My creative juices are flowing…well, all my juices are flowing. Amy’s been insatiable lately because of her rising prominence as a model. Hell, I’m not surprised at all. She’s gorgeous.
I’m riding pretty high myself, with the release of That Girl Across The Hall. I’ve gotten some really positive feedback. Thanks to all you who left comments, and followed me on Twitter and Facebook. A special thank you to A Grumpy Young Woman for her wonderful review: http://lovesandhatesofagrumpyyoungwoman.wordpress.com/2013/01/22/book-review-that-girl-across-the-hall-by-marc-stevens-2/
But, the real impetus for my new writing energy is her:
Yup, the mysterious blond in the red VW bug. Here’s how it went down.
I was writing like crazy, my head in a great story, when she knocked on my door.
“Okay, sexy, let’s go for a ride.” Her voice hinted at danger and sensuality…or maybe I just imagined that. I had been just writing after all. You know, in the zone.
“Where are we going?” With her, I could only imagine. Who was she anyway? Hell, who cared? She could take me anywhere she wanted.
“You’ll see.” A devious smile played across her face as her tongue caressed her bottom lip.
She pulled me out to the parking lot and motioned toward her bug. “Get in, I’m driving.”
I wondered if that means I’m going down on her this time. She’s wearing a short skirt, and I have a feeling there’s nothing under it but lusciousness.
She gets in the driver’s seat and I notice she doesn’t bother buckling up. “You live a bit dangerously.”
I’m an always-wear-my-seatbelt kind of guy, but I figure she’s driving, what the hell.
She laughs. “I like a little thrill with in my life.”
Well, she seems intent on putting a little thrill in my life also, but she hasn’t steered me wrong so far.
She pulls out of the parking lot, and into traffic. “So do I get to know your name?”
A serious look crosses her face and she shakes her head. “Not yet. You’re not ready to know about me.”
I decide to be bold, and slip my hand between her legs. I was right, no panties. “I have to discover who you are a little at a time, don’t I?”
She was damp as hell, and I slid two fingers into her. “I’ll tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it.” She smiled and I felt her clench around me.
“What are you? My guardian angel?”
She purred, pushing her pelvis into my hand. “Something like that, but don’t ever call me an angel.”
I feel her quiver and I increased my motion, delving deeper. I thought maybe if she was sufficiently distracted she’d slip up and tell me something about herself. “You look like an angel to me.”
“Ha, a lot you know.” Her lips curled. “Angels are pure, chaste…boring.”
She was breathing hard, panting, and I noticed we’re driving about 20 miles per hour over the speed limit.
I worked her hard, and felt her gush on my fingers. God, she felt amazingly silky. “And here I though you came from heaven.”
“Think lower.” There was an evil leer in her eyes.
With a sudden turn of the wheel, we skid into the parking lot of a night club. Rubber squealing against the pavement we slid right up to the front door of the North Point Supper Club.
“Get out. There’s a story in there you have to write.”
It’s just past 4:00 PM and the parking lot is sparsely populated. The building was large, with few windows and dark wood siding. The heavy wooden door had a welcome sign on it, but the place didn’t look very welcoming.
“You coming in with me?”
She shook her head. “You’re on your own, cowboy. I’ll pick you up in three hours.”
I shrugged and got out of the car. I could always call a cab if I wanted to leave before that, but I had a feeling I’d stay the whole time. She knew something, and that’s a bit scary.
If she’s not my guardian angel, what the hell is she?