Winter's Gamble
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Loose Id Titles by Mechele Armstrong
Mechele Armstrong
WINTER’S GAMBLE
Mechele Armstrong
www.loose-id.com
Winter’s Gamble
Copyright © June 2013 by Mechele Armstrong
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eISBN 9781623003845
Editor: Antonia Pearce
Cover Artist: Dar Albert
Published in the United States of America
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Dedication
To Kiki Frost, the drag queen that Rose Winter aspires to be.
Chapter One
“And to those who complain about my bitches, I say…” Rose Winter lifted her head in a haughty manner and with a wink to the man looking on, launched into “Fuck You” by CeeLo Green. Her throat caught on the last of the finely strung lyrics, telling her that she’d overtaxed it today. She’d done a pride festival yesterday, last night’s show at the bar Temples, a brunch also at Temples, and now was singing at another bar that had invited her to bring her sexy male revue dancers. They’d wanted it raunchy. She only hoped they knew what they were getting into, and she’d be invited back. This was a popular bar in the city, and they’d never asked for her before during her ten years of being Rose Winter. She’d be gargling honey tonight regardless if they invited her back or not.
From the audience, he shook his head back and forth, his lips pursing into a serious line. He’d seen her stumble vocally. He always did. Some days he noticed too damn much about her.
As the music finished, she bowed a half turn, blowing kisses, clutching her dollar bills tightly to her exaggerated chest, and moved off the stage.
He’d now disappeared. Probably he’d moved toward the back, where the dressing rooms were, making sure she always had water for her parched throat. She couldn’t help but smile as she headed that direction.
She fanned herself lightly, still working the crowd as she meandered and shook a few hands. Never hurt to kiss ass on your first performance.
She only slumped as she neared her dressing area. Her room was just like the one she had at her main gig at Temples, converted from a bathroom when it had been remodeled into a staging area, probably when they started doing drag shows. There was a table, chairs, sink, and toilet in there just like at Temples. High society compared to other places, where it was just a big room in the back separated into small areas with sheets, and drag queens shared, though not willingly, the space.
Her calves hurt from the two-inch heels. Least she hadn’t lost a boob. That had been an awkward show. Even worse than the time the gum had failed on her wig and it had almost shimmied down her back in a glossy exodus of dark locks. He’d saved the day on that one, bringing her more glue to get it temporarily tacked back into place.
He stood by the line of dresses and wigs that Rose had used, which appeared vaguely like a Vegas show had thrown up in there. The snap of the water cap almost made her jump as he opened the bottle with a flourish.
“I’m getting too old for this shit.”
His smile was all too knowing as he passed her the bottle. “You love every minute of it. But I think four Rose Winter’s appearances in almost twenty-four hours is pushing it.”
“Maybe.” Rose took a swig of the water, grateful for the coolness against her savaged throat. “But this…”
“Is the best way to make it.” His eyes glowed with admiration. “Think you’re already there, baby.”
“Maybe.” Rose couldn’t afford to get complacent. She kicked off the shoes and almost sighed in relief at her feet sinking to the floor. Not that the floor was that clean. She tried not to think about that, needing out of those killer shoes.
He moved to her side. “Come on. Let’s get you out of all this. We can have some appletinis at the bar and then go home.”
She nodded and set about the process of putting Rose back into the closet and bringing out Devyn Matthews again.
Carl helped him as usual. It was as much a part of their routine as Carl shaving Devyn’s balls on the afternoon of a performance. Carl’s strong white hands skimmed along Devyn’s calf as he slid down the tightest, roughest pair of pantyhose that ever was. Carl shook his head. His blond hair glinted in the glare of the lights. He wore it shorter than Devyn would like, but the rest of him was perfect in Devyn’s estimation. He’d never been attracted to blonds before Carl. Now he couldn’t imagine not being with a blond. A blond hottie. They’d only had one argument during their time together. It was over marriage. Carl didn’t believe in gay marriage, even though he was for all practical purposes, gay. Devyn would have married him in a second. If that was the only argument to have, maybe it wasn’t much in the grand scheme. But there were times Devyn ached to show his love for Carl in a public way. Maybe that was the problem. Carl was too damn private.
“I don’t see how you wear this shit and like it.” Carl’s voice brought his attention back to the man in front of him.
Carl had done drag once or twice, but it had never been his thing. Not like it was Devyn’s. Devyn was determined that he was going to make it in the world as a drag queen who actually sang. He’d had some modest success around town. This bar, Franco’s, would be another ace in his hand, if he got the gig. “I don’t like it.” Much. “I just do it.” Not true, and Carl knew it. Drag was in Devyn’s blood. Devyn went about taking off his false eyelashes. “Did you like the Donna Summer bit?” It had been a new song for him.
“Yeah. Yeah, I did. But you know my favorite.”
Of course Devyn did. That’s why Devyn always did Aretha Franklin for at least one song when Carl was at his shows, which was every time. Carl always liked it when he did Aretha. Carl brushed his hand along Devyn’s thigh that had been exposed by the pushed-up sparkly evening gown, his calloused hands pale against Devyn’s darker skin. Devyn’s breath quickened in his throat. Relief at getting off the trappings of Rose turned into something totally different.
He was still tucked in. He took a deep breath, pushing away all thought of desire. Now was not the time. As usual, he was successful. Whether the strict tuck kept the erection away or whether he’d just gotten good at being mentally aroused but not physically, he wasn’t sure. He’d heard if it was done right, a tuck would make it almost impossible to get an erection.
Carl’s grin was ready, and his blue eyes twinkled. He knew exactly what had happened. “You’re—”
A knock sounded on the door, bringing them both to attention.
“Yeah?” Devyn’s voice came out deep and throaty. Some of that was due to the desire he felt right now, and some was due to overtaxing his throat.
“It’s Vic.” The bar owner. “Can I talk to you about coming back in a week or two to Franco’s? Maybe make it a regular show?”
Devyn’s fist pumped the air. “Yeah. Let me finish getting changed. I’ll meet you at the bar.”
“’Kay.” Footsteps led the large man away. He was probably doing some fist pumping of his own. Franco’s had been struggling with trying to find a LBGT niche to cement its popularity. Rose had a following, and they’d shown up in droves.
“Told you the work would pay off.” It would be a great gig in addition to an occasional drag brunch, many other sporadic appearances, and his already successful Sensual Saturdays at Temples, which was closer to his home.
“I never doubted it.” Carl rubbed his hand against Devyn’s thigh, making shivers down Devyn’s spine. “Never.” He moved up and placed his lips atop Devyn’s. It branched out into a firestorm that did little to settle down Devyn’s libido. He needed his junk free.
Carl’s hand slipped up under the dress to the tight bikini-style panties that Devyn wore.
“Going to take me down?” Devyn pressed a trail of kisses down Carl’s cheek to plant one under his jawline.
Carl swallowed noisily. “Maybe I shouldn’t. You’re supposed to go see Vic at the bar, and we know what happens when I help…”
“So?”
“It’s your first time here…”
“And I need to be untucked, man. So I can get into jeans and pack up all this shit to take home.”
Carl nodded. He used one hand to slide the dress up and over Devyn’s smooth thighs. He found the top to the women’s underwear with his other hand, before slipping the garment down over Devyn’s hips, careful not to disturb any of the tape. It was duct tape, and though Devyn shaved everything there, it was best to tread carefully and slowly, or Devyn could end up in a world of hurt. But Carl knew that. He was always careful.
Devyn watched as Carl licked his lips. Oh yeah. Maybe Vic had no idea how long it would take a drag queen to de-drag. Because getting untucked wasn’t going to be enough.
Not for him.
Using baby oil, Carl carefully worked the tape from Devyn’s skin, taking his time to slide each piece off and let Devyn’s dick settle back down. His balls had a slight ache in them from being pushed back up into his body, but as usual, it wasn’t bad. Sometimes it took a bath, but most times, the baby oil was enough to get the duct tape loose without pain. Some drag queens used gaff panties or first-aid tape to get things out of the way, but those had never worked for Devyn.
Carl used a warm, wet washcloth to wipe off the baby oil and the last of the stickiness. Allowing his hands to linger, Carl’s breathing changed into rapid escalation. His fingers moved close by Devyn’s dick but not close enough.
