Miss You, Sir [Quinn Brothers] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by January Rowe

  “We got a list of school supplies. I’m supposed to bring a box of Kleenex tissues to the teacher.” Poppy smirked. “Is she going to cry a lot?”

  While Tern and Poppy spoke, joking around, Jill looked behind him, studying his surroundings. He’d told her he lived in a mobile home with three other guys. She could even see one of his housemates lounging on the couch. Not a lot of privacy.

  Tern threw a glance behind him.

  “I’d better go. Josh needs to use the computer now. Love you both.”

  And he was gone.

  * * * *

  The first day of school, Jill took cell phone pictures of Poppy standing in front of the Cobb building with her new backpack. Jill thought about her sister, wistful. Kim was missing out on a lot. Was Kim back in Palm Springs? Did she think about Poppy at all? Did Duke think about the little girl? Was he the child’s father?

  Later that week, Jaeger showed Jill how to send the pictures to Tern’s phone. Tern appreciated the photos, telling her it made him feel like he was there.

  Poppy loved elementary school. It was easy for her. When Jill picked up her up, the first grader would detail her day, raving about Mrs. Phil and her new friends and what she was learning.

  Jill now suddenly had time on her hands. Too much time. Tern rarely called, now that he was doing so much construction. Loneliness hit her hard.

  She sewed and gardened—and sometimes cried. She wondered if her man had forgotten about her.

  Her new skills with the fancy picture phone gave her an idea. A naughty idea. She came up with a plan to make sure Tern was thinking about her.

  Friday, after she dropped Poppy off at Cobb, she began to carry out her scheme.

  She washed her long hair, letting it dry in the sunlight. She brushed it until it gleamed like fire. Humming with excitement, she carefully got dressed. She walked over to the Target store. Grabbing a random blouse dress from the clearance rack, she brought it into the dressing room. She had no intention of trying on the blouse. In fact, quite the opposite.

  She took a few practice pictures of herself standing in the dressing room, smiling softly, her eyes downcast, long hair falling over her shoulders, looking innocent. She was Tern’s sweet obedient submissive. She sent the best snapshot to Tern. Next, she slipped off her sundress, and hung it on the dressing room hook. She took a picture of the draped dress. Giggling, she sent him that picture.

  Next, she took off her bra. She’d sewn the super sexy undergarment out of hot pink satin. The cups were overlaid halfway up with sheer black lace. She laid the bra on the dressing-room bench, arranging it with care, so the cups looked full and caught the light just right. Luscious. Tern was a breast man. Happy with the result, she snapped a picture, sending it to Tern.

  Then she slipped off her thong panties. So impractical, so alluring, and made of sheer black lace. She pushed away her bra and situated the thong precisely and suggestively on the bench.

  She took a cell phone picture of the thong. She sent him the photo, along with a text message.

  Wish you were here, Sir.

  Grinning, she put her clothes back on. Seduction complete.

  He didn’t respond until late that night. Jill was lying in their bed, which seemed too big, too empty, without him.

  “Got your message.” His voice was growly with desire. “I was hard all day, just imagining you naked in that dressing room, waiting for me.”

  She was delighted. Her scheme to remind him how they could make each other feel was a success.

  “I do wish I was there with you,” he continued.

  “Me too. I’d jump into your arms. I’d kiss you.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you got for me?”

  “No.” She giggled. “I’d slide down your front, kissing you all the way down. When I was kneeling there, I’d give you the best oral you ever had.” Silence on his end. “Tern, are you still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, good. I thought we got cut off again.”

  “I’m not in the trailer. I’m on a bluff overlooking Pope. I drove around until I got five bars.”

  “You’re sitting alone in the dark in the truck? That’s awful.”

  “It’s not awful. It’s pretty up here at night. The derricks have lights on them. The gas flares look like lit candles. Enough about my view, heart. I want to hear about what you’re going to do to me.”

  “You got it. Remember when we were holed up in that shack during that rainstorm in Brazil? The rain never stopped, drip, drip, drip. So we had to figure out a way to keep ourselves occupied?”

  “Good times,” he said in a husky voice.

  “Well that’s what I’m going to do to you again. I’m going to fuck you good with my mouth. I’ll shuck your pants off. Your cock will come springing up, huge and thick.” Recalling that steamy interlude in Brazil made her want him insanely. She made a distressed noise.

  “And then what?” he urged.

  She cleared her throat, reliving those drenched, lusty days. “I drop to my knees and lick the tip. I’m desperate to explore you, taste you. I’m kissing, nibbling. My tongue caresses your shaft in slow circles. I’m wondering how you can be so hard and soft at the same time. Your dick pulses. You make sounds. Kind of a cross between a sigh and a grunt. I’m pleasing you and it makes me so happy.”

  “I don’t let you do that for long.”

  “No,” she said. “You’re getting impatient. You grab the sides of my head to stop my licking. ‘All of it,’ you say. I obey you, of course. I sink my hot wet mouth all around your cock.”

  “Deep. As deep as you can take it.”

  “I do it.” Darts of desire zinged through her. “I pump your cock. I pull on you hard, up and down. Up and down. Sliding, sucking, milking. Your cock swells larger and larger. I caress your balls with my hands while I pump.”

  He groaned.

  “You’re about to come,” she continued. “I feel your cock pulsing, throbbing. You can’t hold on. You make a sound, a kind of wheeze. And then your hot cum slams into the back of my throat.”

  She could hear him breathing on the other end, silent.

  “Tern?” she asked.

  “I’m still here,” he said gruffly. “I love you, Jillie. But I’d better get back to the trailer. Long day tomorrow.”

  * * * *

  The reality of being alone wore on her. When the kitchen faucet started leaking, she tried to fix it herself by replacing the washer. It turned out that wasn’t the problem. Reluctant to impose on Jaeger, she called in a plumber. He cost an arm and a leg. Tern would probably have to stay in North Dakota an extra day to pay for it. And there were so many choices she had to make for Poppy. Math Olympiad or Girl Scouts? Soccer or T-ball?

  A month into their separation, Tern completely forgot about their planned Skype session. By the time he remembered it was too late. Jill and Poppy were off at a teacher’s conference. They never got to talk face-to-face. All she got was an apologetic text.

  Jill plopped into the big brass bed, restless and unhappy. She’d taken to wearing something of Tern’s at night. But this time his holey gray T-shirt just made her sad.

  She needed him home.

  After lying sleepless for an hour, her chest aching, she got up. She headed downstairs to her sewing room. Seeing and touching her hoard of fabric and imagining what she’d turn the textiles into always eased her mind. Tern used to tease her about her fabriholic nature, accusing her of being “materialistic.”

  “Oh, Tern,” she whispered, fingering a bolt of stiff, glittery brocade in shades of purple and brown. “How are we going to survive this?”

  She moved among her rolls and bolts.

  As she stroked a stack of celery-colored satin, it occurred to her that she could do something to get him home. She knew how to earn money with her sewing.

  She’d been selling her corsets by word of mouth. Now, with her picture phone and the Internet, she could sell to the world.

  * * * *


  Jill set up a KinkyJill store on Etsy. She put a lot of effort into her descriptions. She didn’t merely detail the fabric and the construction of her undergarments, but also how they would make a woman feel. Her prose was purple, evocative, implying a KinkyJill creation would lead to wild and highly satisfying sex. Ironically, as she was writing the suggestive paragraphs, she wasn’t getting any herself. But she sure could remember how beautiful and womanly she felt wearing her favorite bustier. Her undergarments molded and shaped. They cinched a woman’s waist tiny, flared her hips wide and welcoming. No man could refuse such an invitation.

  Tern never did.

  Her first corset offering sold in two hours. Her second didn’t even take that long. She doubled the price of her next listing. Proud of her sewing and business skills, she made even more corsets and bustiers. She sewed all day when Poppy was at school and late into the night after the little girl was asleep.

  In a matter of days she had a thousand dollars in her PayPal account, and three more listings. She couldn’t wait to tell Tern about KinkyJill’s success the next time they Skyped.

  * * * *

  Her sewing was off. Was her lack of sleep catching up to her? First, the eyelet placements weren’t up to par. And then she had trouble inserting the boning. Either she’d sewn the casings a little too narrow or she’d gotten a bad batch of boning.

  She cursed and tried inserting again. And failed. Corset construction was a precise endeavor. If she didn’t get her act together, she was never going to get Tern home.

  The doorbell rang. She ignored it. Some door-to-door salesman wasn’t going to disrupt this difficult work.

  Careful now. Try again. Shit! Why isn’t this working?

  Frustration built.

  The doorbell rang again. Dropping the corset, she jumped up to answer. She was going to tell the salesman off.

  She jerked open the door.

  Jaeger stood there. He had his hands on his hips. “Took you long enough. But I’m happy to see you’re finally remembering to keep the door locked.”

  “That’s why you’re here? To check on my door?”

  “No. I’m here to do a check on you. I’ve been calling you all morning. I left you three messages. I asked you to call me back. Either you’re not picking up, or you’re ignoring my messages. Which is it?”

  She just blinked at him, annoyed. Whatever happened to her easygoing, flirty brother-in-law? Where was the sweet guy who pretended to want to steal her away from Tern? Why was the cop suddenly acting like her private security guard? Jaeger might have held the family together by force of will back when he and his brothers were kids. But she didn’t need his resourcefulness now. She wasn’t some vulnerable child.

  “Well?” he asked again.

  “I was sewing.”

  “Sewing for four hours straight?”

  She let out a whoosh of air. “Hey, I’m not going to get up and go check my phone every hour.”

  “Well you’d better start. For all you know, Poppy’s at school sick, and they’re trying to get hold of you. Go check your phone. Now.”

  Since when did he give her orders? She was submissive only to one man. And that man was Tern. But she obeyed the cop—only to prove to him that he was being ridiculous. She grabbed her cell from the hall table. The only calls were from Jaeger.

  Shaking the phone at him, she said, “See? The school never called. Just you. Over and over again. You gotta let go of that knight-in-shining-armor complex. I don’t need saving. I can take care of—”

  “You will take a different tone with me, missy.”

  She stopped shaking the phone to stare at him. He cut an intimidating figure. Muscular, hulking, glowering, his voice staccato. And despite his angry stance, sincerely concerned about her.

  She bit her lip, suddenly feeling rotten and ungrateful.

  “I’m sorry, Jaeger. I’m having some sewing issues and I’m taking it out on you.”

  “It’s okay, Jill. We’ll talk later.”

  He left. As she locked the door, she realized he never did tell her why he’d called her three times.

  Chapter Seven

  Pope, North Dakota, was an oil boomtown, clotted with rows of drab gray prefabs, pipe yards, acres of rusty machinery, big rigs, and men happy to have work. There was nothing gentle or decorative about the place.

  After a few weeks, Tern was finally allowed to do real construction. He was now building a new prefab apartment complex called Bakken Manor. The “manor” always made him chuckle. Construction standards were pretty low. Unlike his gorgeous dungeon equipment, Bakken Manor wouldn’t be standing in thirty years.

  But the money was good. And getting better. He’d recently gotten a promotion to crew leader. He enjoyed being the boss. His guys were unskilled, but enthusiastic and hardworking. He got a kick out of getting the most out of those boys, teaching them the skills they could use to get themselves a better job down the line.

  Pope was all angles and hardness—and men, men, men. Sharing a trailer with three pipeline laborers sometimes got on his nerves. The stink of oil wafted off them, no matter how much they showered.

  He missed Jill’s soft skin, the flowery fragrance of her long hair, her gentle demeanor, the way she looked at him like he could do no wrong. He pictured his wife’s generous breasts, her nipples erect and inviting. He fantasized about fondling and pinching her flesh, elevating her always potent desire for him into lust. He imagined sinking into her welcoming, writhing body. The erotic images caused him pain. It would be months before he could be with her again.

  He soon learned to bury his fantasies. He found satisfaction only in his dreams.

  Friday night, after two months of microwave dinners and sack lunches, Tern figured he deserved a real meal. He hopped into the company pickup looking for that meal.

  The rutted streets were crammed with mud-caked pickup trucks. He had to park a few blocks away from LucyBelle’s, the only restaurant in Pope. He’d never been inside before.

  He stepped out of the truck. A harsh wind from the north harassed him as he headed to LucyBelle’s. The restaurant was a shabby-looking prefab. He opened the squeaky door to the sounds of laughter and country pop music, and the smell of beer and fries.

  LucyBelle’s was more bar than restaurant. It was jammed. The only women inside were waitresses. He nodded at the guys he knew as he snaked his way to an empty table. He passed Jeff, one of his roommates—a man with three kids and a pregnant wife back home in Philadelphia. Jeff was in the process of hauling a chubby waitress into his lap. She smacked his roaming hands and he let go.

  A man could get into plenty of trouble in a place like this.

  Tern wasn’t looking for companionship, just a change of scenery. Still, the stench of alcohol-induced joviality made him feel especially lonely.

  A little waitress wearing a low-cut sweater and tight jeans sauntered over. “What can I get ya?” She leaned low over his table, giving him an eyeful of her cleavage.

  Despite her sparkly eye shadow and vulgarly streaked hair, the girl wasn’t bad looking. Not as naturally gorgeous as his Jillie, of course. But being among men night and day, he could appreciate the waitress’s display. He could also enjoy her smelling like strawberry. He’d had his fill of the stink of man-sweat, oil, and mud.

  He ordered a beer and the “atomic wing special.”

  He watched her sashay off in her tight jeans. Cute little ass, too.

  She returned with his bottle of beer. Setting the beer on a coaster, she said, “I’m Rochelle.”

  “Name’s Tern,” he said.

  “Heya, Tern,” she said, running off to take somebody’s order.

  He took a swig of beer, enjoying Rochelle’s backside curves. The beer was cold and bitter, just the way he liked it. He was glad he came. As he set his bottle down, he noticed writing on the coaster. It was Rochelle’s phone number.

  Did she give every man her phone number, or just him?

  She brought ov
er his wings. LucyBelle’s made a meaty wing. But they weren’t hot. North Dakota “atomic” was mild. In between serving other customers, he and Rochelle made small talk. Where you from, how long you been here, that sort of thing. Harmless. And it would stay harmless.

  Finished with his meal, he left Rochelle a nice tip, shoving the bills under the coaster with her phone number written on it.

  He probably wouldn’t come back to LucyBelle’s. Temptation was best avoided.

  Outside, the wind had died down. Snow was starting to fall. It was time to get back to his married, faithful world, and try to decipher some of the legal documents he’d just gotten from the lawyer.

  His cell rang.

  Jaeger. His brother had never called him in North Dakota before. It had to be bad news. Had Kim shown up to claim Poppy? Whatever it was, something bad was going on at home while he was having wings and beer and gawking at some girl’s ass. A shaft of guilt flew through him.

  “What’s wrong?” Tern asked, his stomach roiling.

  “We need to talk about Jill.”

  “What happened to Jill?”

  “What happened is that you’re gone.” Jaeger’s voice was terse. “Jill’s hurting.”

  Jaeger had never involved himself in their domestic affairs before. And now he was calling because Jill was lonely? Tern didn’t like it. Not one little bit. He edged under the restaurant’s meager overhang to stay warm, preparing to give Jaeger a piece of his mind.

  “There’s a lot of hurt going around,” Tern said. “That’s the price of maintaining our family in the long run.”

  “Don’t get defensive,” Jaeger said. “I’m not criticizing your working in North Dakota.”

  “The hell you’re not.”

  “Tern.” Jaeger sounded genuinely angry, indignant. “I’m trying to give you a heads-up. Your wife is flailing around. She’s miserable. You’re going to have to step it up even though you’re gone. Engage with her more.”

  Tern counted to ten as he stared at LucyBelle’s strobing beer lights. “And this is your business—because?”