...His partner rocked up on his toes and exhaled, “Ahh!” as he came in several bursts, covering Christian’s hand and filling the other palm Christian had hastily brought up to the head at the last second, when it occurred to him he didn’t want cum all over either Shenice’s dress or the banquet room floor.

“Oh God.” A snort of repressed laughter. “Here.”

Christian looked up at the utterance and saw the handkerchief being held out to him. Looking back and forth for a moment between his hands and the proffered fabric, he burst out laughing himself, which he quickly stifled when he realized how not-female he probably sounded.

“Thanks.” He mucked up his hands as best he could, then knelt, awkwardly holding the used linen. After a moment’s thought, he shrugged and glanced around for his reticule, stuffing the wadded up fabric inside. Sorry, Shenice. I’ll clean it later.

The black-garbed stranger took him briefly by the biceps and helped Christian to his feet, but didn’t let go as he’d expected. Startled, he raised his face toward the mask.

“I owe you one.”

The husky voice rolled over Christian like a sweet wave, and his cock pressed its confinement in the hose even more. Christian cleared his throat and looked away from the unchanging, unreadable expression of the gold mask. “No worries. I enjoyed it, too.”

Pulling back until the man was forced to either let him go or hurt him, he was released and used his freedom to immediately put distance between himself and the other man.

“Chris.”

He stopped at the door as the other man approached him and offered his elbow in a courteous gesture.

“Can I escort you back to your date?”

The chivalrous gesture and offer made Christian’s breath shorten. Even though he knew the man thought himself to be doing the accepted thing for a member of the gentler sex, he couldn’t help but be touched. Unbelievably, the aftermath of their blazing, potentially embarrassing encounter was in no sense awkward. There was no uncomfortable silence, no insistence on more, no sneering once satisfied. In short, the man was acting like no man Christian had ever known.

He nodded once.

“You should probably fix your…ah…” The man ran a thumb over Christian’s lower lip and the caress had him darting his tongue out to catch a taste before he realized what he was doing.

Oh, to have met him under different circumstances.

But he wouldn’t even know him on the street. Didn’t know his name. In fact, other than knowing he wasn’t Carl, the man could be anyone.

He looked down at the purse in his hands and gasped, remembering the gloves. Christian twisted around, searching frantically for them for a moment before spotting them just peeking out from under his skirt where he’d thrown them on the floor. He turned away to put them on, and then fished in his purse—gingerly pushing the soiled handkerchief aside—for his lipstick and compact.

His swollen lips and smeared lipstick were those of a wanton. No wonder the suggestion had been made. He tidied his lower face up the best he could and thrust the makeup back into the purse.

Christian was again offered an arm, and this time he accepted by curling his gloved hands around the crook of the man’s elbow, feeling the strength under his touch even through the layer of clothing. A much stronger build than himself, and it called to him.

Should he ask for the man’s name? Try to see him again? Christian grimaced as they continued down the hallway at a much slower pace than when he’d dragged “Carl” this way a short time earlier. Yeah, that would go over well. Hi there, I’m the woman who gave you head at the masquerade. Except I’m not a woman.

At least he’d have his memories. Something about the man tripped his triggers, and the cross-dressing and anonymity of it all was an erotic twist he’d not soon forget.