There was something odd about this. About the facts. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
Never mind. I opened up the doc for the book and stared at the screen.
Purple putrescent shaft of magnificence? I needed one of those in this story. Though, on second thoughts, putrescent meant rotting. What else began with P?
“Look what came in the mail before we left.”
When I glanced across, I knew what else began with P. Penis.
G sported a strap-on, fluoro-pink dildo and as I stared, gobsmacked, with my mouth wide open, he grabbed the end, bent it, and released it so it wobbled to and fro.
“Come over here and sit on this.”
I set the laptop aside and my glass on the bedside table then crawled over, unable to stop grinning or eyeing his new appendage. “Isn’t that a little...overkill? I know you’ve got one of your own.”
“Oh, baby.” He raised one eyebrow. “Wait until you see what I can do with two.”
Chapter 6
If only I hadn’t opened the door to our room the next morning. He was there.
Mr. Sleek and sexy in his black shirt, black pants, and black boots. Underneath it all, as I discovered eventually, he wore an arsenal of weapons.
“Miss Llama?” Such a deep voice. I could tell it’d been dredged up from the bottom of the nearest ocean, salted with gravel, and run over by a truck.
My ovaries waved a white flag and fainted.
I nodded, dumbstruck, as any woman would be, by his alpha perfection. “Yes.”
“I’m here on orders from your publishers.”
“What?”
“Your publishers received a death threat and they deemed it best to...reinforce your protection, with me.” He smirked then relaxed into deadpan arrogance.
“Uh huh.” Wheels went clicketty clack in my brain. I had death threats. Like, someone wanted to kill me? Who would want to kill me over a book? But, but, but...I was worth this much to my publishers? Holy cow! “So, you’ll throw yourself in front of a bullet for me?”
His eyebrows went through a few contortions. “Throw? I promise to catch that bullet in my teeth.” Then he smiled and showed me those white teeth.
“Oh. Good. Thank you.”
I shut the door in his face, turned, put my back to the door, and slid to the floor. Luckily, G was in the shower. Explaining why I’d left a wet spot on the floor might be awkward.
By the end of the conference, when we left two days later, Mr. Sexy was gone. By some misalignment of the planets, I hadn’t managed to fuck him, subtly, in a closet where G mightn’t notice. Poor planning on my part.
That would’ve been cheating, I reminded myself.
Cheating? Cheating didn’t count in extreme circumstances. Like, when you had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?
My morals were not happy with this argument.
Gagging myself might be worthwhile next time. If there was a next time.
We arrived home, pulled into the garage, only to find a foreign black vehicle parked in the spare space. We both exited our car and gaped.
“Wow.” G’s eyebrows went into convulsions. “Our babysitter has style.”
“Indeed.” I ran my hand over the polish of the black hood and managed not to orgasm. “You sure this is hers?”
“Who else?”
The vehicle was almost too long to fit in our garage.
Since we’d come back early on a Monday, G had a work day ahead of him. An hour later, I was waving goodbye at the front door. He pulled out in the Subaru four-wheel-drive, aka ummm SUV, and zoomed off down the road.
Across the street, behind the bougainvillea bushes in Mrs. Hope’s garden, lurked a strange man dressed in black.
Mr. Sexy? Surely not. My heart broke into a samba with maracas and all.
He waved to me.
Fuck.
Hurriedly, I shut the door and nearly lost a finger in the jamb.
I was still sucking on the injured finger to alleviate the pain, thirty seconds later...
When a knock came. Three knocks, very precise and determined ones – if you could read that much into the spacing of a knock. Being an author, I could.
I gasped. Couldn’t be...he wouldn’t, would he? Even if it was him, he couldn’t have moved that fast?
Only one way to discover the truth. I wrenched open the door.
“Hello!”
“Oh.” I looked this man up and down, shocked, surprised, not at all pleased, even a little alarmed to the point of wanting to phone the cops.
The top bit, the head, was Master Terence. The rest was almost as round as my fit ball. Had he PhotoShopped himself onto a gym junkie or eaten a lot since the photo was taken? Either way...I snapped my gaze to his face, smiled...either way, what was he doing here?
With an ominous bag in hand? I ran through all the possibilities – duct tape, handcuffs, weapons. Mr. Sexy was across the road, perhaps, but would he see this man as a threat?
“Why...” I glanced over Master Terence’s shoulder and saw no one. “Are you here?”
“You ignored my messages so I figured I should come visit you.”
“Umm. Not really. No, you shouldn’t have. In fact...”
I tried to shut the door but he planted his hand in the center of my chest and pushed, firmly. As I staggered back, the door ripped from my grasp, and he followed me in. God, what a heathen asshole dickwad. Playing it cool might be best, though I seethed. He’d gone past what I considered polite. Fine. I figured I knew what he wanted.
“Don’t yell.” His eyes narrowed and he hefted the bag.
“I won’t.” I smiled amiably. “I guess you’d like to see my basement? I kept it well stocked just in case you turned up.”
His face went through several contortions, reddening as sweat popped out on his brow, but finally he met my eyes with a modicum of calmness. “You did? Have?”
Such a squeaky voice. Eager man.
“Of course. Follow me.” Sashaying, I led him down the stairs to my author cave and ushered him in, trying not to touch his sweaty body. “This is where I write but I have this secret trapdoor at the back.”
At the very opposite end of the long room to my PC station and desk, I shifted aside the rug with my toe then hauled on the ring revealed to open the trapdoor. The metal rungs of the spiral stairs led down into darkness.
“I’ll just get the light switch. Want to take a look?”
When I flicked the switch on the wall, his eyes lit up. “My. Myyy.”
While he was fixated on what was below, leaning over a little, I delivered a swift kick to the center of his back. The small screams and the banging as he tumbled and bounced off the stairs were very satisfying.
Shooting the two bolts on the trapdoor took seconds. I shifted a chest on top, to make sure he wouldn’t escape.
Panting, I considered my options. Police? Leave him there for eternity until he turned into a skeleton so my ancestors could find it and ponder on my evilness? Feed him on dog food and sell him to a feedlot?
I swung around and ran into G.
“Fuck!” I slapped my hand to my chest, calming my frightened heart. “Don’t do that!”
“What?” His mouth was tight, straight. “Come home and find you with your kinky lover from Fetlife? I saw you let him in the door. I left some stuff behind, came back...and found this.”
“It’s not what you think! I shoved him down there. He tracked me down somehow. I don’t know how. I swear!”
“Through this site you joined!” Master Terence’s yelled answer was muffled yet understandable. “You probably okayed it to use your Facebook info and somehow it included your address, phone number. Was easy!”
“See?” I told G. I turned to the chest sitting on the trapdoor. “Shut up, you! You fucking pervert! Tell my husband you came here to attack me!”
We all listened to the silence. After a while, G shook his head solemnly.
“Not saying it!” Master T finally screamed.<
br />
“I hate you!” I yelled back. “Fuck.” I tugged at my hair with both hands. “I can’t believe you think I’d do something like this. Who would?”
“People cheat all the time.”
After a final, disgusted sigh, G marched away and left the room, leaving me feeling deflated.
From the basement came crashing sounds, as if Master T was annoyed at me too. I was tempted to go get our Smith and Wesson from the floor safe and blow his puny brains out, after I shot off his cock.
“Bugger! I hate you double, man! Why couldn’t you go stalk another author? One who writes about serial killers sawing up victims and drinking their blood or people exploding in flame due to demons!”
“I did.”
“What?” I put my hands on my hips then shifted the chest aside so I could hear his answers more easily. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. You’re more fun. Look at all this. Floggers, gags, leather cuffs, and these hook things. What are they for? I mean, who else would have a basement like this?”
“In Australia?” I muttered. “Nobody.”
I left him there and went after G. He wasn’t upstairs, or in the kitchen. I hadn’t heard his car leave and could see it parked outside through the curtains in the lounge room...make that living room. He must be so angry he’d walked off and was now prowling the streets.
When he came back, we needed to talk. God, I was doomed.
I swore and plonked myself onto the lounge...also known as a sofa, to bury my face in my hands. Was my marriage headed over a cliff? All because a crazed stalker fell into my basement?
G was being stupid. This could’ve happened to anyone. Anyone.
I found the emergency scotch buried at the back of the pantry cupboard and poured myself a good glassful. There was something I should be doing, something normal. After swallowing the whole glass, I finally remembered what it was. Aha! Call the police.
Fuck the police.
I had another glass of scotch just make sure I wasn’t dehydrated.
Then I leaned over, fell onto my side and drooled and sobbed. My world was ending. Or I was simply too bloody drunk.
And that was where I was when the cops burst in. They found Master Terence and had a paramedic check him over for damage. I watched it all blearily, handcuffed, and in a slight alcoholic daze. I’d been handcuffed by this six-foot policeman who was surely breaking a whole lot of laws by being as handsome as he was. The uniform...mmm.
“You going to read me my rights?” I smile-gargled at the cop.
“No. This is Australia. We don’t do that here.”
“I don’t have rightsh?”
He grimaced. “You do but kidnapping a man and throwing him into your basement so you can torture him isn’t legal.”
“I never! He sorta fell. Really bloody hard. Oops.”
“Your husband’s verbal report supports this man’s evidence. The paramedic says he has concussion, a lacerated face and contusions, as well as a broken toe.”
“Wow.” I made a big O with my mouth. “Fucking awesome. I didn’t break hishh dick?” I giggled and swayed.
The cop frowned. “No.”
“Pity.”
Then I vomited on his shoes.
Maybe it was best they took me away, least I didn’t have to clean up the puke.
This was all Becca’s fault.
Chapter 7
The charges ended up being this long list of things and some of them I wasn’t sure I’d even done, practiced...perpetrated?
Kidnapping, assault, attempted sexual assault, cheating, child abandonment, drunk and disorderly, attempted bribery of a law enforcement officer, illegal construction of a basement without town planning approval.
The last one surely wasn’t a criminal offence?
I figured I was lucky my lawyer managed to get me ensconced in a psychiatric ward and not a prison. The view out this second-story window was nice, despite the bars in the way. My bed was soft and had a pretty daisy quilt. I patted it, smiling. Even if there was this suspicious blood-stain-like mark in one corner.
I could teach them a thing or two about getting bloodstains out of synthetic fibers. An author often had to do unsavory research.
The buzz from outside said someone had a visitor. My heart lifted with hope. Could it be G? He’d never replied to any of the calls or emails I was allowed.
The door was always unlocked here – it was only the entries to the ward that were locked down, and the windows, of course. Someone knocked, politely, as they waited and didn’t barge in. A few of the nurses forgot social etiquette.
“Come in.”
Debra, one of the ward nurses, poked her head in. “You have a visitor, dear. Nice man. Says he’s from your publisher. Shall I let him in?”
Mr. Sleek and Sexy stepped up, framed by the door, looking as sexy and sleek as ever, and as black-clad.
I gulped. “Sure.”
When he walked in, the nurse closed the door. Was this normal? I had thought visitors would be better observed.
Mr. S and S. stalked to the bed and sat beside me, his weight making the mattress sink and fortuitously tipping me toward him. He caught my shoulder and, after a short pause, pushed me upright.
“Sorry.”
“I’m fine.” Except for the sexual energy forging pathways from my tingling shoulder to all those synapses that got me horny as hell. He hadn’t quite removed his hand, having allowed it to slide down my side to end up resting against my ass where bed and ass met. “Why are you here?”
“Book Two. They want more.”
“Or else you do a hit on me?
“Hah. Maybe.”
Or hit on me. His fingers were stroking up and down, by micro-fractions, enough though. I was hyperaware of those fingers.
“Are you...” I glanced down at his offending hand. “What are you doing?”
“They thought, seeing this is an erotic novel, you might need some inspiration.”
And he was it?
Well, well. What a curious turn of events.
My throat closed and words floundered about in my brain. “Umm. Ahh. What does that mean?”
“What do you think it means?” He tightened his hand on my ass, pinching me, then leaned over while at the same time cupping the side of my head and dragging me closer.
His lips were inches away. His eyes – my god those dark eyes – examined me like I was some very interesting project...only not a school project, more like a tertiary education one where they get you to research human sexual behavior and other fun stuff.
He kissed me, pressing his lips onto mine, invading my mouth with tongue, coaxing me toward him some more. My gasp when he screwed his fingers deeper into my hair made him smile. I could feel his lips move.
“Like that?” he whispered.
Duh. It was in all my books. I frowned, a tad. “Have you read my stories?”
“Of course. Part of this job was to get to know you first. I also know you like this.”
Then he pushed me over with his bodyweight and his strong male arms. He ground his hard cock between my legs, so I had to spread my legs, making my clit sit up and beg for more...figuratively speaking. My clit couldn’t talk. As far as I knew. Though this was fiction and I write weird shit sometimes.
My moans and small curses grew louder; my writhing on the bed grew more exuberant. Then he pinned me down, with my wrists crossed above my head. We were both panting by then but he looked far calmer. His jacket had swung open and beneath it were the crossed straps of double shoulder holsters, with a small knife sheathed in one strap and two magazines of ammo in another.
“Want me to fuck you?” A smile played across his lips.
The arrogance showed. He knew I was about to say yes.
“Uhhh, starts with Y and ends with S.”
He looked upward, clearly thinking profoundly. “Yogas? Yodels?”
I wriggled. “Close.” Fuck. Hurry up.
“Let’s just assume it was yes.
” Without so much as a please, he bowed his head and bit my nipple through my blouse.
Though I squeaked, a second later I was arching into the pain. It was so good it was bad. Wait...other way around.
When his hand was smoothing halfway up my inner thigh, someone knocked on the door, again.
Damn.
Mr. S and S rolled off me, patted my thigh, and stood. “Yes? What do you want?”
The door creaked open, slowly and Tran, one of the male nurses looked in. “Excuse me, but I was wondering, Ms. Llama...” He paused and looked uncomfortable, his face reddening.
I sat up, and began to rebutton my blouse where my bra was showing. A few of the buttons had popped open. “Yes, Tran?”
“I heard that you’re a writer, and...and I was wondering if you’d be able to write my story for me. It’s a true one and all about how I came to Australia.”
“On a refugee boat?”
“No. Jetliner actually.”
“Hmmm. I’m an erotic romance author, Tran. I doubt it’s my kind of story.”
“Erotic?” He cocked his head. “I fucked a few women on the way.”
A few? “You did? Tell me more.” I leaned over and opened a drawer in the side table, removing my notepad and a pen. I took off the cap of the pen and poised it over the paper.
Mr. S and S made shooing motions. “She’ll think about it, Tran. I’m having an important publisher-to-author conversation here, though.”
“Wait on,” I protested.
“Oh.” Tran straightened and backed away, closing the door as slowly as when he’d entered. “Sorry!” he yelled from the other side.
“Why’d you do that?” I tried not to pout and instead screwed one eyebrow, high and judgmental.
“Fucking you is more important than that.”
I took a long, deep breath and considered his notion. Mr. S and S was hot, well-built, and had a body that could probably move mountains, let alone bring a woman to orgasm. He’d have history too.
“Seals?”
“The animal?”
“No.” I shook my head wildly. “Fuck no. Military.”
Fan Anonymous: A True Story if you squint, sort of...maybe... Look! Squirrel! Page 3