Gordy snorts.
“Don’t even try to deny it,” I quip, side-eyeing him.
“I’m not,” he notes as we make our way past a rack of dildos.
“Look, Twink!” I gasp, eyeing the overwhelming variety on display. “Your brethren! A whole bunch of wieners!" Twinkie yips excitedly, his tail whipping me in the ribs.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Gordy grumbles, picking up a bottle of lube. “Flavored, non-flavored, both?”
I squint at the bottle. “That one’s flavored like a cupcake. Sounds like it’d be right up your alley. Get that one, but, uh, maybe also get one without flavor. Not sure how I’d feel about my butthole smelling like a strawberry patch. Speaking of which, we should probably nab like a butt-doucher while we’re here…”
He shakes his head, clearly unimpressed with my shit. He picks up another bottle. “It could taste likepeaches.”
I chuckle. “Sold. Add that one too, I guess. You know, we haven’t really brought up whose peach is being poked.”
Gordy’s gaze rakes over me, a look I’m not too certain how to interpret. “I, um—” He clears his throat, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob hard as he searches for a response. “I don’t really know.”
“I’m down for trying it, if you’re not comfortable with it.”
“I might be, I’m not sure. I don’t really like to fuckin’ plot out how sex will go in advance. Makes me too friggin’ worked up about it, stewing on it too much ahead of time.”
Wow, his therapy sessions must be going well if he’s actually vocalizing his thought processes out loud to me. Don’t think I’m not taking note of this little nugget of self-awareness. I’m insanely proud of the work he has put in since being back. Reminds me of the constant struggle I have with staying off the bottle.
It’llalwaysbe a work in progress, never an end result. There will be setbacks and hurdles to jump, just as there have been right along, but as long as we keep putting up the good fight, that’ll only make us strong enough to weather those storms together.
I nod. “Fair enough. There is something that I’m kind of interested in, though,” I hum, searching the displays for what I have in mind.
As we walk past rack after rack of lingerie, I spy a pair of man-panties that look similar to the ones I found on my houseboat after Evan and Brooks spent a weekend on it, andgew—I don’t even want tothinkabout my brother in those. Finally, we land in the bondage section. I find what I’m looking for and pull it off the peg.
“Twink and I could match,” I note with a nervous chuckle, holding up the full wrap-around collar with an attached matching leash, “Good Boy” embossed in the leather. In the kit, there’s also a headband with fluffy ears on it and a gag in the shape of a bone—those, I could do without.
Gordy’s eyes flick between me and the dog. “I’m not really into the whole fuckin’ pet play thing, or whatever you wanna call it. Some might be into it, but, I tell you what right now, if you ever try to wear a furry butt-plug around me, I will send you to aliteraldog house.”
I chuckle, because, not to yuck anyone else’s yum, but same. Then, he reaches for something right next to it—a leather strap flanked with two O-rings at either end, with a loop of chain connecting the rings. A BDSM choke collar.
“Those are anexcellentchoice if you’re looking to achieve clear roles of dominance and submission. That’s why I wear mine. It doesn’t have to be about pet play,” someone with a soft, sultry voice startles us from behind. Gordy and I both spin to find a lady clad mostly in skin-hugging black leather, all except for her blood red heels. Only in an adults-only store could she get away with the employee outfit she’s wearing.
“Oooh! Look at the puppy!” The woman—Madame Noir, according to her nametag—coos. “May I?” she asks, holding out her delicate hand, seeking permission to pat Twinkie.
I gulp, trying hard not to stare at what’s so generously being shown off by the deep-cut of the neckline of her bodysuit. Instead, I nod. “It’s, uh,” I stammer, “okay with you if my wiener is out in public like this?”
She laughs, the smokey sound of it tickles my insides, and I wonder briefly if the same is happening to Gordy, since I feel his arm curling around my waist, drawing me closer to him. More specifically,in frontof him. “I’m the manager-on-duty tonight,” she tells me. “Meaning I’m the one in charge here, so this little cutie patootie can stay.” She gives Twink a little scratch under his chin.
“Careful,” I note, chuckling. “Too much of that and you’ll earn yourself a wet hand.”
Behind me, I feel a rumbling growl emanate from Gordy’s chest. Fuck, and if it doesn’t get me harder—his possessiveness over her blatant attractiveness. But, for his sake, I need to shoot this downimmediately. Trista-Lynn let her eyes—and her cooter—wander from him enough, and I’m not like that. I’ve got no desire to fuck around on him.
“I just meant, uhm, Twinkie’s a licker. He loves his chin scratches,” I blurt out, sounding like a bumbling idiot.
Madame Noir just laughs again. “I love dogs. I have a Doberman at home who loves his chin scratched too,” she hums. “Are you folks shopping for yourselves?”
I peer up at Gordy, wondering how open he’d like to be right now. We haven’t really been doing a stellar job at being discreet thus far, but I don’t want to blatantly overstep his level of comfortability here.
“We are,” Gordy answers confidently.
“Fantastic!” Madame Noir replies. “Would you like to try the choker on and see if it fits? Who would be wearing it?”
I’m quick—almosttooeager, really—to raise my hand.
