Page 19 of Up in Smoke

“I don’t think they’re quite that heavy.” I eyed my breasts with interest. “I mean, running can get a little uncomfortable. They’re large enough to bounce without a bra. And bras in the Alley? Forget it unless you’re rich. And even if you’re rich, forget it if you have a large bust. Most of the women I know were binding them with scrap cloth just to limit the bounce.”

Sandro joined me in staring at my chest. “I’ll admit, this is not something I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about.”

“Honestly, I struggle to figure out how men manage to walk without damaging themselves. It’s amusing how men often think themselves so superior, but all it takes is one knee to the groin to floor them. I mean, taking a hit to the chest isn’t fun, but you’re more likely to just piss me off if you punch me in a breast. If I punch you in the crotch, you’re going to be singing soprano on the ground.”

With a wince, Sandro held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll do what you want, just please don’t punch me there. I wouldn’t make a good soprano, especially after having heard you sing. You’re a proper soprano. I’d just be a pained squeal, and there’s nothing pleasant about high-pitched squeals.”

“I agree. But being serious, how do you even handle walking?”

Sandro laughed. “It’s relatively simple, Jade. The family jewels are appropriately placed towards the front. They aren’t trapped between our legs when we walk.”

“Oh.” My eyes widened. “And when you sit?”

“Let’s just say I learned from an early age to dodge sitting upon the family jewels and the royal scepter.”

Laughter bubbled out of me, and I fled the bathroom so I wouldn’t laugh in his face. I flopped onto the bed, buried my face into a pillow, and howled my mirth.

“Was it the family jewels or the royal scepter that got you?” Sandro asked in an amused tone.

“Scepter,” I choked out.

“You should hear the things my mother says to avoid using the word penis. She’ll threaten to vice my father’s balls, but she just can’t say penis with a straight face. It’s hilarious. If we want to horrify my mother, we’ll have a discussion about procreation using the appropriate terms for our body parts, and the longer we talk about penises, the worse it’ll get for her. Vaginas? That’s fine. Breasts? Also fine. Testicles? Fine. But heaven forbid any of us say penis.”

I moaned my laughter, beating the bed with a fist. “Royal scepter?”

“Well, since everyone seems to think testicles are jewels, it only makes sense. Honestly, I think jewels are far more durable than testicles ever will be. Maybe we call them the family jewels because they’re just that delicate.”

I sat up, and when I could speak without chortling, I said, “Maybe they’re called that because your value is only in your ability to throw children? You have been reduced to being a provider of sperm, and the testicles were identified as the precious jewels responsible for procreation, with a little help from that royal scepter of yours.”

Sandro came into the bedroom and chuckled. “I’m impressed you said that with a straight face. As we’re on the subject of procreation, I took care of bringing everything we might require to prevent unexpected procreation, should we desire to explore such things.”

Given a single excuse, my fox would have me naked and begging for some positive and sexy attention from the hot ass bounty hunter in line to potentially become my husband. Despite my best effort, I pricked my ears forward. “Is that so?”

“Your ears just gave you away,” he announced. “Licking your lips is also a pretty strong indication you have some interest in practicing procreation techniques.”

Damn. Had I licked my lips? In retrospect, I realized I had. As I’d already lost the war, I didn’t even bother to attempt to control my tail, which thumped against the bed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sandro observed my tail with interest. “Is the excited tail wagging a natural fox trait or a learned one?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Are you a delicate virgin in need of special care?”

When my fox went hunting for a man, she had ideas, and most of them involved being a little rough with our partner, so I went out of my way to make certain my partner didn’t mind me getting nippy with him.

“Nope. My mother taught me early on how to avoid diseases, get checked, and engage at mutual will. I’ve had a few flings, mostly with women who had no interest in settling down. I know you’ve mentioned you’re not a virgin. I have no use for virginity beyond needing to know if I need to be extra careful with a partner. The last thing I want to do is hurt a woman being inconsiderate. Now, that said, if she likes it a little rough and wild, I’m not going to say no. It’s something we can discuss once we get this Tulsa mess sorted—or there’s a quiet lull where we have to hurry up and wait. I’m sure we’ll be able to figure out what we both like with some experimentation.”

I could think of a lot of things we could do to pass the time if we needed to wait out a quiet lull—or ride out a storm in a cellar.

“My fox gets pretty pissy if she doesn’t hunt at least one man down each winter for a romp, but she’s not a bitch about it. She doesn’t mind birth control because I don’t think she thinks any of our prior men were worthy of fathering kids anyway. She’s a bit picky on that front. In her opinion, you’ll do, but you’re going to have to convince me.”

“I do enjoy a challenge,” he replied with a rather wicked smile. “Consider yourself warned.”

Sunday, May 31, 2043.

New Orleans, Louisiana.

The South.

Ryleigh kissedmy cheeks and escorted me to her dining room, coaxing me into sitting before she took the seat to my left.