Chapter 7 – Magnolia
CHAPTER
SEVEN
MAGNOLIA
I don’t put it back.
That’s my first mistake, or maybe it’s the second.
The first was following her home, and the third will probably be whatever comes out of my mouth next because I’m operating on a newfound wind of adrenaline, poor decision-making, and the very distinct awareness that I am standing in the apartment of a professional criminal.
And now—now I’m holding whatever this is.
I turn it in my hand, studying it more carefully. It’s not unfamiliar, exactly. I know what a harness looks like. I have one in a drawer at home right now.
This one, though…
The structure is unique. It’s more compact and the straps aren’t designed to sit at the hips. Hell, the straps don’t make sense at all. Sure, Lenoire is slender, but I don’t see how this would ever fit her.
“I will. Right after you tell me what it is,” I tell her.
Down below, I hear the faint shift of movement.
There’s the quiet sound of glass meeting concrete, and when I finally glance up, I find her watching me.
I wouldn’t say she’s displeased, but I wouldn’t say she’s amused, either.
We have a bit of a stand-off until, suddenly, she swoops around the kitchen island and starts my way, her steps precise and almost predatory as she climbs up the steps.
One foot, then the other, her stride unhurried.
Oh fuck.
“Are you going to tell me?” I swallow, taking a step back of my own.
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Why not?”
No answer follows. My gaze flicks back down to the item in question, then up at her again. Whatever it is, it’s none of my business and I know I shouldn’t have grabbed it…but it stared at me first.
“This isn’t a harness,” I point out slowly, hoping that if I guess she’ll just come out with it. “At least, not the traditional kind.”
Lenoire bobs her head as she makes it up to the loft and keeps on toward me. “Correct.”
“So if I’m correct, why not just tell me?”
Her footing never falters, but still she doesn’t answer.
Not right away, anyway. It’s not until she backs me into a wall and she’s close enough for me to smell the whiskey on her breath that she clues me in.
“It’s for your lower leg,” she murmurs, boring into me those dark eyes.
“It’s designed to hold a device in place. ”
What?
My brows nearly fly off my face as I lift the black leather to our line of sight, reassessing it with that information in mind. The design suddenly makes a lot more sense in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with anything I’ve personally used before.
“Okayyy,” I breathe out slowly. “That’s…creative. What kind of device are we talking about here?”
She doesn’t hesitate this time. “A wand, and if you need to know, I have another one with an additional piece that buckles around your shoe…for a dildo.”
I think I swallow all the air in the room, my eyes palpably bulging out of their sockets. For one, I’m not using my adult free will to its full potential, and two, I’m not having sex right because how I have never heard of this? It sounds…heavenly.
I can do nothing but gawk at her as a multitude of filthy scenarios begin to take shape in the back of my mind.
Each one unfolds a little too easily, a little too vividly, like my brain has decided now is the perfect time to explore concepts I have no business entertaining in the apartment of a woman I met a few hours ago.
And the longer she stares me down, the more the space between my thighs becomes heated and slick with excitement…
“Problem?” she questions, the smokey notes of her voice cutting through the spiral.
“No.” I clear my throat, noting that for the first time all night, she actually looks amused. “Not at all. I’m just…processing. There’s a lot happening here conceptually, and I feel like I’m not fully caught up.”
“You’re overthinking it.”
“Maybe, but in my defense, this isn’t exactly standard equipment. I know what a harness is. I have one. This, however… This feels like an advanced elective I somehow skipped.”
“It’s not complicated,” she chuckles, slowly backing away from me.
I feel the loss immediately—and I hate it.
“It feels complicated,” I counter. “There’s a level of engineering here that suggests intention, and I would very much like to understand that intention.”
“Mm.” The way that simple little sound makes its way into existence does nothing to steady the way my thoughts keep circling back to the same place. “It’s pretty straightforward. It secures at the calf and ankle. The positioning does the rest.”
That…does not help. That doesn’t help at all. If anything, it only makes the visuals worse.
I nod slowly as that little morsel embeds itself in my mind. “Okay, sure. In theory, that makes sense.”
“In practice as well,” she counters simply.
I let out a quiet breath, fully aware I’ve crossed into dangerous territory here.
And I don’t mean in the sense that anything is actually happening, but in the sense that I am thinking about it happening, and that feels like a line I should consider respecting.
She’s clearly queer, but at no point has she indicated any sort of interest in me.
“Again, you’re overthinking it,” she says after a beat.
“I think I’m thinking the appropriate amount, actually.”
“You’re not.” Those brown eyes linger on me for a moment longer, and for the first time all night, I find something else lingering in their depths.
I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s the subtle click of something falling into place.
“Put it down,” she instructs, and I don’t know what it is about the slightly gruff edge to it that forces me to move.
I do as she’s asked and set the piece of equipment onto her bed, then follow her downstairs to the kitchen. She slides behind the island with ease and pushes a shot glass toward me. It’s the tequila I asked for, and without hesitation, I knock it back.
Before I even set it back onto the countertop, she asks, “Another one?”
“No.” I volley my head. “I’ll have what you’re having.”
Because I’m going to need something stronger to keep myself in check.
A nod, and then she’s moving, gliding toward the cabinet to retrieve another tumbler and grab the whiskey along the way.
She pours it effortlessly, not a drop spilled, and hands it to me, her fingers brushing mine briefly in the exchange.
The contact is so light I barely feel it, and yet it’s enough to spike my pulse all over again.
I take a sip mostly to give myself something to focus on that isn’t her and turn toward the wall of windows. “It’s the good stuff, huh?”
Leni makes her way around the island and hums in response, falling into one of the leather chairs in the living room.
Part of me knows I should stay over here, but I find myself falling suit, settling for the couch instead.
All the while, she watches me, and when I sever the eye contact to take another sip, she breaks the silence.
“You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”
I swallow the alcohol, allowing its warmth to envelope me and zen me out. “You say that like it’s surprising.”
“It’s not. It’s unnecessary, though.”
“Eh, I disagree. I think it’s extremely necessary, actually, because I didn’t know this existed and now I do, which raises a lot of questions about future opportunities.”
Her stare sharpens just slightly. Not enough that anyone else might notice, but I do.
She takes another sip from her— No, scratch that.
She drains her glass and sets it on the small circular table between us, waiting a beat or two before hitting me with, “If you’re that curious, you could try it now. ”
For a second, my brain just…stops. It stalls out, short-circuits, whatever you want to call it because did she just… Did she just suggest I try it…
With her?”
“Try it,” I repeat slowly, like saying the words out loud might clarify their meaning.
“Yes.”
“With you?”
“Do you see anyone else here?”
There’s a very small window here where I could choose a different path. Something safer. Something that suggests I have any sense of self-preservation—or dignity—at all. But I don’t take it.
“Okay,” I murmur softly. “Show me how it works, then.”