Training Ivy [How The West Was Done 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) by Karen Mercury

and “dab it up” with those prairie flowers, as Neil Tempest no doubt would say. Then thinking of Neil Tempest had his cock hardening once more, so he stepped into a pair of long, tight drawers and cinched his rebellious appendage up near his hip.
    Good Lord! There were hundreds of potent, robust Irishmen working the Hell on Wheels rails. He could easily ride out there and temporarily satisfy his overwhelming urges with a few quick bumfucks without terrorizing this poor woman with a silhouette of his enormous cock. Particularly after having just fled from an undesirable fiancé, she was probably much more interested in the exciting paranormal adventures apparently going on in town than in ogling his bull’s cock.
    He did want to find a spot to set up his darkroom equipment in preparation for going to the undertaker’s tomorrow. He was just stepping out from behind the screen when again the bathroom door was pushed open, timidly and softly. Ivy’s rounded, sensuous face appeared above her lamp, and she asked quietly, “Harley?”
    He was shocked to see her back again. “Yes?”
    “You said you wanted to be shaved. I’m fairly good at that. I shaved my father for many years.”
    Relief washed through him that Ivy had not fled in horror from his shadow-puppet show. “Certainly. That’d be very welcome.”
    He may have been imagining it that her eyes swept halfway down the front of his body as he stepped fully away from the screen, bare chested, to sit before the dressing table. She smiled at him in the mirror, placing her fingers on his chin and shifting his face this way and that in the lamplight. The brushing of her silken lap against his shoulder gave rise to gooseflesh that stiffened his nipples, and her abundant bosom hovered just inches from his neck.
    He was sure he would never be able to endure being shaved but nearly spit when she casually asked, “I was wondering if you’d finish telling me what the peach pits were for. You seem very well versed in Oriental arts.”
    Harley wished she would get sent back home as soon as possible. He would never be able to tolerate being in her voluptuous presence without taking objectionable actions that would land them both in a heap of trouble.
     
    * * * *
     
    Ivy had been planning the question for several hours, but when it echoed about the room so blatantly like that, even she was taken aback.
    She knew the peach pits had some erotic importance. He had already told her in the pharmacy they were to reduce “carnal appetite.” So to cover her boldness, as though she asked questions like this every day of the week, she added a few drops of water to the shaving mug and swirled the brush around in it. “I mean, why would anyone want to reduce appetite of that nature? Isn’t having a hearty appetite a good thing?”
    She hadn’t expected a man of such experience to be this flustered, but he squirmed uncomfortably on his stool. He frowned, compressing his handsome brow. “I can guarantee you, when the ‘hunger pangs’ get in the way of everyday life, it’s a definite detriment.”
    “Give me an example.” Harley seemed to relax when she leaned over his shoulder and touched the brush to his face. It amused her to see the gooseflesh rise on his shoulders. And she had been so titillated by the shadow of his enormous erection behind that screen she was almost afraid to think of it again. Obviously it had stimulated her to heights she’d never achieved before, to make her come back into the bathroom and offer to shave him after such a shock.
    When she came back in, he’d been standing by the screen, no longer protected by its curtains. She’d never witnessed such a stimulating sight. His bare chest was so robust and well developed she wouldn’t be surprised if he could crush a man’s throat with one hand. The sprinkling of shiny dark hair on his athletic pectorals arrowed down the center of his abdomen into a delicious pelt. She was tempted with its mysteries