Montana Ice: A Small Town Romance - Book 2 Page 4

  “What's this part?” Mike ran his finger along one of the circles.

  “It holds your balls.”

  Every guy cringed and groaned as they shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

  “Oh, come on,” I grumbled. “You're all over the idea of clamps digging into a woman's nipples.” A few of the guys nodded their heads, glazed over expressions clueing me in that they had serious breast fantasies. I darted a glance at Jack. He was staring at my breasts. He'd seen one of them earlier. Hopefully he wasn't visualizing it with a clamp attached. Even with that painful thought in mind, my nipples still tightened. Why did they do that every time Jack looked at me—them?

  Maybe if Jack put them on me they’d be—

  “Um...don’t forget the added sensation adding those little weights I showed you. In comparison, the cock ring doesn't pinch or squeeze or anything.”

  “How would you know?” Joe asked.

  “Don't even talk about it,” Arty said at the same time.

  I glanced between the men. None looked happy about the idea of something ratcheted around their junk.

  “Fine, I brought the blow-up doll to demonstrate the cock ring. Mike, since you've got both, why don't you put it on him?”

  Everyone froze in place. Mike's face was as red as his hair. “Um, on another guy?”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “This guy is a balloon.”

  Mike looked down at the doll, considering whether he'd have to go through with it, then laughed with visible relief. “It doesn't have any balls!”

  He held up the doll, and sure enough, it didn't. For a sex toy, it was missing half of his important bits and pieces. So much for the full cock ring demonstration.

  “Here, give it to me,” I said, and held out my hands. Mike tossed the cock ring back. I unsnapped the extra strap that went around a man's boys and tossed that portion into the box.

  “What do I do with this?” Mike moved the blow-up doll back and forth, the eight-inch penis waving back and forth like a flag.

  I took it from him and all of the men froze, this time I guessed from me holding a male blow-up doll and imagining all the ludicrous things I might do with it.

  As if. Okay, only if giving a demonstration.

  I took the ring and, holding the doll's very erect penis in one hand, slid the leather strap down. It wasn't a good fit as Mr. Blow Up was pretty darn big. I glanced at the men, who were watching with varying expressions on their faces ranging from lust to horror at how rough I was. My hands weren't gentle. In fact, it was a struggle to accomplish my task.

  A loud snap reverberated around the room and the next thing I knew, the cock ring had flung out of my fingers, launched through the air and smacked Jack square in the middle of the forehead, falling with a soft thump into his lap.

  I froze in place, mouth agape, my eyes on Jack's lap. All the guys stared, too. Jack was stunned into silence. He, too, looked down.

  Oh, shit! Mortification didn't come close to how I felt. Out of all the guys in the room, why did the cock ring have a trajectory right for Jack? Everyone would be laughing right now if it had fallen into Mike's lap. It would have been a quick 'ha-ha' and be over.

  But, no. Now I had to look at how Jack filled out his jeans, wondering if he was happy to see me or just naturally large. Very large. I gulped. My mind was completely in the gutter. Then I saw the cock ring, the snap reflecting the light of the fireplace, and I imagined Jack's cock wrapped securely in one, ready to slide into me. How it would give him the staying power—not that he probably needed it—to make me have multiple orgasms. My mind flicked back to the thoughts of his head between my thighs, my fingers tugging on his hair to keep him right where I wanted him. Yup, definitely in the gutter.

  Heat flooded my cheeks as I walked over to Jack. I reached down to grab the cock ring from his lap, got within an inch of his Superman-sized package when he grabbed my wrist. His blue eyes met mine.

  Electricity zinged through his gentle grasp and raised goose bumps on my arms. Holy shit, the look in his eyes was so hot I felt scorched.

  He grinned, although that did nothing to subdue the electricity that crackled between us. “Don't rub the lamp if you don't want the genie to come out,” he said, his voice low so only I could hear. I blushed furiously at his meaning. “Maybe later when we don't have an audience.” He waggled his eyebrows as he handed me the cock ring. I took it, and then quickly yanked my hand back as if I'd been burned. Maybe I had.

  I swallowed, stepped away. The silence was broken by roars of laughter, Mike mentioning how Jack might need a cock ring to stay hard long enough to please a woman. Joe joked about the size of Jack's man parts. All kinds of crude, male locker room jokes, but to me, they only directed my thoughts to Jack and his very sexy package.

  Taking a moment to get my mind back on the program and off Jack's crotch, I pulled the little plug on the blow-up doll’s air release, the eunuch man deflating with a big ssssssssss. I placed the wilted form onto a wingback chair.

  “Mike has kindly offered each of you a personalized gift bag from Goldilocks,” I said, once the men quieted back down. “All you have to do is tell me what your interests are and I'll make up a package. He'll pick them up tomorrow and deliver them.”

  “Yeah. I'm sick of hearing all of your sad, sorry sex stories on poker night. No more excuses,” Mike joked from his relaxed position in his recliner.

  “So, what would you like?” I asked, glancing at each guy. Arty picked up his beer and kept it near his mouth. Joe clamped his lips tightly together, crossed his arms over his chest. Not everyone wanted their sexual proclivities shared with their buddies. It was one thing to share exaggerated truths of their manliness over a game of poker, it was quite another to tell them they liked their wife to use a strap-on on them.

  Jack stood up and went to get another beer from the bar. The ultimate in avoidance. I was slightly relieved by the gesture as I really didn't want to know if he had any weird fetishes. It would so ruin my fantasies, or depending on what they were, only add to them.

  “Mike, why don't you go first?” I asked, hoping he wouldn't care if everyone knew what he'd like in his sexual goody bag. Besides, if he didn't tell, then none of his friends would either. In this case, it was practically the host's responsibility to share.

  He eyed his friends, took a deep breath and said, “I'm into domestic discipline.”

  The room was silent except for the crackling logs in the fire. Jack froze in place halfway back to his seat, Arty choked on a nut he'd pulled from the little bowl on the coffee table. Joe whacked him on the back, his eyes never leaving Mike. Bob just looked confused.

  I raised my eyebrows, processing. After about five seconds, I realized I had to say something. No one else was going to. “Domestic discipline. Huh.” I pulled on my earlobe. “I, um...have to say I don't know what that is.” I gave a kind smile to Mike, knowing he'd put himself in the sexual confession limelight.

  Mike grinned. “It's when the man is in charge of the home and you discipline your wife by giving her a spanking when she's done wrong.” He leaned back, pulled the lever on the recliner, the foot rest rising up, and took a swig of beer.

  The men were quiet for a moment, then started laughing and making more lewd jokes. Jack picked up the paddle from the coffee table and handed it to Mike, smiling. “Here, you'll need this.”

  I sat back down on the arm of the chair again, letting the men take verbal jabs at each other. Mike didn't seem to care he was the brunt of all their jokes. I knew Mike, knew he’d never settle down with a meek and submissive wife and that this domestic discipline thing wasn’t his thing. He might like to spank a woman as kink or even go all alpha male on her, but that was it. Why he’d chosen to hide his true wants was beyond me, but I wasn’t going to think on it too hard. But his words had the desired effect. He’d broken the tension of sharing.

  “Okay, so I know what kind of bag to make up for Mike.” It was my job not to poke fun of anyone's sexual variat
ions, true or not. In fact, I was supposed to help them find what they needed to get the job done, so to speak. “Who's next?”

  When no one spoke up, probably afraid of feeling like they were back in seventh grade and being picked on because they were different, it was clear the tension was back. “How about this? Why don't you guys get some more to eat while each of you comes up and tells me privately? What you tell me will be kept in confidence.”

  The others seemed to relax with that. Mike led the way to the food laid out on the bar. Joe, Arty, Tom, Rob and Colin came one after the other sharing their interests. I could see why they didn't want to share with the group. They definitely had kinky and kooky wants. I took mental notes and promised them each really great gift bags the next day.

  Jack came over last. I admired how his biceps stretched the short sleeves of his T-shirt, how his waist tapered to trim hips. I wanted to run my hands up under the front of his shirt, see how hard his abs really were. I had an idea they were of the washboard variety, but I wanted to find out firsthand. Maybe even lick them.

  Up close, I could see lines around his eyes I hadn't noticed before. Tension headache? Concussion? He stood near enough for me to breathe in his appealing scent once again. I tried to identify it. It wasn't cologne. That was always so cloying and unappealing and worn by men with lots of chest hair and gold chains showing. This was different. Manly. Woodsy. His beard had grown in even more, the dark stubble making him look rakish and dangerous. I sounded like a romance novelist, but it was true. I wanted to feel how soft it was…between my thighs.

  God, I had an obsession with him going down on me.

  “Nice party, Miller. I had no idea this is what you did for a living. I was under the strange impression earlier that you were a plumber.” Jack tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, kept his piercing blue eyes fixed on me.

  I raised an eyebrow at his tone. He wasn't being funny. “I keep busy. You didn't talk much tonight.”

  “Not much to say when a woman eagerly tosses a cock ring in your lap.” One side of his mouth ticked up. “Just so you know, I don’t need one of them for staying power. And talking? Not needed, other than to ask, 'Where do you want it? In your mouth or—'”

  “You wish, Reid,” I said, cutting in, not letting him finish his obscene, and admittedly very erotic sentence. My or clenched and got wet.

  Hot, manly pheromones were rolling off Jack in waves. Sexual chemistry was not a problem for us. He was right, perhaps it was best if we didn’t talk. Other things though…

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. I didn't say much because I don't kiss and tell.”

  Nope, Violet did. “About your gift bag?”

  Jack lifted a hand and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. His fingertips brushed the sensitive skin there and sent tingles throughout my body. “Are you asking me what I like to do in bed?” he whispered, his warm breath on the side of my neck.

  Hoo wee. Not only was I asking, I was picturing him in bed. With me. And it involved a lack of clothing and a whole lot of—

  “I like kinky,” he commented, repeating what he'd told me when I dropped him off at the ER.

  “What do you consider kinky, Jack?” I wasn’t asking because I wanted to know. Nope. No way. I was just doing my job. That’s it. But still, I stopped breathing while I waited for his answer, my mind whirling with possibilities, hoping for some stupid, insane reason that he wasn’t into whipping or animal fetish or some other way-out-there kink that would force me to permanently erase him from my fantasy list.

  Jack chuckled and planted a chaste kiss on my cheek. “Why don’t you fill my bag with toys that you’d like and then we can discuss it in more detail?”

  His lips were pure velvet seduction on my face, and I wanted more. Damn it. Why did he have to be so hot and such a two-faced jerk? “Not in this lifetime, Jack. You were so ten years ago.”

  I walked to the kitchen to thank Mike and didn’t look back, afraid Jack would see the lie in my eyes. I was always a horrible freaking liar because my interest in him was right now. This minute.

  7

  I only had enough opportunity over the course of the night for those first few fortifying sips of gin and tonic. Jack had had enough beer—and most likely painkillers—floating around in his system to want to stay around for some male bonding. I, on the other hand, had had enough of men by nine-thirty. Mike volunteered his guest room—just for the night—to Jack. Relieved I didn't have to deal with him, and his belief that I liked kinky sex, I ducked out and headed home. The whole ride I considered his comment. Had Jack said he liked kinky because he really did like kink? Or had he said it because he thought I liked kink and he wanted me? Regardless, my body wanted him. My brain didn't want to want him, but my body was currently winning the fight. My nipples were tight, and I had to squeeze my thighs together to stop the tingling in that general area just thinking about the man. As for my panties? Ruined.

  I slept late, even with the too hard mattress and the unfamiliar light streaming through Violet's bedroom window. It was my turn to open the store. Fortunately for me, Goldilocks didn't open until one o'clock on Sundays. I took a quick shower—I knew the water heater wouldn't allow me more—and threw on a pair of jeans, pink turtleneck and cream-colored scarf. I put my hair up in a twist with tendrils hanging down in a casual look and put on the usual make up. I bundled into all of my layers, brushed the new snow from the van and waited for the windshield to defrost. Even though the store was only eight blocks away—I counted one rainy day when my dad had had the van and I’d had to walk—there was no way I was walking in this frigid temperature. It was too dangerous and I would be frozen solid before I hit Main Street.

  I tossed my purse on the passenger seat and it landed on top of George the Gnome, Zach’s little garage sale sidekick. About twelve inches tall, he was hard ceramic. Red jacket, white beard, blue pointy hat. He stared at me with beady eyes and had a smile that said lots of different things. Right now, George was saying, Good Morning! I shook my head and smiled back. I'd forgotten Jane was dropping Zach's gnome off before they left town. He was officially my apprentice plumber now, at least until they returned.

  Goldilocks was located one block off Main Street, right downtown. I parked in the lot behind the building and trudged through the two inches of snow that had fallen after midnight. It was fairly quiet, no one walking around. It was too cold. It had been at least a week since it had been above ten degrees. I couldn't remember when it had been above freezing last. Probably before Thanksgiving. As I fiddled with the key in the lock, I noticed a woman standing in the doorway of the restaurant across the street. She huddled there, clearly cold and miserable. She held a to-go coffee cup between her hands. One hand was mittened and one wrapped up like it had been injured.

  She was short, mid-forties, wearing dark pants, winter boots and a pink puffy jacket. Her hair was pulled back into one of those fleece headbands that covered her ears. Long, blonde strands of hair blew in her face from the Chinook wind that had brought the snow. Even from across the street I could tell she was staring, no, make that glaring, at me.

  I pulled the tinted glass door closed behind me, savoring the dry warmth of the building's ancient heating system. The day before, Goldie had said someone had stopped in for me, that she was petite and blonde with a bandaged hand. Was this the same woman? I wasn't planning on going back out in the cold to find out. If she wanted me, she knew where I was.

  I turned the overhead lights on and started my opening process. Under counter lighting, cash register, open sign. I stuffed my hat and mittens into my coat pocket and hung it on the hook behind the door to the storage room.

  The afternoon was quiet, with it being Sunday and cold. It was the perfect time to stay at home and have sex, and everyone was probably content to make do with the sex toys they already had until it warmed up a little. A few customers had come in to return videos, but I spent most of the afternoon making the party bags for Mik
e. Jack’s bag was a challenge, especially with the cock ring fiasco, and the fact that he’d offered me no guidance.

  I debated being vengeful and barely stopped myself from tossing in some male leather chaps, a strap-on dildo and a prostate tickler. He'd only have fodder to tease even more, so I eventually went with safe, tame selections and hoped he’d drop the kinky vibe with me. Strawberry massage oil, a blindfold and handcuffs, a cock ring—I still had enough nerve to throw that in—and a feather. And nope, I absolutely did not imagine him using any of those toys in bed with me.

  Goldie came in like a winter blizzard, all cold air and chaos. Goose bumps popped out on my arms from the tundra gust following her through the door.

  “Sorry I'm late,” she said, as she unraveled a thick pale blue scarf about her neck. Beneath, she had on a bright fuchsia sweater with a large portion of cleavage showing, black stretchy pants and a pair of black patent clogs. “I was reading this romance novel, you know, one of those bodice rippers, and lost track of time. I was right in the middle of the sex scene”—she patted her poofed hair back into place—“when I should have left. But I'm not one to stop in the middle of good sex.” She shook her head. “No, sir.”

  “No problem,” I replied, not wanting to get into a conversation about Goldie's sex life. “What's the book called?”

  Goldie returned from hanging up her coat. “Ravaging Rakes.”

  I tried to picture the cover art on that book. Bodice ripping definitely came to mind.

  “I'll bring it in for you when I'm done. I tell you though”—Goldie looked up when a customer came in—“Let me know if you need anything!” She returned her gaze to me. “We could write a good romance book. Hell, we're the queens of romance.”

  I chuckled as I put a variety of individual condoms in the different party bags I'd arranged on a side counter. “Queens of romance?” I questioned. “You, maybe. You've been married for forever.”