Page 86 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“A what?”
He rolls the spiked wheel gently over his forearm, the metal teeth tracing a path across his skin.
“Great for sensory play. You trust me, right?”
There’s that word again. Trust.
“It’s a wake-up call for the nerves. Pack that for the rodeo.” His eyes find mine. “I mean, wrap that for Hope and Levi.”
I run the wheel over my forearm. A tingling shiver ripples through me. The sensation is both foreign and exhilarating, like a secret language my skin understands.
“Yeah, it’s not for them.” I look up suddenly, caught off guard by my admission.
His eyes meet mine. They carry that same flirt he started with. “I suspected as much.”
Could I let myself be with a guy? I want the answer to be yes, but deep down, I know it’s not.
How frustrating.
He moves to the next object. It’s a glass wand with a smooth, curved tip.
“This is for temperature play. Run it under warm water or chill it in the fridge. It’s versatile.”
He hands it to me, the cool glass against my palm.
“You’re really committed to this demo thing, huh?”
“Someone’s got to educate the masses.” His grin widens as he pulls out the feather tickler. “But this is one of my favorites. Classic, but effective. Sensory overload in the best way.”
He strokes the feathers lightly across his cheek, as if he understands we have boundaries and somehow we’ve fallen into this perfect, platonic zone.
His attention is already on the next item. “An adjustable nipple clamp with a chain.”
“Oh—”
He attaches it to his shirt, the chain jingling. “These are for when you want to add a little edge. Adjustable, so you control the pressure.” He tightens it. “See? Not too intimidating.”
“It’s more intimidating than this.” I grab a leather flogger and swing it.
The gentle swoosh is exciting, but using it on the man in front of me doesn’t excite me.
“This is for impact play,” I say, taking the adult tour guide title. “But it’s more versatile than it looks. Light or heavy, depending on how you use it.”
“Impressive, Miss Fox. But this one”—he grabs a silicone flogger with shorter, thicker strands—“is more thuddy than stingy. Like a gentle storm.” He swings it lightly, the strands whispering against the air.
“Trade.” We exchange floggers, and I test the weight. “I like it.”
“Yeah, but will whoever you’re going to use it on like it?”
“Maybe it’s for them to use on me.”
His laughter booms through the space. “I like the way you think.”
We’re laughing again when the curtain rustles, and I feel him before I see him.
I feel his burning eyes and his presence radiating into my soul. Lord, the matchmakers would love that tidbit.
I turn to the entrance and sure enough, he stands there, tall, sharp-edged, with unreadable eyes.
