LipstickLeslee (2 page)

“What?”

A fresh tear tumbled down her cheek. “The contest. My ex set
it up—he and I own this place together but he only does the books and the
promotions. I just
know
the asshole did it on purpose just to humiliate
me and get back at me for ending our marriage because I came out, never mind
the fact that he’d been having affairs like a nympho for years. So he had it
announced on a
live
radio spot just this evening that the co-owner of
Pussycat’s would be entering the Dirty Dance-off Contest. He had the announcer
go on and on about how ‘butch’ the owner is but how she would be transforming
into a femme to bring the masses in to watch the contest. Oh god, Melanie.
You’ve
got
to help me. I don’t know the first damn thing about dirty
dancing,
or
about turning myself into a femme.”

What a prick this ex must be. “Well, why don’t you just not
be in the contest? Screw him and the ad.”

Melanie lifted her chin. It trembled before she announced,
“Because he said if I don’t do it, he’s going to sell his sixty-percent portion
of Pussycat’s to Bards Holdings, which is an extremely anti-gay investment
company. They buy up gay-owned businesses and turn them into straitlaced ones.
Their goal here in this town is to purge it of all that’s gay.”

Hmm, yes, I’d heard of Bards, but hadn’t paid much attention
to their agenda. Until now.

“Really?” I raked my gaze up and down Leslee’s
gender-neutral-clad body and winced. It might be a long shot, but it was worth
a try. Besides, I loved a makeover challenge dropped in my lap on a whim, so
this was right up my street. “Well, screw that. I’m in. I’ll just call my date
and let him know I’ll be a bit late. So let’s get you all dolled up and make a
few jaws drop—including that jerk ex of yours.”

I searched through the vestibule doorway into the bar for a
door that led to a bathroom where I could make the transformation. But before I
could locate the room of miracles, Leslee said, “Um, Melanie?”

“Huh?” I flicked my gaze back to her. Worry lines marred her
pretty brow.

“The rules of the contest are that each entrant has to have
a partner, you know, to dance with on stage.” She forked her fingers through
her hair, glanced up at the ceiling. “Would you
¼
would
you be my partner? Please?”

Aw, crap.
“Uh nooo. I don’t think so. I have a date,
and
¼
”

The tears welled up in her eyes again. Damn it, she sure
knew how to tug at my heart. She nodded. “Yes. Okay. I understand. It—it was
wrong of me to ask. I’m sorry I bothered you, Melanie.”

She started to turn and walk away, but I grabbed her arm and
halted her. I held her soft flesh captive within the circle of my palm,
although I detected the firmness of triceps and biceps beneath the skin. Why
did that intrigue me?

“Wait,” I said to her.

Her gaze drifted to somewhere over my shoulder. Her eyes
widened. I almost turned to see what had caught her attention, but she started
to speak then stopped herself. Indecision warred in her expression and I
decided she looked pretty in a natural sort of way—but she really
could
use some blush and mascara. Hmm. Yes, it would be kind of fun to play dress-up
and turn her into something totally different, like me and Kaydee and our other
friends used to do to each other at slumber parties. Ha ha. Although getting
Kaydee in a dress had always been a lot like trying to talk a boy into putting
on high heels and walking out onto the football field.

“I-I could still do your makeover thing. You know, turn you
into a femme?” I hated the tone to my voice, as if I were her mother attempting
to talk her into eating her broccoli. My gaze raked her clothing. Might as well
be broccoli. The clothes she wore were just as boring as that disgusting
veggie, and almost as ugly.

“Really? You’d do that for me and—”

“My, my, what have we here?” The deep voice accompanied by a
definite male presence hovered at my right shoulder. I still held Leslee’s arm
in my grip. But overpowering rich-man’s cologne engulfed me and had me letting
go of her and moving two steps back to escape it.

Leslee crossed her arms over her chest. I noted with
surprise how it lifted her breasts and made them appear even larger than
before. Oh yeah, definite dress-up possibilities there. Find a low-cut, tight
dress and show off some cleavage, get all these dikes’ juices flowing.

What the fuck? Where did that come from, Melanie?

“Go away, Charles. I’ve got it covered,” Leslee said to the
man, her eyes glinting with hatred. Whoa, if looks could grab a man by his
balls and choke him with his own testes, that would be the look right there.

His pale-blue eyes had a natural sleepy look to them, as if
he’d just rolled out of bed. But the rest of him was every bit Armani- and Wall
Street-awake, from the impeccably tailored suit to the shiny duds on his big
feet to the well-manicured fingernails. He thrust a hand through his thick,
blond hair, assuring that every strand remained smooth and in its place. Gold
and diamonds twinkled on his fingers from the disco lights flickering into the
vestibule from the dance floor.

I immediately took a not-sure-why dislike to him. He looked
sleek, but something told me he had skins he regularly shed to fit his
purposes. Like a slimy snake.

His gaze raked me and I shivered with revulsion. He reached
for my hand. “Well, hello there. I’m Charles Snyder. And you are?”

I allowed him one quick shake of my hand for manners’ sake
but immediately yanked it back. Clammy. His hand seemed clammy and
¼
I wasn’t sure, sort of dirty or something.

“Melanie Kirtright. I work with Leslee at Starling Hotel.”

Leslee shifted her stance and rubbed at her temple.
“Melanie, this is my ex-husband. We own Pussycat’s together.”

Aha, of course. The ex.

“You’re the one she mentioned calling. Have you come up with
your costumes yet?” He licked his lips and practically raped me with his eyes.
Nausea pitched around in my belly. What was it about this man that made me feel
so ill and on guard?

I jerked a rescue-me look at Leslee. She glanced away, her
face flushing red, and did the whistling-distracted expression.

“
Your
costumes?” I asked.

“Yes, for the contest.” He slid his hands into his trouser
pockets and rocked back on the heels of his snazzy dress shoes. He glanced at
his Rolex and grinned, revealing a mouthful of veneers and serious dental work.
Ick. “It starts in less than an hour. Already got the DJs for WXLX Radio
setting up. It’s going to make an anonymous radio star out of you.”

“Um, let’s get something straight here. I’m
not
going
to be in the contest, and I don’t want to be a ‘star’. I’m just going to help
her get into her costume.”

He cocked his head, reminding me of a chicken on the farm
back home where Savanah still lived. “No need to worry, it’ll be anonymous.
Besides, that’s not what Leslee told me
¼
”

“I—uh
¼
Crap.” Leslee
blew out a breath and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I-I’m sorry, Melanie. I
just assumed you’d
¼
”

Charles chuckled hollowly. He bent back and checked out my
butt. The scumbag didn’t even try to hide his scrutiny. “Mmmm. You know what
they say, ‘assuming makes an ass—and a very hot one at that—out of you and
me’.”

“Charles!” Leslee shrieked. She jammed her fists onto her
hips. “What is your problem? Have some respect, for Christ’s sake. She’s my
friend.”

His nostrils flared. He bored his ice-blue gaze into her,
and the voice that came out of him reminded me of the possessed girl in that
old devil movie when she was tied to the bed and spewing her wrath. “I don’t
give a damn if she’s your top lover. The promo is out. The whole city and all
of our regulars are expecting some big, sizzling stuff. You don’t deliver,
bitch, you will pay.”

“But I don’t want to—”

He threw up a hand, halting her words, and spun on his heel.
He was gone on a grumble and a few choice curse words, leaving us behind in his
thick cloud of cologne.

Hmm, I was starting to get the picture. In fact, it didn’t
take a genius to see that Leslee was as excited about this contest as a tick on
a dog’s balls. I knew without a doubt that this man had somehow coerced her
into it, which explained her panic and tears.

“What. A. Fucking. Asshole.” I snorted. “You were married to
that
piece of shit?”

Leslee’s shoulders slumped and she cried into her hands. Her
body shook, looking frailer than before. Something melted a small spot in the
ice I’d formed around my heart after finding my own ex screwing a woman in the
hotel hot tub on our honeymoon night six months ago.

I rubbed that spot on my chest where the ache started to
bloom into warmth and took Leslee in my arms. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t
word that quite right, did I?”

“No, no,” she whispered, clinging to me, melding her curvy
body to mine. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. He has a way of making enemies on
sight.”

Out of spite for the ogre, I tucked her closer and she
sighed, chipping away at the ice in my chest. I petted her hair, rubbed the
long length of her back, inhaled her sweet feminine scent. “What can I do,
sweetie? I’ll do anything to show that bastard what a real bitch is like.
Any
thing.”

She sniffled and drew back so that she remained in the
circle of my arms. Patrons entered the bar, slowly packing it to the hilt.
Waitresses and “waiters” zipped by the hostess podium, balancing trays of
neon-colored shots, mugs of beer, and appetizers. “Really? Anything?”

“Anything,” I repeated. God, how I longed to put that
motherfucker in his place. That was when I realized what had nagged at me about
him.

He reminded me of Will, that sex-addicted son of a bitch.

“Then get on stage with me. Do it, Melanie, please just do
it. Be daring and help me to ‘deliver’ him a contest that will give
me
the control for once, something that puts
me
in the driver’s seat
instead of him.”

Aw, man. How could I resist that challenge and those
pleading green eyes? I thought of the fact that I would have to hold her close
to give her the crash-dance lessons and then again on stage in front of all
these drooling lesbians. A zap of something naughty and delicious lit in my
loins and thrummed through my veins.

Wow. Soo tempting to say yes, if anything, just to find out
what it would be like to provocatively hold another woman while dancing for a
bunch of lesbians
¼

I glanced over and saw that arrogant ass behind the bar
shooting orders at the bartenders. Gone were the smiles and good-natured banter
I’d witnessed not five minutes ago. Charles’ voice boomed across the room. He
pounded his fist on the bar, tipping over drinks and sending customers and
employees scrambling out of the way. Here was a man who could instill turmoil
and fear by simply walking into a room. It was a stretch, but maybe he was even
worse than Will?

Charles kicked the trashcan. Then as he exited into a back
room, he swatted the girlie-looking bartender on the rear. She screeched and
her face flushed a ruddy shade. Yeah, I didn’t think it could ever be possible,
but there just might be another man on this planet worse than Will.

I swallowed a lump of nerves and tried to rein in the
butterflies fluttering around in my belly. “Okay. You got it. Let’s put you in
the driver’s seat, baby.”

Chapter Two

Leslee: Fantasy Come True

I didn’t know why I couldn’t control my emotions, or why I’d
gone and begged Melanie to come here and witness my meltdown. I’d had a
girl-crush on her ever since I’d hired her at the Starling Hotel. I mean, who
wouldn’t have a crush on her? Just look at her, all feminine and hot-as-sin
gorgeous in her tight little black cocktail dress that revealed a deep-shadowed
cleavage and hugged her curvaceous body from tits to toned thighs.

God help me, the things I could do with her,
to
her
¼

Melanie paced in my cramped Pussycat’s office, back and
forth like a caged feline digging her claws in and set to pounce at the very
moment the cage was opened. And holy geez, would you look at how the dress
clung to her firm ass every time she spun on those spiky heels. She’d ripped
her fur coat off and the clip out of her hair in a temper once we’d closed the
door to my office, so her long, auburn hair now flew out in a cape of silk
around her shoulders and back, making me itch to tangle my fingers in the silky
ropes.

“That jerk. Why did you marry that son of bitch? No, wait.
I’d rather know why you didn’t tell me you’d been married—and to a
man
?”

I shrugged. “Is it that hard to believe? Am I really that
much of a butch that you’d think I couldn’t possibly be with a man?”

“Are you serious? You’ve been waving your gay flag ever
since I can remember. And butch or not has nothing to do with it. Why would I
ever assume you were man material, given your voluntary outing at work?” She
licked her lips with an angry swipe of her tongue.

My mouth watered. I imagined kissing those full, red-painted
lips, tracing my tongue from her mouth to her nipple, tasting her salty flesh.
My own nipples puckered beneath the thin, stretchy fabric of the white dress I
now wore. She’d just chosen it for me to wear on stage from a costume rack I
kept in my office specifically for this stupid shit Charles always came up
with. The dress was a distraction, given she’d burst into my office, raked my
body with a look of pure fire and picked it out for me without so much as a
single second of hesitation. But I knew I needed to concentrate on getting this
contest over with to get my asshole ex off my back, yet I just couldn’t focus,
not with Melanie’s sweet, floral fragrance drifting across the small space and
making me dream of inhaling her pussy’s aroma while I devoured and licked her
cunt.

And focus evaded me too, due to the unexpected excitement at
the slick fabric clinging to my bare breasts and hips, and strangely, I didn’t
mind the feminine aura that engulfed me.

“You’re angry at me for not being honest, and I’m sorry,” I
said as I bent down and slipped my feet into a pair of black stilettoes that
matched hers. She’d also chosen them for me from a box beneath the rack. I
tightened the straps and stood, awkwardly balancing myself, unaccustomed to the
platforms when all I usually wore were flat loafers or Nikes. “Since I’m your
boss at Starling, I felt it was more appropriate to keep our personal lives
separate from the hotel as much as possible. It wasn’t important.”

“Wasn’t important?” she shrieked and whirled around to face
me. Her mouth was open and set to speak further, but the words seemed to lodge
in her throat. Her eyes widened and her cool gaze panned down my body, up, then
fell on my breasts. My areolas hardened at the intimate yet innocent look. I
was almost certain she’d never been with a woman before.

And I prayed her first would be me.

“I-I
¼
Wowza,” she
stammered. “You look
¼
great. You should
wear dresses more often.”

My face heated up. I shook my head and tried to take a step,
but I only succeeded in wobbling like a newborn baby deer. “Uh, no thank you.
Not my thing.”

Her gaze warmed as it touched me even more, from my long,
bare legs to the swell of my hips and upward to my tits. My nipples puckered
tighter, tenting against the fabric. Her eyes shifted back and forth, studying
each aching knot, then as if she caught herself, she jerked her gaze to the
side.

“I don’t agree. I think it fits you well. All you need now
is a little makeup and maybe a sexy long wig.”

I took a careful step toward my desk, anything to grab on to
before I busted my ass. “Oh no, please not makeup.” I sighed as Charles and his
threat to my friends and our community echoed in my head. “But whatever it
takes to get through this, I guess. There’s a wig in the box next to the—”

I stumbled. Melanie’s arms clapped around me, catching me
against her just before I tumbled to the floor. Our bodies crashed together,
breasts to breasts, hips to hips, just like when she’d hugged me out by the
hostess podium. Since she’d stripped her coat off, though, I got a dose of her
hot body without the thickness of the fur between us.

Mm, she was all woman, soft, fragrant, warm and yielding. I
clung to her and closed my thighs together beneath the stupid dress, trying
like hell to hold the sudden gush of cream inside my pussy. But it was futile.
Melanie’s nearness made my groin go all pulsing hot and achy, and juices oozed
out, wetting my labia.

“Whoa,” she said huskily. “Careful there.” Her big brown
eyes were just inches from mine, her red-painted lips parted in wonder and her
sweet breath fanned my chin. I clamped my lower lip between my teeth, fighting to
keep from closing my mouth over hers.

Rein it in, Leslee. You’re her supervisor at the hotel,
and besides, she’s not into women.

I cleared my throat, which had gone tight with emotions I
didn’t recognize. “Sorry. These stupid shoes aren’t exactly what I’m used to.”

“It’s okay. Let’s just get this done.” She stroked my hair
and tucked it behind my ear, her gaze following her movements with a strange
look of fascination. “You have such potential, really, you do. Would you mind
if I indulged in a quick but drastic makeover for you? Just for the contest?”

With major reluctance, I untangled myself from her embrace
and wobbled my way to my desk. I perched myself on the edge and held on for
dear life. “Sure. Drastic. Have at it. Turn me into a fucking hetero clown.”

Melanie’s laugh was a tinkle of delight edged with her usual
sex appeal that had always had me panting like a mesmerized dope. She dug in
the box I’d indicated and drew out a long, black wig and a makeup container I’d
paid little attention to in the past when the girls and patrons would come in
here for theme-party costumes. Melanie set the wig aside then flipped the box
lid open and set it on the desk at my hip. I got a glimpse of eyeliner pencils,
an array of glittery eye shadow and rouge powders, fake lashes, brushes and a
rainbow selection of lipsticks.

“You’re not going to be a clown, silly. I’m going to turn
you into the hottest chick this side of the Ohio River. You’ll have every
lesbian out there drooling over you.” She flipped open a tube of tan liquid
stuff and started spreading it over my forehead, nose and cheeks. Her fingers
were tender pads of pressure and wispy circular motions over my skin, which
came to life at her every touch. The hair on my head stood on end and my
eyelids grew heavy as she worked on me.

I tried to ignore how she stood to my right with one leg
between mine, practically straddling my right thigh to get in close to her
subject. She hummed as she went to work, her eyes sparkling as she studied me
and painted my face as if she were touching a brush to canvas.

Yes, in a matter of twenty minutes or so, I’d become her art
project, and though I usually got off on taking charge in a relationship, there
was something about her manner with me that made some odd sense of surrender creep
up from my soul.

“There.” Melanie leaned away and studied her work. “You look
¼
Wow, you look just gorgeous.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. My face did indeed feel as if
it had been caked like a clown’s. “Right.”

“No, really.” She reached for a twirl-up tube of lipstick in
cherry red and drew it around my lips. Next she smoothed my hair back and
positioned the wig on my head. The itchy heaviness of it suffocated my scalp.

“Wow.” She gave me a once-over from wig to lips to breasts
and back again. It seemed a hot laser gun had zapped me all over, and my
nipples tented out under the silky fabric of my dress yet again. Here gaze took
exaggerated note of it. “You like it, don’t you? You’re getting all turned-on,
I can tell by the way your nipples are pebbling against your dress.”

I gasped and looked down at the offending “pebbles”. “Uh,
no, it’s just cold in here.”

The melody of her sudden laughter filled my ears like a
soothing song. She slid her arms around me, her legs still straddling mine, and
pulled me into a tight embrace. Areolas grazed over areolas, arms encircled
femininity and soft curves. Her perfume filled my lungs and the scent of her
clean hair teased my nostrils. Now that she had moved in closer, I could feel
her pussy lips pressing on top of my thigh. Her panties were damp, her juices
soaking through the fabric and onto my skin.

She pulled in a sigh to calm her chuckles and turned her
head to kiss my cheek, just a friendly pat, I’m sure.

But I had turned my face toward her at the same time and our
cheeks merged, the corners of our lips meeting ever so slightly.

“Leslee
¼
” Melanie
whispered, panting. “I-I
¼
”

I stiffened but didn’t push her away. “I’m sorry, Mel, I
didn’t mean to—”

Her mouth was on mine before I knew what her intent had
been. Melanie kissed me like no other woman before her. She slid her hands up
between our breasts and held my face in her palms, as if she adored me to
pieces. Her mouth was a wet haven of tongue and smooth, full lips devouring
mine. She moaned into the kiss, and suddenly we were both clutching each other
as if there were no contests or tomorrows or yesterdays.

Just now.

Just the two of us.

I dragged her up closer and her warm pussy dragged along my
leg. She whimpered at the contact, and it was then that she became brave and
closed one hand over my aching breast. The sensations that bombarded my body—my
mouth and tongue, my leg, my breasts, the skin of my palms—all culminated in my
pussy. It throbbed and moistened as it had never done before.

I’d wanted Melanie ever since I laid eyes on her during her
interview for my food and beverage assistant position at the hotel. But I’d
always assumed my fantasies would be the extent of it. Never did I guess I’d
have her in my arms all willing and whimpering for more. I mean, she’s a
staunch heterosexual woman. Why would I ever think otherwise?

But at this moment I wondered, why
hadn’t
I thought
otherwise?

It didn’t matter. All that did was right now. I drowned in
her. I kneaded her firm ass with one hand while my mouth devoured hers. My
other hand cupped one breast and I brushed my thumb over the tight bud. She
mewled her pleasured response into my mouth and clung to me. Her hips started
doing a circular dance atop my leg that could mean only one thing. She was
turned-on and attempting to reach orgasm by rubbing her pussy against my leg.

Whoa. These were the things of fantasies, not reality. The
room spun around me in a surreal dream as I gripped her ass and pulled her
farther onto my lap. She clung to me and propped both knees up on the desk on
either side of me. I broke the kiss and looked down between her legs, just
needing a quick glimpse of her body against mine. Her dress bunched up, and so
did mine. Her thin panty strip had moved to the side and I saw that she was
completely shaven. I caught a glimpse of her swollen labia and just the tip of
her clit beginning to bloom out. My mouth watered. I imagined tasting it,
licking it, claiming it as mine. And ah, if only I had my strap-on in place,
I’d be fucking her pretty little pussy and bouncing her on me like some cowgirl
on a bucking pony.

We were all over each other. Her hands were in my hair
beneath my wig, then zipping down to cup one of my engorged boobs. She squeezed
me, tight and randy, her hands racing up and down my back. Her moans were so
loud, even drowning out the music just outside my door. I considered stumbling
with her to the couch on the far wall, falling over the top of her and
smothering her mouth completely with mine while I finger-fucked her, devoured
her tits, ate her pussy completely until the stars—

“Leslee.” A knock sounded on the door. “What the fuck are
you doing in there?”

That motherfucker. Charles shoved open the door and stuck
his stupid head in. His expression went from anger to annoyance, and ended with
a flicker of lust. “Ah, I should have known you’d be in here molesting
someone.”

“Fuck you, Charles,” I said, though not my usual way of
speaking to the man who seemed to hold all my financial cards in his fat,
filthy hands. But this time was different. He’d gone and interrupted the
fantasy that I’d had in my heart for six months now, ever since I’d hired
Melanie.

Melanie made a clamor of disentangling herself from me and
getting her feet back on the floor. She panted. Her face was pink, her long
hair in sexy shambles, her eyes downcast, and that damn red lipstick she’d just
slathered on my lips was all over her mouth and chin. She smoothed down her
hair and trotted to the window. With her back turned on me and Charles, who
still hung his head in the door, she appeared to be fighting to tame her
embarrassment and heavy breathing.

Poor thing. She must be so humiliated. A hetero being caught
with her dress up while wrapped around a lesbian like a sweet yogurt-covered
pretzel. No, not exactly what I would have wanted either back when I was in her
on-the-fence shoes. And yeah, there was no denying, Melanie was on the fence,
and based on that response, she had been for some time now.