Gnomeless

by Jennifer Zane

  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. 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. 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 grasp and raised goose bumps on my arms.

  He grinned. “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 air release, the eunuch man deflating with a big ssssssssss. I placed the wilted form into 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.

  “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 domination.”

  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 domination. 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 shrugged, unbothered. “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. In fact, he looked proud of himself, comfortable in his wants. No matter how unusual they were. If I'd ever had a moment's thought about getting together with Mike, more than that one horrendous kiss, it was now completely dashed. Mike wanted a submissive woman, and that was not me.

  “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 variations. In fact, I was supposed to help them find what they needed to get the job done, so to speak. “Who's next?”

  No one spoke up, probably afraid of feeling like they were back in seventh grade and being picked on because they were different. “How about this? Why don't you guys get some more to eat while each of you comes up and tells me privately?”

  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.

  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. 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.

  “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. “Other than ask her, '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. Hot, manly pheromones were rolling off Jack in waves. Sexual chemistry was not a problem for us.

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

  Nope, Violet did. “About that 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.

  Hoowee. 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 bring me a bag of toys that you’d like—don't forget the cock ring, 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 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 he’d see the lie in my eyes. I was always a horrible freaking liar.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I only had enough opportunity over the course of the night for those first few fortifying sips of gin and tonic. Jack had enough beer and 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 he 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.

  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 eight blocks away—I counted one rainy day when my dad had the van and I 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.

  I tossed my purse on the passenger seat and it landed on top of George the Gnome. About eighteen inches tall, he was hard ceramic. Blue jacket, white beard, red 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. He was officially my apprentice plumber now.

  Goldilocks is 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 was 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 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 the ears. Long, blond strands of hair blew in her face from the Chinook wind that had brought the snow. Even from across the street I could tell that 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 blond 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, but everyone was probably content to make do with the sex toys they already had until it warmed up a little. A few customers did come in to return videos, but I had most of the afternoon to make the party bags for Mike. Jack’s bag was a challenge, especially with the cock ring fiasco.

  I debated being vengeful and barely stopped myself from tossing in some male leather chaps, a female's 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 gust of cold 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.”

  Goldie tilted her head from side to side in consideration. “Fine then, the Queens of Sex.”

  I tracked down the glow-in-the-dark condoms and opened a box. “We just talk the talk. We don't walk the walk.”

  Goldie looked at me down her nose. “Speak for yourself.”

  “Fine. I just talk the talk. I don't walk the walk. At least not lately,” I grumbled the last to myself.

  “Isn't that what writing a romance is anyway? Just the talk? It doesn't say anything about walking the walk.”

  True. She had a good point there. It was fiction. It wasn't a porn flick like on the shelves behind me. Books were make-believe—in comparison to the make-believe “real-sex” in porn.

  “You're saying we should write a romance novel?” I wasn't sure if Goldie's idea was good or bad, or where she was going with it.

  The customer brought up a bag of penis shaped candles.

  “Birthday?” Goldie asked her as she rung it up.

  The woman, mid-twenties, nodded. “My friend just came out of the closet a month ago so his partner and I thought this would be a riot.”

  There had to be at least thirty candles in the plastic bag.

  “Don't burn the house down,” Goldie said.

  The woman laughed, thanked us and left.

  “I think it would be fun.”

  I'd found Arty's gift bag items and dropped them inside; the fingertip vibrator I'd demonstrated, peach scented body oil and a maid's costume, size small. “What, the gag candles?” I'd forgotten what we were talking about.

  “No, the romance novel.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Goldie went to rearrange the handcuff selection. “We should each write one! This would really warm up those cold winter nights.”

  I could think of better things to warm up my nights and it wasn't pen and paper. It was—

  Jack. Walking through the door.

  “Jack Reid! As I live and breathe,” Goldie exclaimed as she rounded the BDSM display to wrap him in a great big Goldie hug. Smothering and oddly comforting at the same time.

  He must've been by Violet's house as he looked freshly showered and shaved. I had to admit, the bit of scruff from the night before had been kind of hot. It seemed everything he did lit my fire. Just breath
ing did it for me. He pulled the same gray cap from yesterday off his head, revealing his thick black hair. Hair that I'd dreamed about running my fingers through. To this day, I didn't know what it felt like. I guessed silky and soft and...wonderful. I could just ask Violet though to find out, I thought, bitter.

  Today he had on the same black jacket, zipped up all the way to close tightly beneath his chin. He wore jeans. This pair was equally broken in, cupping his ass just right, and had a slight fray at the knee. Same shoes.

  Jack looked at me over Goldie's shoulder. Today his eyes, although equally blue, didn't have that hard edge from yesterday. They were softer now, more like the blue of a tropical sea instead of deep, frozen glaciers. Probably the headache was gone.

  “Miss Goldie, you look the same,” Jack said, once he'd been released from the hug.

  “A girl never denies a compliment.” Goldie preened and fluffed her fluffy hair. “How have you been?” She eyed Jack as if he were under a microscope.

  Goldie loved to grill everyone about their lives. Jack didn't cringe or panic at her questions. Yet. If he knew what I thought was coming, he'd run for the hills. I stayed behind the counter and pretended to organize the freebie condoms in the little basket next to the register.

  Jack tucked his cap into his coat, and then shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “I've been fine. Just fine.”

  Oh, this was going to be good. Jack hadn't been around Goldie for a long, long time. She was better at cross-examination than the best of attorneys—and Jack was one. He didn't stand a chance.

  “Your uncle told me you're a lawyer.”

  Jack nodded. “Yes, ma'am, I am. Divorce attorney in Miami.”

  “That explains the tan! Married?”

  “No.”

  “Divorced?”

  “No.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  Jack smiled, finally catching on. “Not at the moment, no.”