As she took her seat, she saw Tibby Maxwell sitting with the rest of the Poly Esthers, staring at her smugly. Flynn had been right. They'd gotten their permit in record time, and today they been out in front of her store with their picket signs and megaphones. All and all, it had been a quite day at the store. But book deliveries had been up almost fifty percent. No one wanted to piss off the vindictive Tibby, but they certainly didn't want to go without their books. So, she rented a Vespa and spent most of the day zipping around town dropping off books. It was an end run around the problem, but she was willing to be creative.
Floyd patted his bald head with a snow white hankie then banged his gavel. “Is there any new business?"
Tibby raised her hand. “I would like to speak, Mr. Mayor."
"Of course, you can, Ms. Maxwell."
Tibby rose with flourish and moved to the podium. “I would like to address an insidious plague that has infected our beautiful little town..."
Violet went off into her happy place and pretty much knew that woman was going to take up about a half an hour ranting and raving.
"At least look like your paying attention.” Bree leaned over to her.
Violet lifted up an eyelid. “Why?"
Before Bree could answer, her parents walked up to them and sat beside them.
Sweet. Now she had some powerful allies on her side.
Tibby even stuttered a few times, which made her have to bite her tongue so she wouldn't start laughing. Violet leaned back and smirked at Tibby, whose unibrow was creased in what could only be described as an unattractive way. But, she still kept yapping.
Discreetly looking at her watch, she noticed the old girl had been at it for almost fifteen minutes. Violet looked around the room, and she could see the signs of the crowd getting bored. She also saw Flynn heading straight for her. A little tingle started in her pussy as he slowly made his way through the crowd. There was some shuffling beside her as Bree moved over a seat to let Flynn sit beside her. She smiled at him. He winked at her, then mouthed the word tonight.
They'd been playing prisoner interrogation for the last three nights, and she was having a grand old time. Of course, she didn't think about the ramification of their little game. But then she hadn't always been the smartest of women when it came to her heart. “Hell, yeah."
"And in conclusion, we, the decent God-fearing citizens, must protect our town from the encroachment of smut. Thank you."
Floyd banged his gavel one more time. “I think we've covered all the business, thank you—"
Violet stood. “Don't I get a chance to speak?"
Floyd almost looked guilty about trying to rush the meeting so she wouldn't have a chance to talk. “It's nearly eight o'clock, and Reba's coming on."
Oh, dear God, redneck culture at its finest. “The show's in syndication. You can catch the same episode in three weeks.” Violet walked to the podium.
"But—"
"Mr. Mayor, it wouldn't look good to show favoritism, now would it?” Violet glanced over at Tibby and almost laughed as the woman tried to keep a straight face.
"Could you make it quick, Ms. Carsdale?"
Planting an elbow on the podium, she gave Floyd a sweet smile. “I aim to please."
There was a round of muffled laughter throughout the hall.
She wished she'd written something down. She was a seat-of-the-pants writer. She could be a seat-of-the-pants speaker to. “I thought really long and hard about this problem and what I was going to say tonight.” Well, not really. “First, I want to commend Tibby and the ladies of this town for exercising their right to protest a situation they don't like. America was built on the backs of people who had the power of conviction to change their circumstances. Although I don't agree with your stand, I do salute you ladies for taking action. There are too many times when people remain silent because of fear or laziness or apathy. But, I too must let my voice be heard.” Was that the national anthem playing in her head, or had she had too much coffee? “No one should live in fear of reading a book. We are not a group of Iranian women risking torture and death to read Lolita. We're Americans—with a written guarantee called the Constitution that says we are allowed to read pretty much anything we purchase. I want Tibby to keep protesting at my store, because I'm going to keep selling books that my customers want to read. But more importantly, it is proof that we live in the world's greatest country, because we can all have a voice no matter if we agree or not. Thank you.” The crowd jumped to their feet and applauded her for nearly two minutes. She smiled and realized she'd beaten Tibby at her own game. If her arm were long enough, she pat herself on the back.
She walked over to Flynn grabbed her purse. “See you later.” Then she walked out.
* * * *
Two days later, Violet walked around the corner, coffee in hand, and stopped dead in her tracks. No one was picketing the store. What the hell happened? She hurried to the store and rushed through the door. She found Flynn standing near the erotica section of store reading a copy of Exit to Eden.
She placed her purse and her coffee on the counter. “You know, that's going to rot your brain."
Flynn closed the book and put it on the self. “What it's doing to my dick will compensate for that."
She looked at the boner straining to get out of his pants and bit her bottom lip. How can a girl look a gift cock in the mouth? Or was that: not put it in her mouth? “Where is your sister?"
"Chicken Pox."
"Why are you here?"
He wiggled his eyebrows.
"I don't have any fantasies about fucking you in the store.” Okay she did, but the book club was going to be there at ten thirty, and it would have to be a quickie.
"I didn't come for sex. I wanted to you sign my petition."
Well, damn, she was juicy and ready now. “What petition?"
"To get my candidate on the ballot."
They weren't supposed to have an election for another two years. She'd be long gone by then. “What?"
Flynn started walking over to her, and he reached behind him and pulled some folded papers from his back pocket. “There is an old law on the books that states if only one person runs for office they must have another election in six months and another candidate must run against them. I need signatures to get my candidate on the ballot.” He held out the papers to her.
Violet held up her hands. She couldn't sign anything. “That's great, but I'm still registered in New Orleans."
He kept pushing the papers at her. “No problem, I can register you to vote here."
God, he wasn't going to give up. Violet shook her head. “I have to live here to vote here. I'm going home soon."
He sighed and put the papers on the counter. “Then how do you expect to be the mayor if you don't live here?"
Did he just tell her to run for mayor? “Say what?"
"You're my candidate.” He flashed her the sexiest grin ever.
He'd just taken a turn for crazy land. “I'm not going to run for mayor."
The glint in his eyes was telling her a different story.
"After your speech, I don't think you have a choice."
"Do most of these people know what I do for a living?” her voice lowered. Why was she whispering? There was no one else in the store. Oh, he could always confuse her.
"I don't think they care if you can get Floyd out of office."
Okay, that was one thing in his favor, but she still wasn't running, because she wasn't staying. Although deep down, she would love to still play with Flynn. Okay, more than play with him, but that wasn't the point—at least not right now.
"Why don't you run?” He was standing so close that he reached out and gave her butt a little squeeze. “I like being the man behind the power, especially if the power has an ass as fine as yours."
Now she was really distracted and tempted to put the CLOSED sign on the door and show him the fold out sofa in the reading area. He had to stop touching her, or she'd be in ho
use wearing an apron cooking him waffles in the morning. “Why isn't Tibby outside?"
He started laughing. “Tibby has to marshal the forces to keep Floyd in office."
Violet put her head on his broad chest. “You did this on purpose."
He was now rubbing her ass. “For the town."
"Yeah, right."
"Okay, I'll be honest. I'm not letting you go this time."
Violet stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “You can't keep me here."
"I can transfer to NOPD."
She let those words play over in her head. He loved this town. He was made for Kenyon, not the big bad city. Yet, he'd leave it for her. That was a lot to take in. “You'd leave here for me?"
He shrugged. “You got me by the dick."
Those weren't the words she wanted to hear, but she knew they were true. The chemistry between them was undeniable. She wanted—needed—more from him, though. “That's just wrong."
"Try telling me that about five seconds before I come."
She took a big breath. She wanted to be with him as much as she could, but she just wasn't ready to throw all her cards on the table. “I'm thinking about keeping the house and coming back on weekends."
He shook his head. “Marriage or nothing."
Her body went rigid. “What are you saying?"
"I thought I was pretty clear."
Only men got to be that blasé about their feelings. That was just plain annoying. “You didn't even ask if I love you."
"Well?"
Okay, now they were just playing power games. And to be honest, it was fun. She was going to say yes. She should of yes years ago, but she'd had some growing up to do. Now she was ready—even if she didn't know it until just then. “Well what?"
Flynn leaned on the counter. “Do you love me?"
She wanted him to say it first. He was the guy after all.
"Do you love me?"
His head nodded. “Oh, yeah."
Growling she crossed her arms over her chest. “You think you could, like ... Oh, I don't know ... say it."
There were a few seconds of silence. “I. Love. You.” He said each word slowly.
"Good."
His blond eyebrow cocked. “Anything you need to say?"
Violet pursed her lips. “I'm making you work for it."
"I have handcuffs."
Her kind of man. “I love you, Flynn."
* * * *
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Just Be
© Andrea Dale
I was convinced Sarita was going to leave me. The signs all pointed to it ... The hushed phone calls, hanging up when I came into the room. The fact that we hadn't had sex in over a month, and over a month before that, and probably more, but I'd blocked it out. And even those had been rushed. The suitcase I found in her closet yesterday morning when I was looking for a scarf I thought she'd borrowed, although she hadn't mentioned any trips to me.
But it had all probably started before that. The night I was late to her birthday dinner, rushing into the restaurant from a study session that had run long, and her looking up from the table, her luminous brown eyes glowing disappointment in the candle flame even as everyone at the table fell silent for a moment.
We'd known that my going to law school would be a burden on us both. At the time, we'd made the decision together, discussed the potential problems, worked out solutions. I'd gotten scholarships, so money wouldn't be a big issue. I'd be too busy to spend frivolously, anyway. We'd have to cut back on traveling, but there would be summers. That sort of thing.
Going back to school, especially the kind of intense studying necessary, was harder than I expected. I guess when you're thirty, you don't have the kind of resilience you do in your late teens and early twenties. You don't have the momentum of coming out of high school straight into college, or cannon-shot from college into grad school.
Sarita and I barely saw each other, and when we did, my head was spinning with torts and US Code sections, and I was rambling about fellow students whom she'd never met.
Add the screeching halt in our sex lives. Well, nobody would have expected us, with our reputation of being screwing-like-bunny dykes, to be falling asleep with no more than a brush of a kiss and a snuggle.
Every damned night.
I'd abandoned her, and she was probably just being her usual wonderful self by waiting until after my stress-crazy finals to tell me that it was over.
I don't know how I made it through finals. I remember waiting to be handed the Constitutional Law test, on the verge of tears from thinking about my life empty without her. Then, the paper was in front of me, and my world narrowed to articles and amendments.
Hours later, I looked up, and my stomach twisted again. You'd think I'd feel relief that finals were over. Instead, I was sure they spelled the beginning of the end.
I grabbed a Snickers from the vending machine—I didn't remember eating breakfast, and I'd skipped lunch in favor of some last-minute cramming—and headed to my car.
Sarita was standing by it. My steps slowed even as my body tingled. With her dark East Asian complexion, she could pull off fire-engine red like nobody's business. The little stretch lace tank top hugged her high breasts. She'd paired it with khaki shorts and a pair of red thong sandals.
Her toenails were the same shade of red as her shirt. Sexy right down to the details. Did she have to look so good just to dump me?
"Hey,” she said when I got close and stepped forward into a kiss.
Out of familiar habit and familiar desire, I responded, letting myself focus on nothing more than the feel of her soft mouth moving against mine, her teeth gently nipping my bottom lip before she stepped back.
"Will your car be okay here over the weekend?” she asked.
Confused, I nodded. The student lot was open 24/7.
"Good. You're coming with me."
I followed her, too brain-fogged to form a coherent question. She asked about the tests, and I told her how I thought I'd done: Contracts, pretty well; Criminal Law, hard to say. It wasn't until we pulled onto the freeway in the opposite direction from home that I had the presence of mind to ask where we were going.
"Yosemite,” Sarita said, flashing me a grin.
That was entirely beyond my current comprehension level.
"You need a break, sweetheart,” she said. Her hand on my knee wasn't helping, but I tried really hard to concentrate on her words. “You've been studying your ass off, and now that finals are over, you deserve a vacation. We both do. You get to decompress, and we get to re-acquaint ourselves with each other."
I took her hand from my leg and pressed my mouth against her palm. It was the only way I could express my gratitude and relief.
And then I did something I wouldn't've thought possible. I fell asleep. And I stayed asleep until we were pulling up to the ranger station to pay our entrance fee, bleary and blinking and needing to pee.
I apologized to Sarita for not helping with the driving, but she waved my contrition away. “You were exhausted. I'm glad you were able to sleep. It means you're starting to relax and let go."
We stopped to stretch, pick up a few last-minute supplies, and change into hiking gear, then continued on into the park. Apparently, Sarita had thought of everything, including packing all the stuff I'd need. That explained the suitcase in the closet and the mysterious phone calls.
Despite my nap, I still felt groggy and overwhelmed, like I was wandering around in a fog. Strapping on the packs and hiking up to the meadow went a long way to clearing that fog. We didn't speak much, just occasionally pointed out an eagle overhead or commented in awe over the views. All of Yosemite looks like a postcard, a surreal, impossible beauty.
Kind of like Sarita. Dazed and confused as I was, as the hike progressed and the weight and stress of school peeled away, feelings I thought I'd lost resurfaced. Arousal. Desire. Lust.
It wasn't just the b
risk air that quickened my breath and hardened my nipples. Oh, no. Watching Sarita's lithe form moving gracefully up the path was doing wonders for my formerly buried libido.
The sun was no more than a blushing glow behind Half Dome by the time we had the tent set up and the fire going. Since it was late, supper was simple: canned stew, fresh sourdough bread, and cherries for dessert.
In the flickering firelight, I watched the cherries stain Sarita's lush lips a deeper red, and I quivered right down to my clit.
She looked up, saw me watching her. Must have seen the look in my eyes, because she smiled, tossed the pit in the fire, and leaned over to kiss me.
Like the kiss at the car, it was slow, gentle, gradually deepening. Dimly, I realized that I understood the cliché of air to a drowning man. I breathed the feel of Sarita against me and felt alive again.
The skin of her bare arms was satiny under my hands. Suddenly, I wanted to be naked, feel my body against hers: soft belly, hard hipbones, sharp nipples, silken hair above and coarse below. I wanted it so badly my hands shook.
"You taste so good,” Sarita whispered, licking the hollow of my breastbone. “I've missed the taste of you."
"I've missed you, too. I'm so sorry—"
She pressed her lips against mine again until she was sure I'd stopped trying to talk. “Don't talk. Just be."
I let tears of wonder drain down the back of my throat and kissed her, cupping her beautiful face in my hands. Her tongue darted in and out of my mouth, teasing and playful, and my pussy contracted as I thought about how that teasing touch would feel on my clit.
We tumbled back onto the sleeping bag. Sarita kneeled over me, unbuttoning my shirt and leaving trailing kisses along the exposed skin, then deftly undoing the front hook of my bra. Cool air slid over me before she took my breasts in her hands and warmed first one, then the other nipple with her wet mouth.
It had been so long since we'd touched that my cunt ached from the sudden rush and swell of desire. I think we might both have had it in our heads to take this slowly, to savor and celebrate. Our bodies, however, had other plans.
Coming Together: At Last, Volume Two Page 22