes. We own several buildings in Forum West. They’re in need of renovation.”

  “Well, good luck with that.”

  “Thank you.” Harrow clapped up his dustpan and dumped its contents into the bin.

  “Are you going to mop too?” I asked sarcastically.

  “No. The maids will need something to do. Over-cleaning is just as bad as making a mess. If they can’t show they accomplished something in the room then the club owner will try to screw them out of their wage.”

  That seemed cruel and unnecessary, which meant it was probably true.

  “I’m sure they get a sense of accomplishment out of cleaning, too.” I meant it genuinely. Watching the table go from stained with glass rims (use a coaster, Trevor) and overflown mixers to sparkling clean actually did feel pretty good.

  As did being on my knees.

  The carpet was surprisingly plush, and I’d been on my feet all day.

  That was the reason, definitely.

  I also definitely didn’t feel a peal of warmth run down my spine when Harrow came to stand behind me.

  “Good work,” he noted.

  I stood up slowly and turned to face him. We were alone in the room, him nearly 6 inches taller than me, even in my heels. Aside from the distant thrum of the baseline from the dance floor, the only sound in the room was our mixed breathing. He’d washed his hands with that vanilla soap, the scent of which was faint. More present was his own manly musk, emanating from underneath his tight shirt.

  We were looking into each other’s eyes.

  I broke the tension by whipping the balled-up rag into the sink.

  “Nice shot.”

  “You’re so complimentary, Harrow.”

  The big man smirked. “Sit.”

  That threw me for a loop. We’d gotten everyone else out and cleaned up satisfactorily - wasn’t it time to leave? I was antsy to get out of the room. The temperature seemed to have increase a few degrees, and having everyone else leave made the place feel smaller, not bigger like I expected.

  Harrow dropped a bottle of sparking water onto the table, along with two fresh glasses. He poured into each and cast his grey eyes up at me. I brushed down my skirt and seated myself slowly.

  “You know the woman is supposed to pour the drinks,” I said softly.

  “Femnosi tradition, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Could you hand me my jacket?”

  I furrowed my brow, but did as he asked. It was lying right next to me, after all.

  “Help me put it on.”

  I tossed the jacket into his lap.

  “Put on your own fucking jacket,” I spat, crossing my arms.

  He laughed loudly, then tossed the jacket onto the floor. I gave it a quick glance - wasn’t it expensive? - but kept my head facing forward, trying my best to pout. He was treating me the same way those two assholes treated the poor secretaries.

  “I’m sorry, Christina,” he said, finishing his laughter. “I was just trying to make a point.”

  “What fucking point were you -” I trailed off when his hand went to my knee.

  “The point was,” he continued, “that you don’t really give a shit about Femnosi tradition.”

  I swallowed hard. Men had touched me before - patting me on the back or hips or pulling my hand to try and get me to dance with them. I spent a lot of time and effort and money into hiding my true identity under blouses and makeup. Inevitably, I found a few who appreciated my girlish look and feminine physique.

  This was different. Harrow’s hand wasn’t probing or exploratory or hesitant. He just touched me right on my nyloned knee. I knew if I moved away he’d let go.

  I didn’t.

  I felt things with him I’d never felt before, and needed to see where they went.

  “Not… all traditions,” I said, placing my own hand on top of his, running my fingers around his tanned knuckles. “I mean, I think we have a lot of unique culture here. There are just somethings about the way they treat women that I don’t like.”

  “I understand. Things in America aren’t great either.”

  “Oh, it’s better in Ameri
ca. Really.”

  “You’ve been?”

  I nodded.

  “Where?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Mysterious and charming.”

  That made me laugh, a high-pitched and genuine giggle that came from the same unknown place deep inside. Harrow’s hand tightened around my knee before he pulled it away slowly. His touch lingered. I wanted it back.

  He was playing with me, I realized.

  “It’s not all bad though,” I said haughtily. “Femnos is very special. Most outsiders can’t understand how we think.”

  “Is that right?”

  ‘”Oh, certainly. I find that Brits and Singaporeans tend to ‘get it.’ Canadians, well, they’re friendly to everyone. Aussies too. Americans, though…” I let my voice trail off.

  “Crass, rude and piggish?”

  “Well, you said it, not me,” I remarked, gently picking up my sparkling water by the rim, smiling innocently while I took a sip. I could see Harrow grinning out of the corner of my eye.

  “Trevor and Trent would certainly agree with you.”

  I pursed my lips and put the cup down. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Surely you talked to them while I was in the john.”

  “Briefly.” I hadn’t wanted to. They might have recognized me under my fake eyelashes and crimson lipstick if I said too much.

  “Good things, then?”

  I laughed. “They said you were going to screw the pooch tomorrow.” I paused. “My words, not theirs.”

  Far from seeming stung or angry, Harrow just laughed, leaning back in his seat and putting his hands behind his back. I watched every muscle in his chest and abdomen tighten into place. Even his thighs were muscular. He placed one ankle on top of his knee.

  So American.

  So careless.

  So hot.

  “They’re a bit peevish about me going into tomorrow’s meeting alone.”

  “Alone!?” I turned my entire body to face Harrow. “You never go to a meeting alone!”

  Even if he was meeting with employees of his own company, this was still absurd. I had no idea who he was meeting with or what it was about, but that didn’t matter.

  “That’s not the Femnosi way!”

  “Well, I’m not Femnosi. Besides, it’ll work better alone.”

  “What will?”

  “My secret plan.”

  This was too juicy for me to pass up. I slipped my feet out of my heels and curled up on the couch, leaning toward him. “Tell me.”

  Harrow glanced over at me, his grey eyes dancing with mirth. “You really want to know?”

  “I adore secrets.” Having them and hearing them - not giving them.

  “Wouldn’t be much of a secret if I told every pretty girl who snuck into my VIP room.”

  Pretty?

  “Well… I won’t tell anyone. Who would I tell?”

  “Ella?”

  I shook my head. “She’s busy.”

  “Seems like it. What about your boyfriend?”

  “Who?”

  “The runner.”

  I scoffed. “That guy is not my boyfriend.” Eww, just the idea… Andrew was 21, but he acted like a kid.

  …Plus he was a guy! I wasn’t into guys.

  Was I?

  Harrow didn’t seem like another guy.

  He seemed like a demigod.

  “What was his name?”

  I picked up on this trick immediately. “Not gonna tell you. Because I’m good at keeping secrets.” I stuck my tongue out, a gesture that looked way more sexual than I intended, given that my pink wet was nestled between two red, pillowy lips. I was also about six inches from Harrow’s face. If I leaned forward slightly I could draw my tongue around his inner ear.

  …Not that I had any intention of doing that. It was just an intrusive thought I couldn’t put down.

  No matter how hard I tried.

  “You really want to know?” Harrow’s voice had softened, dropped lower. He reached up and ran two fingers down a lock of my hair. My wig, actually. The blonde tresses were authentic and expensive and I kept them conditioned for extra luster. He said nothing, but I could tell from his eyes he was impressed.

  “What are you planning, Harrow.”

  His eyes shifted from my hair to my eyes, that cocky smirk on his perfect lips.

  “I work better alone. That’s all.”

  Custom dictated bringing at least five people to a Femnosi meeting. Harrow, of course, had no need for customs, the way I didn’t care for them.

  “Sometimes it’s better one on one,” I replied, putting my hand on top of his.

  “Always.”

  “Not always. What if you…”

  Harrow interlaced his fingers with mine.

  “What could be better, Christina, than having someone all to yourself?”

  And just like that, I was on him.

  I kept my knees spread over his legs, leaning down to kiss him full on the lips. My lipstick smeared across his own. My hands ran through his curly black hair. I heard him moan - a low, deep sound that vibrated against my lips and all the way down to my cock.

  His room, his employees, his booze, his company. I felt great because now I was in control.

  Until I wasn’t.

  Then I just felt wildly horny.

  He put his hands on my hips and pulled me into his lap, my plump little ass pressed against his muscular thighs. Harrow ran his fingers lightly along the nylons over my thighs and calves, clearly enjoying what he found. I didn’t even realize I had nice legs.

  I didn’t even know what it felt like to be kissed. Not until Harrow tilted my chin back, placed his hungry lips against mine, and let me feel his hot, wet tongue slide into my small, aching mouth. He placed one hand on the back of my head, the other wrapped around my waist.

  I knew what it was like to walk, talk, act, and dress like a girl.

  I had no idea what it meant to be treated like one by a real man.

  “Harrow,” I moaned, overwhelmed by the new sensations. His hands over my clothes and my hair and now trailing up and down the nape of my neck when I broke away from his kiss to catch my heaving breath. “I’m…Fuck, I’m…”

  “Turned on?”