Siren's Garter: Issue One August 2016 (3 page)

“
Would you like to buy an
encyclopedia set?” I asked, in the sexiest voice I could muster
without laughing. It almost worked.

He laughed with me. “Perhaps we can
make a deal.”

“
Oh?” I messed up his hair,
running my fingers through his thick curls.

“
Take off that suit, and I’ll buy
whatever you’re selling.”

I pulled my suit jacket to the
elbows, and turned around. I felt a pinch on my ass, just a little
friendly feel. I let it slide, and dropped my jacket on Tom’s
lap.

Next I pulled the pins from my
hair, letting my locks roll down my shoulders. I spun around on my
heels, unbuttoning even further, one button at a time. I could tell
Tom was exciting, watching me, wanting to touch and holding back.
The sensation of stripping for him thrilled me, pushing me
onward.

At the last button I held my shirt
closed, turned away from Tom, and opened my shirt wide. He moaned,
and I heard him rustling about with his belt and zipper. He had his
legs wide open, and I stuck my ass to his crotch and grinded him.
His hard pecker stabbed me.

I wrapped my blouse around me
again, turning one more time, and stripped the blouse off entirely
for Tom. Then I unzipped my pencil skirt and let it drop to the
floor. I straddled Tom, pressing his face against my
bosom.

“
You like my pitch?” I
said.

“
I’m just not convinced yet,” he
said.

“
You are one tough customer.” I
got off him and went down on my knees. I ripped his jeans off. Next
came my panties and bra. I was too excited to tease him more. I
just wanted him to fill me.

And when I straddled him again, his
cock practically slipped inside me of its own accord. We made out,
kissing and teasing one another with our tongues. I kept getting
wetter and wetter, and I rotated my hips on his member, edging him
closer and closer.

When Tom bucked against me, I took
the hint and rode him like he was the best ride in the carnival. Up
and down, up and down. He grabbed and squeezed my boobs. I clutched
at his hair, moaning ever louder as I got closer.

Tom rolled his head back, yelling
he was about to lose it. I pulled him out of me, and stroked him
until he blew his load all over his chest and stomach.

I licked up every last
drop.

“
So,” I said between licks. “You
want to buy an encyclopedia?”

“
I’ll take five of them,” he
grinned.

NEVER MARRY THE
FEMME FATALE

Chapter One

The rough dirt crunched beneath
Elsie Turner’s sandals. She tossed her black, lace bra onto the
small pile of clothes under the pine tree.

“
Small” being the sleeveless
orange sundress she wore up the climb to the top of Mendota Bluff,
her panties, clutch purse, and a thigh holster for her compact
Smith & Wesson pistol.

Anywhere else in the world, she
would’ve left the holster on. But in the dog days of summer in
small town, Minnesota, no assassins or arms dealers were chasing
her up the bluff. Nothing ever happened in sleepy Wenakaga, the
boringest town on Earth.

Elsie walked to the edge. The
humidity clung to her skin like a silk wrap. Flies, bees, and pesky
mosquitoes buzzed about, filling the empty air with their tiny
music. Massive pine trees, older than the state of Minnesota, rose
high above her head, and sheltered her from prying eyes who might
be on the main dirt path fifty yards away.

A deer path led her to this place,
a little sanctuary high above Wenakaga. She had discovered it as a
child, and came here often to get away as a teenager.

Below, the Mississippi River cut
through the canopy like a lazy blue ribbon. A barge floated down
the water, blaring its horn, heading south-southeast, to Saint
Louis or Memphis or perhaps to New Orleans. The massive boat fit
beneath the King Avenue Bridge, which crossed over into the
Wisconsin.

Wenakaga, the so-called “Peninsula
City”, was surrounded by water on two sides and was far too small
to be called a town. The cute, early twentieth century homes looked
like cardboard dollhouses from up here, stacked in neat rows around
a ten block bustling downtown filled with bars, coffee shops, and
the kind of cute stores one can only find in a small American
town.

Scattered about the dollhouses were
grassy parks with fountains and swing sets, larger apartment
buildings empty of college students gone for summer, and more
church spires than any town needed.

Near the shore of the river was the
Kumonalaya Casino and Hotel, where her bridal suite and future
husband were.

Elsie raised her arms in a V,
closing her eyes to all of the people and cute houses below. Only
somebody with high powered binoculars and a lot of time on his
hands could spot her, high up in the bluffs, hidden in the pine
trees. Maybe if she shouted.

She didn’t care anyway. She had to
come back to her home, treading through old family skeletons. Her
old haunt called to her, high above the river and its small-town
people.

Far away from the happiest day of
her life. Which was supposed to be tomorrow.

This was was her “Howard Roark
moment”, which she hadn’t done since moving away from home. Elsie
never cared for the book, or the characters really. She just liked
the image of the man communing with nature in the buff. The sex
scene was hot too, at least the way she remembered it when first
reading the book as a seventeen-year-old girl.

In plain view for everyone to see,
yet hidden in the smallest corner.

Up here, on the Mendota Bluff, the
wind whipped hard across her body, blowing her mid-back length
black hair in her face, sweeping her problems away. The sun cut
through the forest chill, warming her skin tenderly. Elsie breathed
in, breathed out. So close to the edge, if the wind blew wrong or
too roughly, she’d fall off.

Almost perfect.

She was above her problems, which
shouldn’t have been problems at all. At least, according to her
mother.

She let her arms fall back to her
sides. Rubbing her fingers on the diamond ring on her left hand,
Elsie knew she’d have to face the music soon and get on with the
damned ceremony.

The concept of marriage appealed to
her. The reality was something else. Something Elsie wasn’t
comfortable with.

Was it Kevin? Did she still love
him like she thought she did?

He was still the same man. Tall,
close cropped blond haired with thick brows, clean shaved most of
the time, with green eyes that shined in the sunlight. Kevin was a
good man.

Too good for Elsie. She’d done
terrible things.

No, Kevin hadn’t changed since
she’d met him that one fateful night in New York City.

Elsie had changed.

And he’d been the catalyst for her
growth. She was a new woman because of him, and she’d be forever
grateful.

When he’d gone down on one knee,
diamond ring in one hand, her bare left hand in the other, the
Eiffel Tower on the other side of the Seine River, what else could
she have said?

No?

Fuck no. Elsie said yes, and meant
it. He was her equal, and he adored her even with her many
flaws.

She loved him.

But to marry the man?

Could she ever marry?

Elsie half wished an arms dealer
would find her, in her sanctuary, and push her off the bluffs she
loved so much. The other half knew how that would crush
Kevin.

And if she called off the marriage,
that would kill him as if she pushed him off a high ledge. To come
back to her hometown, arrange everything with the church and the
party planners, order the food and balloons, and then call it off.
Yes, Kevin would die a little inside, those eyes wouldn’t shine as
much. And that would kill Elsie.

Soon enough, she’d have to climb
back down the main dirt path, get in her blue Honda Civic, and
drive to the Catholic church she grew up with. Same building on
Center Street a few blocks from Wenakaga State University, same old
priest.

Behind her, a twig snapped. She
stiffened her back, alert now.

A camera shutter
snapped.

Elsie turned.

A man stepped out of the trees,
holding a red smart phone, a big grin ripped across his face. He
wore a red jogging suit and white running shoes. His long blonde
hair pulled back in a top-knot, loose strands of hair stuck out the
sides.

In his other hand, he held her bra
and panties.

“
Damn it all, girl,” he said. The
phone’s shutter sound snapped again. “Perfect!”

“
Zack,” Elsie said, keeping her
tone calm and in control. “Give me your phone.”

“
Let me think about that. Um,
no.”

Zack Gibbs snapped another photo.
He was Heidi’s boyfriend, and she had been a close family friend
for a long time. She was also Elsie’s only choice for bridesmaid,
since she didn’t have many real friends anymore.

A royal douche was Zack, but what
to do about this loose cannon baggage? Elsie had known the man for
years, and traded corporate secrets with him professionally. He’d
tried to get in her panties before. She’d turned him down every
time.

“
I’m not asking again,” said
Elsie.

“
Or what?” said Zack. “You gonna
shoot me?”

“
I’d love to do just that.” She
looked to her pile of clothes, now diminished to just a thin
sundress waded up in the dirt. The gun was missing from its
holster.

Shit.

Elsie had no issue with Zack seeing
her naked. Lots of men had seen her. She used her beauty to extract
all kinds of lies and secrets from men. A flash of nipple and a
peek under the dress loosened lips every time.

She wasn’t sure if she cared about
the photos he was taking. She had worse blackmail.

The asshat had taken her
gun.

And that pissed her off.

“
What do you want?” she
said.

“
I got what I wanted,” said Zack.
“Unless you want to give more. You know, not how I imagined things,
but…”

“
No. Forget it.” Elsie crossed her
arms, half covering herself, legs askance, trying to be
intimidating.

And failing.

“
Shucks,” Zack slipped his phone
into the jogging suit jacket pocket. “When you want your pea
shooter back, meet me in room 312.”

“
Damn it Zack,” Elsie screamed.
She was so angry, steam might’ve been coming out her ears. “You’ll
pay for this!”

“
No,” he said. “I’d sooner get
fucked in the ass. And you know how I feel about that.”

He winked, turned away, and jogged
down the deer path.

Elsie sighed, slipping back into
her sundress.

Time to face the music.

Chapter
Two

Room 412 at the Kumonalaya Casino
and Hotel, the bridal suite, was dark with the curtains pulled
tight, even with the blue glare of the TV. Kevin Kincaid sat on the
lumpy, pure white couch he’d slept on last night, the blanket and
stupidly flat pillows thrown aside, remote control in hand, bare
feet propped up on the coffee table. He pushed aside his laptop
with his foot, as if he could shove the problem aside.

He wore silky green boxers and a
white tee-shirt. Mid-morning, and Kevin hadn’t showered yet, nor
shaved nor brushed his teeth. The cheap wine from last night still
clung to the inside of his mouth, now dry and cotton-ball
tasting.

At least he didn’t have a headache.
He had stopped at half a bottle. Brad, his best man and best
friend, took the bottle away and retreated to his own
room.

The two-room suite had a clean, new
carpet smell. Yesterday, Kevin had checked in, hoping it was a dump
and he’d have an excuse to cause a ruckus. He just wanted something
to annoy Elsie with. Or annoy Gertrude, his presumed future
mother-in-law if things worked out. A reason to give them the wrong
impression.

To get out of this
wedding.

Instead, the rooms were perfect.
The bed, not even slept in yet, had a dozen pillows on it and
fluffed to perfection. The toilet was clean and flushed nicely. The
jacuzzi was big enough for three adults to sit comfortably. The
mini-bar was stocked with top shelf whiskey and more Mogen David
than Kevin knew what to do with.

A hangover was his latest idea. But
that hadn’t worked out. He wasn’t one to drink much.

Kevin channel surfed, for lack of
better things to do. He settled on a cooking show, where a pretty
redhead was making chicken parmesan. His stomach growled, and he
thought about ordering room service.

Actually, he had plenty to
do.

His tuxedo still needed fitting, as
did his best man’s. Gertrude wanted his opinion on the cake and
flowers for some reason. Father Thomas, the old priest at Saint
Michael’s, wanted to talk to him. Probably wanted a
confession.