The Color of Blood by M. K. Fottrell

Author:M. K. Fottrell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Fiction Works
Published: 2012-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Los Angeles, California

Morton Decker took another look around the grimy motel room. He had placed the motel typewriter and stationery on the small round table that stood in lieu of a desk. Morton had already typed his name, address, and the date at the bottom of the page and signed it. He checked to make sure the signature went through the carbon to the next page. The bottle of amaretto liqueur was on the nightstand with two motel glasses beside it. He hoped Sybil would arrive soon; he didn’t want to be in this room much longer. It smelled of other people’s lust.

They had asked Morton if he wanted the hourly or nightly rate when he had checked in. Morton had blushed and stuttered and taken the nightly rate. Now he wished he hadn’t. He looked at the double bed in the center of the room and pondered whether the sheets had been changed. He had no intention of finding out; he would not be staying.

He was beginning to get nervous, wondering why Sybil was taking so long and why the strange requests. He looked at the typewriter. Maybe she wants a contract written here. Yes, that’s it. His eyes moved over to the bottle he’d purchased and then to the bed. Suddenly, the obvious answer jumped out at him. Sybil was going to seduce him to get the negatives without paying for them. Morton began to fidget excitedly; the thought of the remote Sybil Lane, nude and at his service, thrilled him. He imagined her soft body tied to the bed, himself pumping away furiously on top of her. Maybe he would reduce the price of the negatives, but he wouldn’t just give them to her, no matter how good she was in bed. After all, he still had Cherisse, and she had been a showgirl. Cherisse made him feel like a king when she wanted to. But ever since she had gotten pregnant, she hadn’t wanted to. Maybe she would after they moved to the bigger house.

Morton looked around for something to tie Sybil up with. The towels, he decided were too thick to use for restraints. In desperation, he walked to the bed and shook the pillow from its case. He tried to rip it at the seams, but the threads would not give. It was then that he heard the knock at the door. Morton pushed the pillow and case back under the spread and walked to the door.

He’d have to think of an alternative to bondage. He hoped he would be inspired. Morton opened the door. All he could see was Sybil’s blue eyes, peering at him over the top of her sunglasses, and the row of trees behind her. The room was in a secluded section of the motel. He grinned at her and let her inside.

She was dressed in navy blue. Like a nomad in a sandstorm, every portion of her body was covered in the dark material; from the cloak wrapped around her, to the gloves on her hands.

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