Below is an excerpt from ‘Progeny Of A Killer‘ by Jean Shorney.
Sometimes the past throws up more than you can handle… When Aidan McRaney is sent into infiltrate the lair of a man obsessed with seeking revenge on the British for the murder of his IRA father, he is forced to confront a past he never knew existed. A fast-paced, tense thriller that will have you on the edge of your seat.
From Chapter Sixteen: Honey Trap….
My sleep is punctuated with so many dreams. Dreams which ostensibly blend,intermingle. Mostly of Caitlan and my children. The cold fear I entertain that I might never see them again. That I have consummately placed myself at Corrigan’s disposal. I dream of our wedding day. How sweet and delicate my bride in her white lacy dress. The way she smiled up at me on reaching my side at the altar. Except- the way it is with dreams-when I lift her veil, I can’t avoid recoiling. It is Judy who stands there, a cold smile etching her face as if to say, “You’ll never escape me. No matter how many women you have in your life.”
It is this which brings me partially awake. Or is it something else that begins to stir me? Gentle fingers are softly probing when they coil around my penis. I can’t help but whisper Caitlan’s name. My eyes remain closed. Because in my disorientated, drugged state, I believe that I am home in my own bed. That Caitlan lies next to me, and I revel in the manipulative pressure of her palms as they caress my balls. Straddling me, she undulates herself almost rhythmically. The experience is one akin to euphoric. Half asleep,barely awake, I reach for her. My penis hardens inside her. The searching fingers rove across my chest. I murmur my wife’s name once more, because I continue to believe that she is the one who manipulates me into arousal. It is only when I feel the touch of her hair falling into my face,her cries of ecstasy arousing me into full wakefulness, that I realise the woman making love to me isn’t my wife!
Fully awake now, I exclaim, “What the hell, Dashurie!” in shock and disbelief. I’m further astonished to observe she’s removed my jeans and shorts, and peeled open my shirt.
“Please,please, I want to make love,” Dashurie starts to protest. As naked as the day she was born, her small breasts are unfettered and swinging free.
“Jesus, Dashurie! Get off me!” I yell at her, and struggle to raise myself from the bed, while admonishing myself for enjoying it, as my organ deflates.
She’s reluctant to leave. I am left with no choice but to push her off. It isn’t my intention to inflict hurt on her,but she falls back onto the bed. Long black hair curtains her face so that I am unaware of her expression momentarily. Pushing her hair back from her face with irritation, I’m conscious of the tears standing in her eyes. Anger negotiates her lips into a tightly strained moue.
“I only want to make love to you.” She attempts to blink back her tears.
“While I was asleep?” Easing myself over the edge of the bed, I reach for the shoes and jeans she had tossed onto the floor.
“I can tell you were enjoying it by your expression.” She traces cool fingers the length of my back.They feel like talons scratching at my flesh beneath my shirt.
“Sure I was enjoying it. I thought you were my wife.” Dragging Levis over my hips,buttoning into them, I confront her squarely, angrily. I’m aware of her face crumpling because she knows how much she has upset me.
Dashurie shrinks from me, appearing almost scared.
“You’re a Honey Trap aren’t you?”
She regards me,mystified at the question. “Honey Trap? I not understand.”
“I bet you don’t, sweetheart,” I mutter. “Somewhere around here,” I pause to scan my surroundings reflectively, “Corrigan has placed some bugs. I couldn’t find them before. But I know they are around here somewhere.”
“You not like sex with me?” She slides from the bed, as delicately as this beautiful butterfly accomplishes everything else.