Make Me Scream

Wed, 23 Jul 2008 56:07:38 GMT

Chapter One
Hip deep in drug dealers, rogue cops, prostitutes and assorted bad guys, aspiring mystery writer Devon McCloud frowned and tried to recapture his train of thought.
The PI hero of Devon's book had just discovered the lead witness for the crime family hiding naked in his bed.

The woman stroked my impressive erection. "Are you going to kick me out?" the buxom blonde asked with a sultry pout. "Something just came up," I replied. "I can help you with that," she whispered, stroking my length. "Put your mouth where your money is," I hissed in a breath when she took my advice. Her mouth closed over me, practically swallowing me whole.

Okay ... now what? The flashing cursor on the screen of his laptop mocked him.
Out in the courtyard of the little beachfront apartment community he managed as his day job, voices rumbled. His fellow tenants were starting their nightly celebration early.
Above the laughter and conversations, a deep bark sounded, followed by the shrill voice of his neighbor, Francyne Anderson. Devon's mouth quirked. Petunia, Francyne's one hundred and fifty pound rottweiler, must be joining the party tonight.
Deliberately shutting out the noise in the courtyard, Devon narrowed his gaze at the flashing cursor.
"C'mon, Mac, be brilliant. What would Trent say?" Trent was the hero of his work in progress, Darkness Becomes Her. A PI with the prerequisite heart of gold, Trent not only got all the bad guys, he got all the girls.
Devon sighed and rocked back in his desk chair. Maybe that was the problem with finishing the book. Trent had scored approximately every five to seven pages. He, Devon, hadn't been laid in months. Heading way too close to being a year. He didn't have the time, which made him an even more pathetic loser. Who doesn't have time for sex?
Voices rose in the courtyard.
Him, that's who didn't have time for sex. Devon Edward McCloud. With working on his novels by night, writing catalog copy for sex toys by day which oddly did not help his lack of sex problem while attempting to maintain some sense of normalcy with the rowdy tenants of the Surfside Villas apartment complex, who had the time or energy for sex?
Male laughter vibrated his walls. Opportunity wouldn't hurt either. Of the eight apartments in the old complex, five were o ...

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Make Me Scream