Chapter 15
JADE
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I brEAK THE water’s surface. My hair plasters against my face, and my heart pounds like drums.
“You cocky, arrogant, son of a bitch!” I scream, water streaming off my lashes as I thrash my way toward the edge.
He’s already strutting off like he just threw out the trash.
No remorse.
No hesitation.
Just that damn smug tilt to his shoulders, so damn proud of himself.
“Coward. Can’t even look me in the eye.”
My clothes cling to every inch of me, soaked through, and still, he doesn’t even look back. Not once.
Lord, I loathe him.
“Can’t handle a little feedback?” My voice cuts through the steam rising off the pond. “Is mini Hart feeling exposed?”
Nothing.
No flinch.
No reaction.
The man is made of ego and spite.
His truck roars to life. The tires throw up a plume of dust like he’s disappearing into a damn Western movie.
I raise my middle finger. High. Elegant. Regal.
Drenched and furious.
“Asshole!”
As his truck goes one direction, another truck pulls up.
“Jade?”
It’s Levi.
He rolls his truck to a stop beside me, window down, arm resting on the edge.
“What are you doing here?” His eyes run down my sopping wet body. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. No. I’m great.” There’s no enthusiasm in my voice, only seething rage. “I can’t wait to start my bucket list at the rodeo. You tell your asshole brother that when he circles back around.”
I snatch my hat off the ground and try to dust it off, but my damp hands make it worse.
“Who? Hart?”
This is my favorite hat, dammit.
“Yes. Let him know how much I’ll enjoy ticking off every single thing in that book.” I point my Stetson at him, my anger thickening. “Make it clear. I’m doing it all, from start to finish.”
“O-Kay.” He’s leery, because I sound—and look—like I’ve lost my marbles.
I don’t care.
“And I’m going to enjoy it.” I walk back toward Onyx. “I’m going to enjoy it so fucking much.”
I mount my horse and nudge her to face Levi. “Don’t forget.”
“It’s all up here.” He taps the side of his head. “So, I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Absolutely.”
Six hours later, and my fight doesn’t burn as intensely, but I’m not a quitter.
I stand in front of The Crimson Hollow, a small room just past heavy red velvet curtains at the back of the local gothic clothing shop.
The adult room has many names circulating through the town: The Naughty Room, The Shameful Stash, or The Fetish room.
It’s the room no one in town would ever step foot in, but the room everyone in town knows every detail about.
An ornate, wrought-iron frame, twisting into delicate, gothic swirls at the corners, reads: Not Your Grandma’s Shop. 18+. Adults Only.
It makes my lips quirk upward because the owner is Kiwi’s granddaughter, and Kiwi is her best customer, undoubtedly stepping straight past this warning sign.
If she can do it.
I can do it.
The weight of the velvet sinks into my hands as I step inside the dark room. It’s small, draped in deep red velvet, with dark, antique furniture tucked into every corner.
Flickering candlelight casts elongated shadows on the walls, and the scent of leather and rubber mixes with incense.
I step in deeper, my boots sinking into the plush black carpet.
The shelves are a labyrinth of adult toys: vibrators in every shape and size, leather cuffs, corsets tighter than my self-restraint, and objects I can’t even name. Things that buzz, and pulse, and inflict pain. Every wall is dripping in attitude.
I don’t touch anything.
Do I really want to do this?
Even if I collect all the items in the bucket list, who would I do them with?
Bronx Buckley?
I mean, I guess I could.
He’s proven himself to be a protective gentleman, and from his reputation, I know he wouldn’t expect anything in return. That’s ideally what I want, if I were to sleep with someone. Or have them tie me up, gag me, bring me over the edge on the top of a Ferris wheel.
But Bronx, he’s such a...Casanova.
A Casanova, I’m sure, is well-versed in things such as ropes, restraints, and gags.
Sweet Jesus, what the hell am I doing here?
Don’t drag him into it. He’ll be blushing like a nun in a lingerie shop.
My foot moves to leave, then the rush of Hart’s accusations hits me, how he thinks he decides when and who and what I do in my damn book.
Was he always so bossy?
I can do this.
I will do this.
I pick up a slim box with something pink and jeweled inside. “Playful pleasure. Perfectly Pink Butt Plug. Slides in easily, offering all-day comfort with subtle excitement.”
Nope. I’m not doing it.
I turn and slam straight into a man’s solid chest. It’s not a familiar chest. It doesn’t curl my toes, nor do all sorts of things to my middle. I just kind of bounce off it.
Then he speaks.
“You’re gonna want plenty of lube with that one.”
I jump away from Bronx so fast I nearly knock over a display.
“Shit.” My hands steady the penis-shaped stand packed with every flavored condom you can imagine.
Like cotton candy and bacon.
Who wants to suck on that combo?
“Jumpy Jade.” His boots scuff the floor as he steps further inside, like he belongs here, comfortable, at home, knowing exactly what he wants.
Smirking.
Cocky.
Trouble in faded jeans and a leather jacket that fits just right.
A guy who flirts like breathing and has the kind of eyes that make girls do dumb things.
Could I do dumb things with him?
“Not that I blame you after last night.” There’s a flash of empathy in his eyes.
It’s rare. I’m sure no one in town has ever seen it.
“I didn’t have a chance to properly thank you for your help.”
He shakes his head, the brim of his Stetson curling enough to make him look like trouble. “You don’t have to thank me. Wasn’t looking for a pat on the back. Just glad you’re alright.”
“I am.”
He nods. “Good.” He sucks in a breath. “I haven’t seen you in here before.” His voice veers to smoothness, laced with a hint of amusement.
He picks up a pack of cotton candy bacon condoms without even giving the shelf much of a glance.
The man knows exactly what he likes.
And doesn’t.
He’s experienced, and that’s what I need.
“I don’t make this a regular stop.” I try to sound breezy, but my voice catches halfway through. “First time. Just browsing.”
It’s dark in here, with low lighting, and everything is black and red, like the inside of my guilty conscience.
His brows rise. “First time, huh? What’re you looking for?”
He leans against the wall, his weight casual, and his eyes assessing me like I’m a puzzle he’s eager to solve.
I don’t like it, but I didn’t come here to walk away empty-handed.
“You offering to be my adult toy guide?”
“If you require one.”
“Actually.” My voice is steady despite the turmoil in my chest, “I could use some advice on what to get.”
He straightens, clearly in his element now. His confidence borders on arrogance.
“I’ve trained for this moment my whole life.”
I snort.
“It’s not for me.”
“Of course, not.” He winks.
“It’s for Hope and Levi. After the baby is born. A little gift to spice things up.”
His hands rub together with anticipation that makes me question my decision. “What happens in The Crimson Hollow, stays in The Crimson Hollow.” That smirk of his is back. “I don’t kiss and tell, but I do kiss a lot.”
I sigh. “We’re not kissing.”
He shrugs. “We’ll see by the end.”
Before I can stop myself, I hand him the box I’m clutching. “Okay, wise one. What’s your verdict?”
He turns it over like he’s critiquing fine art. “Not bad. But entry-level. But do you want something that’ll impress? Something that says you’re serious.”
“I want something that says I didn’t just blindly grab the first thing that wasn’t intimidating.”
All of it is intimidating.
He leans in like we were co-conspirators.
“Then start with this.” He passes me something sleek and black with far too many buttons. “Trust me.”
He has no idea how trusting a man is, so far from my realm, I don’t think it will ever be possible.
“How about a pair of silk restraints?” He grabs a box from the shelf. “Nothing too intense, but enough to get the blood pumping.” He shakes out a pair of soft material ties and drapes them over my palm.
His fingers brush against mine for a moment, rough, warm, and enough to make me notice.
Nothing.
I feel nothing.
Not a jolt of something.
Not a flinch.
Nothing that would end with him tying me up in these crimson pink silk restraints and taking full advantage of every way I know he’s capable of.
Damn.
Am I disappointed? A little bit. Maybe I have to be more open about trusting a man enough to open myself up to all these possibilities of deeper fun and pleasure.
Just for this week.
Just to finish my bucket list.
“Or are you lookin’ for something more adventurous?” His grin widens.
He’s taking way too much pleasure in playing the expert guide. But his shameless confidence makes the whole thing surprisingly more bearable.
And my desires for adventure behind closed doors run deep inside me. The more adventurous, the more turned on I am.
“A feather tickler. Tease before you please.” He runs it over my arm.
Quick, playful, and with another wink. The man is very good at making a woman feel at ease.
“Or a blindfold. Take away one sense, and it heightens the others. And if you’re feeling bold, a vibrating cock ring. Doubles the fun.”
He tosses one into my arms, and despite myself, I laugh.
Before I know it, he has me cracking up in the middle of the most intimidating room in the world.
He isn’t flirting. Not really. Just talking to me like a person with questions, not a bundle of nerves holding a clitoral stimulator—which I’m definitely buying.
“This.” He holds up a sleek, metallic instrument from a nearby shelf. “It’s a Wartenberg wheel.”
“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.