Page 44 of Hounded
When I stalled on the curb of theNookie Nook, Indy took hold of my belt loops. He walked backward toward the entrance while pulling me along.
“Come on, Lore,” he whined, struggling in high heels with his chest straining against the straps of his bedazzled harness top. “I need your opinion. I want you to like it.”
I resisted a bit more, if for no better reason than to watch his cheeks puff and his slender arms flex.
“If it’s on you, I promise I’ll like it,” I said.
Indy tipped his head, so avian in that twitch of a motion. “What if it’s onyou? What if I want you in assless chaps and a sequined cowboy hat?”
I groaned. “I told Sully not to take you to that male revue.”
For weeks, I’d heard no end of Western-themed fantasies. Our SaturdayGolden Girlsmarathons had been traded for gritty outlaws and Indians fare. Even the presets on my truck stereo had been changed to country music stations.
Indy gave an exaggerated gasp. “Saddle Studs was the experience of a lifetime, and it was my birthday present!” He released me and propped his hands on his hips. “You missed out.”
I nodded. “Intentionally.”
His humor returned, and he swayed into me, batting his lashes and puffing his lower lip in a doe-eyed pout. “Please, baby.”
My silence gave him all the permission he needed to grab my hand and lead me into the store. The doorbell chimed our entry, and a college-aged clerk mumbled a greeting from behind the cash register. I didn’t see her. My attention went scattershot across the walls and aisles ofthe cramped shop. Lingerie hung on round racks, dildos and butt plugs bedecked standing displays surrounding a tower of lube taller than I was.
My knees locked up, and a flood of embarrassment dropped from my face to my feet.
Indy circled around behind me to grab my hips and shove me forward into the store. He stayed close, whispering a song. “Come with me, and you’ll be in a world of pure imagination…”
“I already get tortured in hell,” I replied through gritted teeth. “Not sure what I did to deserve this.”
He steered me toward a stand of cock rings and G-strings crowned by an anatomically correct mannequin with its stiff member aimed at eye level. Indy snagged a rubber vibrating ring from the rack and pressed the on button. It hummed inside the plastic wrapper, and heat surged up my neck.
“Lore, itglows,” Indy gushed as though I couldn’t see the flashing rainbow lights for myself. He thrust it into my hands. “We need it.”
Before I could answer, he trotted over to the wall of dildos that formed a rainbow of their own. Colors, sizes, and shapes that were decidedlynotanatomically correct stretched from floor to ceiling. Indy was already on his tiptoes in his strappy shoes, but he pushed up higher, reaching for a glittery pink piece of rubber that I hesitated to call a dildo at all.
Walking up behind him, I grabbed the toy and gave it a brief inspection before offering it to him.
“Some would argue there are already too many dicks in this relationship,” I grumbled.
Indy examined the toy, wrapping his hand around it as much as he was able through the packaging. He turned toward me and bounced his brows. “But ours aren’t shaped like tentacles.”
“I thought we were here for hats and,” my nose wrinkled, “chaps.”
“Asslesschaps,” he corrected. “We’ll get there. But I know I’m never getting you back in here, so I intend to maximize this opportunity. Probably my credit card, too.” He stooped to grab another dildo, a flesh-toned, girthy member with squiggly veins along its shaft. He brandished it and the tentacle while beaming a sheepish grin. “Can you get me a basket?”
The “fleshlight” keychain was a last-minute add-on snagged from a countertop bin at checkout. As for the assortment of toys and accouterments, that was one advantage to clearing out the trailer after Indy died. I would never have to see that severed octopus limb again.
Mounting the trailer steps, Indy opened the door and ventured inside.
As soon as I crossed the threshold, a sleepy feeling overcame me along with the deepest sense of comfort I’d felt in months. I was where I belonged, and Indy was, too. We were together in the place we built, stripped down to the studs and recreated, attending to every detail. But something was missing.
Indy swept clothes and hangers off the couch onto thefloor, then straightened and glanced back, noticing the laundry bag I hugged to my chest.
“Put that anywhere.” He flapped his hand at it.
“I could put it away…” I looked toward the bedroom loft and the closet doors lining the wall.
“Absolutely not,” Indy replied. “You’re my guest. You get to relax.”
The distance between us had a name. I was a “guest.” A friend. Best man material.
