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.
Okay, I get it. I was coming off a buzz. I was tired, I was dehydrated, and I was distracted by a memory about a similar sharp and pointy thing which was now pressing against the soft flesh between a couple of my ribs.
And I still had my dick in my hand. God, I felt stupid.
I was also still scared enough to not let my hand release my dick for even one second.
“You’ve got your cock,” Candy said, with a glance down between us. She then twisted her stiletto a fraction of a painful inch. “And I have mine. Never touch another woman’s cock.”
I choked, trying to respond. As I said, I was dehydrated.
Candy’s eyes narrowed. I got the feeling she was still deciding what to do about my particular violation. I wasn’t one to let other people decide my life. I swallowed and then coughed just a little.
“Candy,” I said, keeping my eyes on her and doing my best not to look down at her blade. I didn’t want her thinking about that blade at all.
Not. At. All.
“I-if you would forgive my transgression, I promise never to touch anything of yours again.”
See? I told you I sometimes surprise myself with what comes out of my mouth.
I didn’t for one second think that I sounded confident or controlled. I was a full, man-sized chickenshit, and I didn’t care that she knew it.
I did let go of my dick, though. A little. It was no longer quite in the death grip I had put on it earlier. Blood flowed back to the head, and my fingers ached less.
Candy didn’t say anything yet. She kept looking at me with that poker face. But now I could see something else in her eyes—now that I was looking at them. It was almost as if she were trying to decide if I were trustworthy.
I blinked. My eyes hurt. I had been staring.
I didn’t know what to think, so I kept my mouth shut and tried appearing as helpless and at her mercy as I could. I didn’t have to act.
Finally, she looked past me to the rest of my place, her eyes lingering on something. I imagined it was Clint. Oh, please let it be Clint and not the bed. Please don’t let her be thinking about how she could use the sheets to cover up my body and all my blood after she stabbed me to death.
She looked back at me, and I almost jumped. I did jerk a little.
I waited. She was silent.
I started to clear my throat again, intending to answer her, but she beat me to it.
“You know a lot of people, don’t you?” Candy asked.
I blinked again. What the hell was this about?
I nodded, probably a little too enthusiastically.
“You won’t say anything about this, will you?”
It was a directive.
I shook my head, “Not at all. It didn’t even happen.”
“Of course it didn’t happen,” Candy replied, “You’re still alive aren’t you?”
There it was.
She meant that. She was dead serious.
What the hell was going on?
I was getting cold. Thirsty and cold. I furiously wanted a drink, but didn’t want to mention my discomfort. Didn’t want to let her know all my weaknesses.
The Candy before me was a very different person than the one I had fucked. This Candy was quite capable of fucking me, and not in a pleasant way.
Her blade had been used. I was certain of it now. I tried to go in my memory of any murders in the area recently. Anything with stabbings or the like.
Not a fucking thing came to me. Who could think in my present state?
“I’m going to put my cock away,” Candy said with great clarity and deliberation. “And then you and I are going to talk about the people you know.”
There was no question that she was in control and very used to that position. It was then I noticed she didn’t even look tired. Coke or something. Had to be, though her eyes weren’t wide. And to tell the truth, she didn’t give off the vibe of being electrified from the inside.
Candy withdrew her stiletto. I could feel a sharp ache where it had been. I imagined that if I looked down, I’d see a little blood.
And then it hit me.
I had been used. Like her stiletto.
I thought I had asked her out, that I was the clever one, when the whole time it was Candy working me.
She had been too eager to come back with me.
Well, I didn’t even question it. She was a porn actress, for Christ’s sake. The way she moved and responded on set—I thought she was a nymph, and it would be easy picking.
Candy put her blade back in her bag with an eye still on me. She smiled.
“Relax, Gail,” she said, rising and moving off to lie down on the bed. I watched her and was still struck by how fucking hot she was. “Take a shower, eat, drink, whatever. We’re going to be here a little while. Talking. You’re going to tell me things.”
I wanted to look at the door. I terribly wanted to look at the door, maybe just to make sure it was there. In case I wanted to rush out into the hallway or something.
But I knew Candy would get to her bag before I could make it. I said she was fit, and I meant it. Hell, I honestly think she could take me in a fight.
With her stiletto—absolutely.
Shower. Drink in the shower. I kept an emergency bottle of rum under the sink behind the extra toilet paper. I needed that. Just to take the edge off this…whatever the fuck this was.