by Sosie Frost
“Make it my ass, and we might have a deal.”
She glared at me, but her lips were still swollen from my kisses. Her chest still puffed out of breath. Hadn’t even seen her tits. Damn shame. How long would we have to fight before she’d give me a peek at those curves?
Micah had lost her patience with her panties. “We should not have done that. It was a mistake. If you had any shame, you’d be mortified.”
Christ, the woman was sexy, even when she raged. “What do I have to be ashamed of? I just fucked a beautiful woman.”
“The impropriety of it all?” Micah asked. “The scandal? The inappropriateness?”
I adjusted my jeans as my cock swelled once more. “If you want it again, all you gotta do is ask.”
She gritted her teeth. “Listen, cowboy. My panties are currently making their way to the front of Butterpond’s monthly meeting, and they’re about to be discovered by the council, the mayor, and every little old bitty who can see beyond her knitting. I’m one thong away from getting fired, and it’ll be your fault.”
I raised my hands. “Wait a minute. Why is it my fault?”
“You took them off!”
“Yeah, it was a prerequisite to tonight’s entertainment.” I smirked. “Or had it been so long since you got fucked you forgot how this process worked?”
Micah darted to the hall, glanced down the corridor, and scowled. “You’re going to get them back.”
“What?”
Her voice darkened. “So help me God, Julian Payne, if you get me fired, I will do things to your cock you’ve never imagined, and it won’t be as pleasant as this was.”
“Better than pleasant, don’t you think?”
She ignored me as she plotted some elaborate scheme that would only inconvenience me. “You’re going to cause a distraction. Do something, anything to stop this meeting. Then I can get my panties.”
This didn’t sound fun. I leaned back against her desk with a shrug. “And if I don’t? What if I want to watch you run out front, no panties on, my cum dripping from your pussy?”
Micah had nothing near her to throw except a box of tissues. “You already have that visual, cowboy. But you don’t have a barn. And now we don’t have a choice.”
“Wait…” I smiled. “You get your panties, I get my barn?”
She seethed. “I’ll consider it.”
“I think we’re beyond considerations now.”
“Cause a distraction, and we’ll talk.” She shoved me to the door. “Now go.”
A distraction?
Holy Christ, I could hardly think after a fuck like that, let alone walk, talk, or play hero and save the day. My cock pounded as hard as my head. I needed to lie down and fall asleep—preferably still sheathed inside Micah.
She didn’t just have a pussy, she’d enthralled me with a goddamned hellcat. Why did the greatest fuck in the world have to come from the world’s biggest pain in the ass?
Why should I have cared if she’d be on display for the entire meeting’s entertainment? Micah had blocked my every attempt to rebuild my barn. Since when did an application come with contingencies? Panties for a hammer. Sweet talk for the nails. Sex to silence the damned harpy when she started squawking about regulations and laws.
And it wasn’t like I’d had any help. Dad hadn’t done a damn thing to renovate the farm or fix the barn when he was alive. And the rest of the family was content to let the whole property slide into disrepair. Cassi had taken care of Dad as best she could, but even she sided with our brothers. Why rebuild the barn? Too many bad memories since the fire, and too much work to be done together as a family. Apparently, three hundred acres wasn’t enough space for the Paynes to function normally.
What the hell had happened to us?
Fine. If a pair of fucking panties got me a barn, I’d claim the thong as mine and wear the fucking thing out of the meeting. Nothing could be more humiliating than returning to Butterpond with a failed professional football career and crushed vertebrae. If I couldn’t fuck the building approval out of Micah, maybe I could bargain.
“Julian!”
A dozen little old ladies coo’ed my name and promised their granddaughters’ hands in marriage. I held the door open for the graying troupe, flinching after not one, but two ass pinches. Hard to tell who the offending parties were, especially in the shuffle of untangling plastic bonnets and the shaking of umbrellas. I’d learned long ago to keep my back to a wall, though that only invited more intimate pinches.
They giggled as they funneled into the meeting though they poker faced as soon as the double glass doors closed behind them.
Meetings were serious in Butterpond, a town mostly composed of broken dreams, broken trucks, and broken government. Mayor Desmond had lost control over a particularly rowdy meeting three years ago, and the council had yet to reclaim order. Now, they ceded the open forum to those who used the platform to air lifelong grievances with neighbors.
Tracy Sheldon, PTA President and Chairman of the Butterpond Flat-Earth Society, offered me the usual bingo card for the event. Looked like a decent board—had the spaces for Jerry Rooke’s came to the meeting drunk as well as Widow Barlow’s houses should be painted in only three colors rant. If I wasn’t on a panty hunt, I might have tossed a twenty into the pot.
“Looks crowded…” Tracy also led the Sawyer County Agoraphobic Support Group which met following the monthly meeting. She nibbled her fingernails to the quick. “Hope there’s room…”
Oh Christ. The meeting was packed. People stood shoulder-to-shoulder, crammed into the back of the room. Today’s special—three members of Henderson Road wrapped in a full length American Flag, handing out pocket-sized Constitutions.
Dave Horsden clutched his flag with one rheumatoid swollen hand and patted me with another. He tucked the constitution in my pocket and narrowed his eyes.
“Jules, you’re a man of reason.” His words mumbled over the chew. “That city gal they got in zoning? Says she wants to limit birdfeeders. You believe that?”
“…What?”
“Says one birdfeeder per household.” Dave shouted over the seated residents, waiting for the meeting to begin. “The government thinks it can tell a man how many birds to feed in his own goddamned yard! It ain’t right!”
A rumble of agreement rose from those tucking candles into their birdfeeders to begin their vigil. Most of the residents had chosen to empty their feeders, though a trail of seeds led from the front door into the hall. Marcy Hannigan’s triplets made short work of the seed, hoovering up the spill as they roamed beneath the chairs.
Unfortunately, Ethel Greene had spilled the entirety of her feeder—an unstable hummingbird contraption filled to the brim with vibrant red Kool-Aid. Sticky nectar flooded the meeting room aisle, coating one of the triplets, and prompting the little old ladies to once again don their plastic babushkas.
At least it wasn’t blood this time.
I edged to the corner of the room, greeting my younger brother with a nod. Tidus wasn’t happy to see me. Then again, not much made him happy anymore. Used to be endearing when he was a kid. Now? I just worried about him. Usually, the middle kid always got fucked by the family. This time? He’d fucked us.
Tidus leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Did nothing to hide the tattoos that had prompted such whispers from the little old ladies furiously knitting on the far side of the room. A cigarette tucked behind his ear. I took it, broke it in half, and tossed it to the floor.
“You told Cassi you were quitting,” I said.
Invoking the soft-spot for our little sister usually shamed him. Not tonight.
“I tell Cassi a lot of things,” he said. “Sometimes they’re true.”
“Where’ve you been?”
Tidus scowled. “Didn’t get permission to leave the farm?”
“You haven’t been home for the past three nights. Thought you were dead in a gutter somewhere.”
“Where’s the search party?”
I didn’t have the patience now. “Not many people in this town willing to look for you.”
“Not too many people in the family looking either.”
“Whose fault is that?” I asked.
“It was five years ago, Jules.”
I shrugged. “I’m willing to forget if you are.”
“Yeah. You’ll forget. But no one’s forgiving.”
Forgiveness was a two-way street, at least, that’s what Varius used to preach. Took a big man to forgive, and a bigger one to ask for forgiveness.
“What are you doing here?” I said.
Tidus smirked. “I happen to be very passionate about our three birdfeeders.”
“You’re a regular ornithologist.”
He scowled. “What the fuck did you call me?”
“Never mind.”
He checked his watch. “Al shut down Renegades to come to the meeting.”
“Think you can spend a night sober?”
“Can you?” He looked away. “You talk to that zoning lady?”
I tensed. “Yeah.”
“Is she giving you the barn?”
“Nope.”
“So what the hell happened?”
I sighed. No sense lying. “I fucked her.”
Tidus stared at me. “Jesus Christ. You do realize you’re the luckiest son of a bitch in this damn family, right?”
Yeah, I’d heard that before. But it wasn’t like fucking Micah would spontaneously heal a busted back and plunk a barn onto the property. Especially now that I needed to prevent the meeting from starting.
It was easier to get into the woman’s panties than to save them.
The crowd grew restless. Dave waved his flag and shouted at Bonnie Horsden, the only member of the council who could still hear, and yet even she ignored her brother.
“It ain’t right!” Dave called to her. “Bonnie-Mae, you know that ain’t right. A man’s gotta defend his property. It’s why we fought the Brits four hundred years ago!”
“Sit down, Davie.” Bonnie waved a hand. “No one’s taking your birdfeeders.”
“Pry ‘em from my cold dead hands!” Bobbie Franklin roared, heaving his girth up and his chair back. It crashed into Mrs. Miller’s casted leg, still recovering from the mishap at the library’s Martial Arts Wednesday. “Ain’t no city-slicker gonna tell me who I can feed in my backyard!”
Raymond Adamski agreed, though his enthusiasm might have been exaggerated by the swig from his flask. At least he didn’t hiccup as he shouted at the mayor. “This is tyranny! Tyranny has come to Butterpond wrapped in suet!”
Tidus grinned, elbowing me before calling out. “Heard they’re gonna take bird baths too!”
This incited the crowd into a mouth-foaming frenzy.
“You’re gonna start a riot,” I said.
Tidus checked his phone. “Good, take the streets and hit Renegades on the way to Barlow’s grocery store. Let loose the birdfeed.”
Mayor Desmond didn’t have a gavel. He pounded a shoe then tossed it at Councilman Rasiola as he fell asleep in his chair.
“People!” Desmond shouted. “Look. We’re not discussing birdfeeders tonight. The issue is tabled.”
“Shouldn’t be an issue!” Dave held up his constitution. “We have rights!”
“If you check the agenda, we’re talking Sawyer County Fair tonight,” Desmond said. “Okay? No birdseed. Just the festival!”
“Bad news.” The Widow Barlow tapped her cane against the floor and shivered despite her thick shawl and the thermostat set to ninety goddamned degrees. “That fair, those carnie folks…”
“Agatha,” Desmond sighed. “The festival workers are here every year.”
“Yeah. They come in…and more people leave with them.” The old lady creaked in her chair, surveying the crowd with eyes shadowed by glaucoma. “They’re taking the children.”
Desmond sunk his head into his hands. “No one is kidnapping children at the county fair.”
“Kids go missing, Mayor! Every year!”
“Which kids, Agatha? We go through this every September. Which kids are missing?”
“All those runaways, snatched up by the carnie folk. It’s not right. Dangerous.”
“Don’t you think I’d know if kids went missing?” Desmond pointed at Sheriff Samson. “Tell her, sheriff. For Christ’s sake—every damn time we hold this fair…”
Sheriff Samson leaned close to his microphone, tapped the bulb until it shrieked with feedback, and then addressed the widow.
“To my knowledge, no children have been kidnapped by the carnies at the county fair.”
“Oh, you know…” Agatha pointed a wavering finger at him. “You know. Hiding the truth!”
Tidus shouted out. “First the birdfeeders! Now the kids?”
And the audience began anew, launching to their feet in outrage. I patted his shoulder.
“Think you can keep ‘em whipped up for me?” I asked.
“Got nothing else to do.”
“Good.”
I kept to the wall, searching the crowd as a frantic Micah darted into the meeting hall. She huddled close to the dais as a hail of constitutions pelted her feet. She caught my gaze, gesturing with a tense shrug as she aimed for the pile of folders meticulously stacked in the center of the podium.
In full view of the entire town.
“Why are we so worried about carnies?” Rachel McTillerson leapt to her feet, grabbing Micah’s arm before she could reach the files. “I talked with Ms. Robinson two weeks ago about my booth at the fair. Yet there she is—Betsy Debois! Still claiming that she will be the representative for Itsy Bitsy Glitzy Charms and Accessories, when clearly, my application was filed first!”
“I’ve had that booth for years, Rachel!” Betsy hustled up the aisle to claim her rightful place, smack-dab at the bottom of the pyramid scheme. “I am the official Itsy Bitsy Glitzy Charms and Accessories vendor for Sawyer County!”
“Well, look out world…” Rachel had gained confidence after the birth of her second child. Her husband, Frank, tenderly beckoned her back to her seat with a polite murmur. “Momma’s got mouths to feed and charms to sell!”
I edged towards the double doors, sneaking out into the hall as a few stragglers hurried into the meeting.
Mayor Desmond attempted to separate the women without squirting them with his water bottle.
“Last I heard,” he said. “The festival grounds were a thriving feral cat colony.”
Micah’s professional authority rang through the raging voices, quieting those bickering from their seats. “The County Fair Committee’s focus this week is on clearing the cats and signing all vendors who want to be a part of the festivities.”
Tidus started shit with the wrong woman. “She hates birds and cats!”
“Yeah!” Dave waved his flag with a new vigor. “Micah Robinson—bird hater!”
The crowd roared with a new enthusiasm. We were never getting our barn.
Fuck it. I had a clear shot for the fire alarm. I went for it, slamming the handle and stepping aside as the alarm system clattered an old metal bell and blended it with an ear-piercing siren.
The windows shook. The floor rumbled.
And one hundred elderly, drunk, and patriotic townsfolk stampeded from the meeting room in a blind panic.
The doors flung open, and canes smacked into knee caps. The meeting packed into the narrow hallway funneling to the exit. A stream of foaming carbon dioxide bubbled over the screaming residents as a toasted Raymond Adamski had found an unattended fire extinguisher and presumed to help.
The fire extinguisher sent a plume of frost into the air, terrifying the old ladies who nearly tripped over torn flags as they clamored for the exit. A fight broke out on the sidewalk. Representatives from the Itsy Bitsy Glitzy Charms and Accessories Company gouged eyes and yanked hair to declare their booth’s rightful station at the fair.
All-in-all, one of Butterpond’s more productive meetings.
>
I winced as someone clawed my arm, more nails than fingers. Micah jerked me down the hall and tossed me into her office. I grinned as she slammed the door.
“Let’s see ‘em,” I said. “I think I deserve a quick flash.”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
Micah shoved the cinnamon red panties into her purse with a shattering sigh. Her chair caught her as she plunked down, though she made a face as she attempted to cross her legs, a messy reminder of our indiscretions.
She clenched her jaw. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
This meeting had been more pleasurable than most. “Just offering my services for round two.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“And you’re already out of your panties.”
“No thanks to you.”
A source of pride. I smirked. “I created a distraction.”
“Yeah…” Micah snuck a peek out of her window and glanced over the crowds lining the sidewalk. “And you only committed a felony to do it.”
“Any worse than what we committed before?”
“That was lunacy, not a crime.”
I surrendered. “Fine. Look. I saved your job. Now give me my barn.”
Micah spun, her eyes wide. Disbelieving. “Are you kidding me?”
“We had a bargain.”
“You heard them out there! They hate me!”
“Only because you hate birdfeeders. Apparently.”
“It’s a long…very frustrating story involving a Hitchcockian amount of crows. But it’s not important. You want to know the truth?” She met my gaze, the ice fracturing for only a moment. “I’m not going to last in Butterpond long enough for you to get your barn. The people hate me.”
“Why don’t you treat them like you treated me earlier?”
“With distain?” Micah dared me to correct her. “You have no idea how hard my job is, cowboy. Zoning law automatically makes me the bad guy. But here? I’m worse. No one likes me. No one understands my job. No one sees my vision for the community. And suddenly, the entire County Fair preparation falls into my lap.”
“To be fair…” I shrugged. “I don’t think anyone actually goes to the fair.”
She wagged a finger. “Exactly my point. And exactly what I can do to save my job. I want to throw the absolute best county fair this town has ever seen. That way, I can show Butterpond that I care and that it’s worth keeping me for the next four years until my life plan dictates I need to find a better position. Do you understand?”
