Cruel Lucy
A knock came at the expensive hotel room door, and my already palpitating heart throbbed harder. Palms clammy, mouth dry, I croaked out a reply.
“Come…come in please.”
The door opened, and framed in its space stood the most beautiful woman I’d ever dreamed of seeing.
The room was dimly lit by only two candles, and the hall behind her blazed with incandescence. Gloriously backlit, she was at first but an intimidating silhouette: legs spread, shoulders squared, one hand holding a heavy satchel and the other the doorknob. Then she stepped inside, swept the door shut and locked it. Turning back to me she dropped the satchel and removed the thigh-length black vinyl raincoat she wore. Tossing this aside she posed silently a moment, hands on her hips, legs again challengingly sprea
