Strong Alibi by K.C. Turner (story reading txt) 📗

“No! Of course not.” She grabbed the handle to the car door, “Come on. I have a plan for the rest of the evening. Well, as long as I don’t get another call.”

He began to follow her back into the house. “I’m hoping the chances are slim to none.” As soon as her back was turned, he placed his hands together under his chin, looked up to the sky, and silently prayed he was right.

After hanging her bag on the back of a dining chair, she ventured into the living room and lit a few candles, though she wished it was cold enough outside to burn a fire in the fire place. It’ll be winter soon enough, she thought. She hadn’t changed the place much since moving in. Although she did buy new furniture, the sofa and love seat still created an L shape in front of the fire place and her mother’s blanket hung comfortably over the back of the new sofa. The television remained in the corner surrounded by shelves of vinyl records. Her father’s old multi-record turntable, however, was accentuated by her Bose stereo system where she could play music for hours on end.

She reached the opposite end of the room, knelt down in front of the alphabetized collection, and pulled out The Beatles compilation album, “Hey Jude”, from 1970. Carefully extracting the record from its jacket, she twirled it between her fingers to Side Two, where her favorite songs anxiously awaited the needle to be nestled upon them. Martinez made himself comfortable on the edge of the sofa and watched her every move. She turned to him before laying the album on the turntable and said, “The only time I know of that a needle is actually welcomed.”

He looked at her a tad awkward. With the record suspended between her middle fingers and her thumbs, “Sorry,” she defended, “Just a little criminal-justice-humor. Too much?”

Looking down to the floor as he shook his head and sighed, he looked back up and gazed at her, “Where have you been all my life?”

Giving him a sexy smirk, she set the album carefully on the revolving platter and placed the needle gently on the first groove. “Hey Jude” began to play and Elizabeth turned up the volume until they could hear nothing but the music. She stood up, turned to him, and graciously placed her right hand in front of him as an invitation.

Without saying a word, he gently took her hand and stood up to meet her. Interlocking his fingers with hers, he wrapped his right arm around her tiny waist, almost possessively, and drew her body in close to him. They swayed to the music, ingesting invisible pheromones in the air. His lips brushed her neck sending waves of electricity through every inch of her being. Before the song had ended, they had made their way into her bedroom.

The nervous tension in her stomach battled the every-growing desire to be consumed by him. She whispered with shame, “It’s been a long time.”

He gently kissed her lips and looked into her deep blue eyes. “Remember, you’re in charge here, Liz. You’re the boss.”

If ever three little words had won a war…

With the blankets strewn and windows fogged, they laid on their backs in a satisfied stupor, as if a bright white light had passed between them.

Elizabeth grabbed a red throw from the floor leaving him the sheet. She wrapped it around herself and leaned over to him. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Placing the hair that had fallen onto her face behind her ear, he replied, “A water would be great.”

She smiled, kissed him hard on the lips, and jumped off the bed, nearly skipping into the kitchen. Her legs shook at the weight of her body. She reached the counter and steadied herself. Holy Orgasm, Batman! The shaking subsided with a good stretch of her hamstrings. Reaching into the refrigerator, she debated whether she needed water to hydrate herself, or a glass of wine to help calm her down. She decided both were necessities at this point.

Elizabeth returned to her room where Martinez had his head propped up on a pillow with one arm behind his head; the sheet modestly covering the necessary extremities like a Demigod. Wine glass in one hand, water bottle in the other, her blanket unraveled itself from its tie and fell to the floor.

“Shit!” she exclaimed as she fumbled to place the drinks on the nightstand and cover herself again.

“Well, it’s a little late to be shy, don’t you think?” He said seductively.

Good point. She covered herself up anyway and smiled. She handed him the water and sat down on the bed next to him. She left the wine on the nightstand and reached out for the water once he took a big swig.

Looking at her awkwardly, he asked, “So, I have to share now?”

She was taken aback. “I think we’ve shared much more than water tonight, don’t you think?”

“Touché.” He ran his eyes over her, sighed with pleasure, and made himself comfortable again.

Bending over him, she kissed his forehead and whispered, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Instantly, his sleep deprivation wore off. “Where you going?”

“I’m just going to sit on the porch and look a couple things up online.”

“Awe come on, Liz. Lay with me...”

After taking a sip of her wine she ran her fingers over his smooth bare chest. “Did you know the Pagans believed that the women, after ritualistically having sex with their men, stole their energy from them in order to conduct magic at night?”

He was stunned by her analogy. “Are you telling me you’re a witch, Elizabeth Strong?” Jumping up from his comfort, he grabbed her by the shoulder with one hand while placing the palm of his other hand on her forehead. His voice became deep and hysterically frightening. “Be damned you flagrant devil woman from hell!”

The wine spilled down her breasts and soaked the blanket, her laughter sharply shaking the room. Still laughing,