E.G. Saunders took the thriller genre, blindfolded it, bent it over, and f*cked it hard. It's the same feeling his main character got when he was enticed—or was it threatened?—by a dominant, seemingly crazed beauty, into a story that will have you clutching your privates. And whether that's out of fear or pleasure is up to you.
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Chapter 3
My mouth was dry and full of the taste of Candy’s pussy. I wanted two things at that moment, and the other one was a coke and rum.
All the air that came into me had Candy on it. My lips, face, the inside of my nose and mouth were covered in Candy.
I shook my head and opened my eyes. I couldn’t help but chuckle at what I had just gone through. Yes, I would have to get myself checked for the normal blood and dick critters, but damn I think it was worth it even if I came up positive.
The shower was running.
I honestly didn’t think she’d still be here. And then quickly I had to check my memory to make sure I was in my place and still with that same woman. Sometimes I get so fucked up…
No. My place. Spartan. A little dusty and dirty in the small dark corners of the room—nothing anyone I would invite back would notice or mention.
I looked up and winked at my signed photo of Clint, cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth, hat blocking out only enough sun that he still had to squint.
It was an actual film plate from The Good, The Bad and the Ugly—don’t anyone think they can tell me any character was a good person in that film. I scored it from an editor I knew back in the day. Back when the drink hadn’t taken hold of me yet, and I was worth a fuck lot more than now.
Singing.
Damn, Candy actually has…she’s got a beautiful voice. And not many hours ago that mouth was around my dick in almost as beautiful a way.
No. That wasn’t true.
Her singing was better.
I’m not knocking her skills with the flesh flute, but God…her voice. I almost felt a little ashamed for what I had put in that same space.
I got up and immediately had to hold onto the bed. Dehydrated. Balance precarious. Yes, I can actually use words like that. Surprise myself what comes out of me sometimes.
Speaking of my mouth, it was still dry, and it wasn’t any wetter. I looked at my little fridge against the wall, close to the bed. I was pretty sure I was out of rum. Probably had some coke left, but…
Her voice.
Aw, hell.
I got up and went into the kitchen. I don’t know what Candy was singing, but it had just a little church choir flavor to it. Couldn’t drink to that. Something sacrilegious about it. I didn’t really believe in God—no matter how often I used His name—but I also liked to play favorable odds whenever I could. I feel I pretty much got the saved thing going on for me from my Catholic inculcation, that confirmation and baptism stuff, but I didn’t want to test the hot waters in the face of that beautiful sound. Was like God coming through her.
I immediately struck the thoughts that flew into my head at that. She had enough coming in her these last couple of days without my adding God’s juice to the mix.
Fuck it.
I’ll drink the water from the shower head.
I started on my trek to hellish oblivion and thoughts of interrupting Candy’s choir when I noticed her satchel.
That was the thing about Candy; she carried a fine leather satchel. Wait…it was actually—a shoulder bag, that’s it. Okay, so satchel wasn’t the word. Fucking forgive my lack of accurate description when I’ve got pussy and God on my mind.
So, a fine leather shoulder bag. And it opened at the top. Tugging on its strings pulled the top closed. Only, it wasn’t closed now. I could see something sharp and shiny in there. It looked like a blade. A stiletto.
I had worked on some good films in my time. One of them starred this Japanese guy…I can’t remember his name now…but he used a stiletto. I was familiar with stilettos.
He got pissed off at me once because I kept talking with his girl, Erin, I think, between takes. I didn’t know she was his girl, she wasn’t Japanese, so I didn’t make an obvious connection. I just thought she was his personal assistant. Fine woman, she. Not in Candy’s league, but she had her own gifts. Fine arching brows so well plucked you almost couldn’t tell they weren’t birthright. She had a sweet smile—and I mean sweet. She played it over me in a way that said she was free and not at all like she was with stiletto boy.
But…Tony! That’s his name, Tony Li. Yeah, original, I know. Everybody has fucking Bruce Lee variations in the martial art gigs. At any rate, little ol’ Tony Li made an obvious point of sharpening his stiletto—who the fuck sharpens a stiletto?—in front of me as he asked me flat out why I was talking with his girl.
You could’ve kicked me in the nuts right then and there and gotten same look I must’ve given him. What a waste. And Erin and I, or whatever her name was, were having such a meaningful time.
So, yeah. I know stilettos.
Candy was packing a stiletto.
It fit, I suppose. I mean, with her body and face, her choice of profession, I imagine she needed something like that to fend off the wolves she didn’t want to fuck.
Made sense.
I stared at it. I reached out and moved her bag just a little. Yep. It made sense.
And it scared the hell out of me.
I couldn’t put a finger on why, but there was something…used about it. And I don’t mean she slid it up her fleshy sheath. I mean…well, damn it, it looked used. Dirty somehow. Nasty.
It wasn’t…clean.
I nudged the bag open a little more and touched the fine blade. Goddamn everything about Candy was fine. Shit. Yep. I wiped my fingers off on my leg. There was something unclean about it, and I wanted to wash my hands off in another building far away.
And then I froze.
Candy was standing three feet from me.
She didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She wasn’t happy. She wasn’t angry or sad. It was a fine poker face. Just fine.
That scared me even more.
“Uh…” I said. Brilliant me. Two letters that meant nothing when put together as you stand nude in front of a beautiful woman who was also nude. Her nudity put mine to shame, though. My lack of vocabulary in that moment did the same.
Before I could think how she had gotten so close to me without my noticing, she was in front of me with the stiletto in hand. She made a simple, swift movement and brought the fine blade up to my chest, right where I imagine my chicken-beating heart was.
I don’t know why, but my dick was in my hand before I realized I had moved to protect it. It was a stupid fucking thing to do. Save my dick? Really?
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