Southern Seduction

by Alcorn, N. A.

  When she’s clean, she pushes me against the wall with a sly smile before dropping down to her knees. Looking up at me adoringly, she smiles. “I missed sucking you, Ry. Do you know how many nights I dreamt of the taste of you, the feeling of you in my mouth or in my pussy?”

  Fisting my hand in her wet hair, I nod. “I thought about you every fuckin’ day, baby. I’ve woken up damn near every night hard as a rock cause I was dreamin’ about eating or fucking your hot cunt.”

  Something passes through her eyes quickly, and it’s a look I don’t like because it isn’t comin’ from a happy place.

  “What is it, Vi? What’s wrong?”

  “I know I have no right to ask, know that whatever happened, it’s on me, but I need to know. Did you have sex with anyone else? Did you date?”

  My head rears back in shock and I let out a harsh laugh. “Violet Hammond! Do you really think for one second that I would have gone out and had revenge sex? No, baby. You will always be the only woman I’ve ever been with. I’m damn proud of that. So proud, you can put it on my gravestone when I die. Have it say somethin’ real cool like ‘Here lies Ryder Jennings. Husband. Father. Friend. He only ever loved or touched one woman from beginning to end.’”

  My words earn a giggle from her, and it’s very clear to see how happy they make her. Fisting the bottom of my shaft with her hand, she smiles up at me. “Mine can say ‘Violet Jennings. Wife. Mother. Friend. Crazy for Ryder Jennings from start to finish.’”

  As I smile, she leans forward and pulls me into her hot mouth. Letting out a moan, I rest my head back against the tiles and watch as she begins working me over. As the steam continues to billow around us, and the intensity of her sucking picks up, I give silent thanks to my tank-less water heater. Granddaddy had been against it, but Vi and I have always had a penchant for shower sex so I stuck to my guns. Talk about a great investment. I watch like a hawk as she sucks my cock, jerking the bottom with her right hand, all the while fingering herself with her left, her eyes never leaving mine as she works me over and gives me the mother of all blowjobs.

  The slurping sounds and the feeling of her mouth on my cock is making me nuts. I’m half tempted to bury myself against the back of her throat and fill her mouth with my come, but the need to be inside of her surpasses that. Helping her from the floor, I lift her up so that she can wrap her legs around my waist. Pressing her against the shower wall, I smile at her. “Are you wet, baby?”

  Nodding her head, she moans. “So wet, Ry. We’ve never gone this long before, not since we started. One hard fuck after ninety-two days of celibacy didn’t even begin to take the edge off.”

  She’s right. We went from being two horny, fumbling kids who used every available free moment to go to town on each other, to being two adults who knew every hot spot on each other’s bodies and couldn’t wait to set each other ablaze. We’ve always laughed at people who talk about variety being the spice of life. Neither of us thinks that’s true at all. To us, the spice of life is giving yourself over and sharing an experience with someone you love. We committed a long time ago to fall in love with each other over and over again, and I’m happier than a pig in shit that we’re going to make it.

  With a growl of pure lust, I bring her down until my cock is touching her slick opening. I push into her slowly, inch by inch, drinking in her moans with my mouth as we kiss. Last night, we fucked. Right now, we’re making love. With Violet, every time, every experience, is a fuckin’ winner.

  When I’m buried balls deep in the woman I love, I begin a slow but steady rhythm of in and out thrusts. Breaking our kiss, Violet drops her head back and lets out a shout. “Fuck! Ryder… you’re incredible.”

  Holding her tighter, I continue thrusting into her tight wet heat as I lean forward and begin licking and biting her neck. Each bite causes her pussy to spasm around me, and I growl low in my throat as I feel my balls start to tighten. Pulling back from her neck, I move back to her mouth and kiss her passionately as I begin to thrust harder. She pinches her left nipple and then her right with one hand as the other hand heads straight to her clit and starts applying just the right amount of pressure to take her over the edge. The second she seizes up on me and yells out my name, I let go and come.

  These past three months were the worst of my life, but now that she’s back, I can’t fucking wait to start our lives together.

  Hours later, we’re curled up on a blanket underneath ‘our’ tree, trying to catch our breath after making love. We meant to go slow, but after one kiss and a few minutes of my fingers in her panties, I’d pushed her dress up, opened my pants and fucked her hard and fast. If this tree could talk, it would have some crazy stories. Fun stories, sad stories, silly stories and, let’s face it, sexy stories. Second only to the shower or my bed, our blanket under this tree has been our go-to place to make love.

  With her head lying on my shoulder, Vi absently traces circles against my t-shirt. Looking up at me, she bites her lower lip.

  “Ry?”

  Looking down at my girl, I smile. “Yeah baby?”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when Uncle Weston died. I didn’t know his heart had gotten that bad. Every time he called and talked to me, he never mentioned it.”

  My head rears back as I look at her in shock. “Baby, what do you mean when he would call you? You were talkin’ to granddaddy while you were away?”

  She twirls a piece of her hair in her fingers as she nods her head. “I was so over stimulated that I didn’t want to talk to anyone for the first month or so, but once I could handle it, I wanted to talk to you first. I called the house, and Uncle Weston told me straight that you were angry. He was angry too, and he told me my grandfather was beside himself. Once I explained everything to him, he was so supportive. He wanted to tell you everything, but I begged him not to. After everything that I had done wrong, I wanted to be the one to tell you why. It was me that owed you that explanation, not anyone else. Uncle Weston was as stubborn as they come, but he understood why it had to be me.

  After that, he called and talked to me for ten minutes or so about once every ten days. I thought he sounded more out of breath than usual the last time he called, but he told me I was being a ‘silly filly’. Since my granddaddy didn’t say anything about his health, I assumed he still had time left. It meant everything to me that he called—and you know how huge that was. Your granddaddy hated the phone almost as much as he hated the internet, but he told me he wanted the mother of his great-grandchildren to have good things to say about him after he was gone. I didn’t realize that he meant his time was coming. My grandfather didn’t tell me Uncle Weston was gone until he called me the night before Daisy and I flew home. I’m sorry I wasn’t here, Ry.”

  I’m actually stunned and beyond touched that my granddaddy called Vi every week. He really did hate the damn phone, but he had always considered Vi to be his kin. Knowing that he called her, that he never lost faith in either of us, it means the world.

  Leaning forward, I take the piece of hair she’s been playing with and twirl it in my fingers. “It’s okay, baby. Clearly granddaddy wanted us to be together, and I think that’s amazing. I’m glad he’s not strugglin’ to breathe anymore, but I miss him somethin’ fierce. He must be so damn proud of himself right now for gettin’ us back together. Stubborn old coot always said he knew best.”

  Vi’s laugh before she covers my lips with her own is like music to my ears.

  Our plans for a courthouse wedding are quickly squashed. Instead of having the big wedding her mother wanted or a courthouse wedding that neither of us did, we choose to get married in the way that we have always wanted to.

  Standing beneath our tree, I watch with tears in my eyes as my fiancée walks toward me. Instead of hundreds of guests, there are just five. Violet’s grandfather, her mother, her stepfather, her sister Daisy, and my Uncle Zeke are the only people we absolutely have to have here with us today. There is a special guest, though. A chair at my side, in the pla
ce a best man would have stood, holds my granddaddy’s urn.

  My palms are sweaty as I shake Uncle Jonah’s hand and take Violet from him. Together we turn and stand in front of the Reverend to say our vows. Each of us speaks clearly and with no hesitation, and when all is said and done, we are officially Ryder and Violet Jennings—just the way we were always meant to be.

  I smile and laugh as we accept congratulations and hugs from the small group, and I even hug Vi’s momma without anger. The woman has her flaws, but she’s the only momma Vi’s got and someday, she’ll be grandmother to our children.

  Our small reception is just perfect for us, right on down to Daisy pullin’ my truck up and playing Violet’s and my song, Blake Shelton’s ‘Mine Would Be You.’ Now more than ever, the words ring true.

  Baby, if I had to choose

  My best day ever

  My finest hour,

  My wildest dream come true

  Mine would be you

  After the dance is finished and our little cake is cut, Uncle Zeke and Vi’s granddaddy pull us aside. I’m assuming it’s to gloat about how their plan worked. As far as I am concerned, they can gloat away. What they did worked, and I am thankful.

  Putting one arm around me and one around Vi, Uncle Zeke turns and gives me a smile. “Youngn’s, I got somethin’ to tell ya. That whole will wasn’t worth the paper it was written on. Your granddaddy’s will was written four years ago and it hasn’t changed. He left everything to you and Vi, free and clear.”

  My mouth opens in stunned disbelief for about two seconds before I start laughing. “So the whole thing was a lie?”

  Uncle Jonah lets out a laugh before he smiles at me and nods. Gesturing at Uncle Zeke he says, “Before Weston got called home, the three of us came up with what your granddaddy called the fail safe plan. We knew you were still in love with Vi, but we also knew you were angry. Weston knew he wasn’t going to be here to support and help you through your anger, and it was tearin’ him up real bad to think that there was a chance that you two wouldn’t get back together. He commented to Zeke and me that he wished he could make it a rule in his will… and one thing led to another.”

  With Zeke’s arm still around her, Violet turns and gives him a big kiss on the cheek before running into her grandfather’s arms. Over and over again she says thank you. I’m feelin’ pretty darn emotional myself, so I turn to Zeke and give the old coot a big hug. I’m surprised but happy when he hugs me back—Uncle Zeke’s never been overly affectionate. After we finish hugging, I go right to Uncle Jonah and give him one hell of a thank you hug as well, this hug shared with Vi who is still thanking him for always being there for her.

  After everyone has gone and the two of us are walkin’ back to the ranch house hand in hand, we’re both still laughing about how crafty and smart those old men were. That day in Uncle Zeke’s office when he told me the ‘conditions’ of my granddaddy’s will, I thought I was doomed. Now, I see that he saw his one last chance to make sure that Vi and I wound up together and he took it. What I was so sure was going to be so hard to handle actually turned out to be the best thing that could have happened.

  The End

  I have seen and talked to the dead forever, more specifically to ghosts of the Jean family lineage. In fact, I, Matilda Jean’s (Maddie to my friends) very first conversation was with great aunt Tilly from mom’s side who died in 1920 at the age of fifteen. It was a month after my third birthday. You know the age where things start sticking and you start forming memories you can recall. I remember that day because I wanted to play with my brother, Brayden, but he was in his tree fort. Girls weren’t allowed in there. Especially, red-headed, hazel-eyed, freckle-faced three year olds named Matilda Jean.

  There I was, standing on the other side of Brayden’s tree fort door, begging to be let in and him saying, “No, you have to know the password,” over and over in a teasing lilt. That’s when great aunt Tilly showed up and whispered in my ear, “Turkey.”

  Me, looking at aunt Tilly as nothing more than the bestest friend in the world, repeated “Turkey,” aloud. Brayden’s freckled face came peering out the fort window. Blue eyes wide as he looked down on me and said, “What’d you say?”

  “Turkey,” I repeated, though back then it sounded more like “thurchey.”

  Brayden shook his head and disappeared back inside. A second later metal was rattling while my brother’s exasperated voice was yelling, “Which one of you told her the password? I gotta let her in ‘cuz I promised my mom I would if she got the word right.”

  After that, seeing deceased members of the Jean family tree became a regular occurrence for me. Charlene Jean, my mom, told me that it was the voodoo blood still running through the Jean women’s veins generations later which allowed me to communicate with my relatives from beyond the grave.

  Cousin Henry came around whenever I watched movies, particularly Shakespeare ones. He’d sit down beside me and start reciting lines. Great Grandma Gertrude usually came around when there was baking to be done. And great Aunt Tilly always showed up to play games or help with reading.

  Whether it was voodoo blood in my veins or not, whatever the reason for my ability, it was definitely tied to the Jean’s genes because all the dead ancestors I’d encountered hung from the Jean branch. Most of them were a friendly sort. A bit sad at times, but they came around to help anyway, like guardian angels or something. The only relative I hated stopping by was Grandpa Jack, my mom’s dad, because he was, as Gram would say, an ornery ass, a particular trait death enhanced in him.

  This ability of seeing ghosts, which made me a superhero in elementary school, a freak in middle school, and an outcast by high school, was now my identity. I wore it like a badge of honor, an honor I didn’t share with anyone anymore. Though I liked being different, I had no desire to fit in and follow the norm, didn’t mean I advertised my difference.

  But … my sixth sense was also the reason why two months ago, exactly one day after my twentieth birthday, I awoke to my mom in the middle of the night at my best friend Tanya’s house. She was sitting at the foot of the bed rubbing my feet like she did when I was little. It didn’t startle me, the foot rubbing was soothing, it actually took me a whole ten minutes of conversation with mom before I remembered I was at Tanya’s and not at my own home.

  It was a full ten minutes more, before the weight of it sunk in … I was talking to my mom’s ghost. She’d fallen asleep behind the wheel on the 82 drove off the edge and crashed into an eighteen-wheeler on a street below. While medics tried to resuscitate her body, her spirit came to me. She was saying goodbye for good.

  “Seriously, Gram, what’s the point? If Uncle Ollie couldn’t be bothered to be at mom’s funeral then why in the world are we bothering to bring him her stuff? It’s not like he cares.”

  Gram glanced over at me, one eye squinted like she was sucking on a salt chip, before looking back at the road. “This was your momma’s last wish and by God we will do it.”

  “Why do you care? Why do you want to fulfill my mom’s last request, she wasn’t your daughter?”

  “Matilda Jean Scott, you watch your mouth,” Gram made the sign of the cross over her chest, “there are two rules you need to know, never speak ill of the dead and always satisfy their last request or else they won’t find peace on the other side and they’ll pull a poltergeist on you.”

  Twenty years and Gram still didn’t acknowledge that Jean women, including me, spoke to the dead regularly. She refused to believe my abilities were real and instead lived under the guise I had imaginary friends stemming from an overactive imagination and two indulgent parents. “Um, Gram—”

  “Maddie Jean don’t you dare start up again with all that voodoo mumbo jumbo. You know I don’t like it. We’re doing this because it’s important to your momma, who was important to you and Brayden and you and Brayden are important to me.”

  Gram did another sign of the cross over her heart and started fidgeting with her CB radio syst
em next to the steering wheel. It was Gram’s polite way of saying conversation over. Gram wanted to satisfy Charlene Jean’s last wish, fine. Why in the hell did she drag me along to do it? This pointless and stupid road trip meant I had to cancel a photography class I’d planned on taking for over six months. A class I was looking forward to. Worse, U-Tech wouldn’t refund the money I’d already paid, putting me out a full fifteen-hundred bucks. I sighed and sank back into my chair.

  Could this fucking RV go any slower?

  I chewed on my thumbnail as desert whipped past my passenger window. I leaned my head on the glass and sighed. Started sliding my feet back and forth before fidgeting with air vents on the dash. I sighed again, readjusted my feet. Crossed and uncrossed my legs. Sat indian style. Put my feet back on the floor. Moved the arm rest up and down. Opened the glove box. Closed it. Sighed again. Swiveled my captains chair back and forth then started tapping out a tune with my feet. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

  “I’m hungry, make me a sandwich,” Gram said, never taking her eyes from the road, “and while you’re at it make sure Dexter’s sleeping nicely in his cat carrier, maybe give him a Frisky.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  I got up and headed back to the tiny kitchen trying to keep my footing as the motorhome swayed like we were on a boat in the ocean and not creeping—top speed in this boat was sixty-five mph—along I-10.

  There on the table next to the counter was a box. Ordinary brown packing box taped shut. It wasn’t a very large box. No bigger than a shoebox and it was heavy, like a bowling ball was inside. Was my mom’s last wish that Uncle Ollie take up bowling? I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what was so important that my mom specified in her will nobody but Uncle Ollie was to open it. Good old Uncle Ollie, mom’s older brother, more like stupid Uncle Ollie, one of only two siblings mom had, and the only sibling not at her funeral. Couldn’t be bothered with trivial things like burying his baby sister.