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This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Selena Kitt
Tangled Roots © 2008 Giselle Rinarde
eXcessica publishing
All rights reserved
Tangled Roots
By Giselle Renarde
~Prologue~
Simone would have been five or six, maybe seven, the year she found her roots tangled in the garden patch at Nan’s cottage. All the kids around the lake were saying if you ate enough carrots your skin would turn orange and, of course, she and her brothers were determined to put that rumour to the test. Cheeky little monkeys, they gorged on fresh carrots washed in lake water until Nan surprised them in her green galoshes and pink gardening gloves. Luc and Girard stared wide-eyed at Simone, no doubt looking for a way to blame their baby sister for the transgression. It’s not that the garden patch was out of bounds, only that harvesting every single carrot on the lot wouldn’t go over too well. Girard took it upon himself to confess the plan. Cigarette hanging from her mouth like it had been super-glued to her top lip, grand old Scottish Nan cackled the way she always did when she was about to insult someone. Ashes plummeting to earth from the end of her ciggy, Nan replied, “Think your wee faces’ll turn from red to orange, do ya?”
~Chapter One~
Juggling the tub of rocky road in one hand, Simone plucked a tabloid from the rack. What was taking this cashier so long? Jeez, how hard could it possibly be to scan a few groceries? Simone flipped impatiently through her magazine, throwing it down over the display of gum and chocolate bars when she was done. Oh, perfect! Now little miss red smock was chatting with the old man at the front of the line. This ice cream would be rocky mush by her turn at cash.
The Muzak version of MacArthur Park piped through the speaker system made Simone’s skin itch. Those lousy synthetic instrumentals had visions of dinosaurs in the dark dancing in her head. If she was still in line at the end of this song, Mount Vesuvius was going to have a run for its money. The little brat with the bowl cut in the cart in front of her started begging for cough drops. A whole wall of candy, and this kid wants cough drops? Tubal ligation is the answer to so many of life’s little problems. Shaking her head, his mother sang softly in one of those languages that drove Simone nuts.
When the old man at the front of the line started counting out his pocketful of nickels and dimes, Simone couldn’t take it anymore. Her impatience boiled over onto the mousy redhead at the cash, scalding the snivelling brat in the shopping cart ahead of her. “Hey, come on! What’s the hold-up? I’d like to get out of here some time this century!”
The cashier looked up, dumbfounded. All chitchat came to an abrupt halt, the line falling dead silent. That’s when the snot-nosed kid in front of her started screaming, reaching up to his pock-marked mother. Just what Simone needed! Another headache. Like today hadn’t been bad enough already.
Turning towards her, the whingeing brat’s mother spoke softly. “I understand your frustration, sister. Even a small mouse has anger, but I have always respected what old William Shakespeare had to say: ‘How poor are they who have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?’”
What the hell was she yapping about? Why did these people always speak in riddles? Steeling herself against the woman’s warm grey eyes, Simone grunted, “I’m not your sister.”
The act of near-blasphemy made her stomach quake, but those soft grey eyes were still loving, tender despite the abuse. Simone’s face bristled so badly it itched under the easy breezy powder. How could she act so cruel toward her own people? She couldn’t bear to look at this woman, couldn’t be in this line anymore.
“Keep your damned ice cream,” Simone muttered, tossing the tub on the discarded tabloid. When the automatic doors slid open, Simone stepped from the freezer of a supermarket into the sauna of a parking lot. Again she’d managed to park unscathed in the spot reserved for mothers with baby carriages, or whatever that sign meant. Well, how did they plan to enforce a stupid rule like that? Anyway, she drove an SUV. She could be a soccer mom for all they knew.
“Damn it! You’ve failed me again, Squidgy,” Simone scolded her vehicle, climbing aboard the blistering leather seats. Turning the key in the ignition, she cranked the A/C to full power, letting the cold air dry the beads of sweat forming at her temples.
“I wish I had that rocky road now,” she whined, peeling off her classic Karan blazer and throwing it on the passenger seat. The A/C aroused goose bumps along her arms, but there was no way she’d wear that suit jacket again. There it sat as she pulled out of her parking spot, a silent reminder of the day from hell at the stupid job she’d never go back to. At the first red light, Simone opened her window, threw out the jacket, then closed it back up to keep the cool air in.
* * * *
Toby waited naked in bed. That’s how it was every day. Simone liked a good screw after work to settle her nerves. And, man, if she didn’t get it she could be a serious bitch. Kicking off her heels, she walked across the plush cream carpet to the bed. “Hit the gym today?”
“Yeah, I went after my shift,” he bragged, flexing his triceps. “Can’t you tell?”
Simone didn’t respond. His white little body was still on the scrawny side. Sure, he was toned, but he wasn’t buff. Simone liked a man with strong arms, strong shoulders, strong thighs and a nice tight butt. She liked that look, but somehow always ended up with these Toby-like creatures. Her toy was cute as hell with his flopsy bunny hair and schoolboy smile, but for him the road to bulging biceps would be long and arduous. Well, none of that mattered now.
At the foot of her bed, Simone tore off her camisole and her tits cascaded forward. She couldn’t stand to wear a bra during the summer, not under a suit jacket anyway. In the air-conditioned bedroom, her nipples were erect by the time her skirt—the one co-ordinated to the jacket she’d thrown out the window—hit the floor. In her black lace panties, she crawled up Toby’s body like a cougar on the prowl. “You know what I’d like to do to you?”
“What?” He asked, grinning from ear to ear. His cock pulsed against Simone’s stomach as she licked his nipples, biting gently. Then biting hard.
“Cuff you to the bed,” she replied, grabbing the handcuffs from the night table drawer.
“Oh,” he said, making no attempt to conceal his disappointment. What, did he expect today would be different? No, no, no. Simone liked the control. She loved to exert her authority over him, have him do her bidding. Anyway, he should feel privileged just to be in the same room as Simone’s naked body. She was a masterpiece.
Wriggling out of her lace underwear, she crawled across her toy boy and clacked on the cuffs. Ultimate power! Toby motioned for her to set that greedy pussy down on his mouth. Glad to oblige, she gripped the iron rails, sinking down onto Toby’s face. With his firm, hot tongue, he took one long lick of her. Bottom to top, he took his fine time tracing her pussy lips. A soft lick, then a hard lick. Soft, then hard. She’d taught him well. Oh, the alternating pressure had her crying out for more!
Running her hands through his flopsy hair, Simone clamped onto the skinny boy’s head, lifting it, pressing her cunt against his mouth. That’s when Toby’s tongue let loose, flailing rapidly against her selfish clit. Releasing his head, she leaned back and grasped her ankles while he plunged his tongue right up into her. Boy, did it feel big! Simone could nearly feel his tongue against her jealous G-spot. Just a little higher, a little more to the front… No, his tongue wasn’t long enough, but she knew what always was.