By James McKimmey
James McKimmey's Cornered! is as hardboiled as they arrive. It has an air of mystery of evil and desperation that lends it a noirish appeal.
After giving incriminating testimony opposed to a gangster in a homicide trial, a tender girl adjustments her identify, dyes her hair, and runs for her lifestyles. She is accredited right into a small neighborhood and marries, and it appears like she has escaped vengeance, yet less than the blanketing snow of a midwestern snow fall a stressful human typhoon is brewing. The quiet of town is disrupted by way of a dangerous shootout, and a determined killer stalks the lady chargeable for placing his brother on dying row. because the tale progresses, a disparate workforce of characters converge in a fateful confluence that may switch their lives.
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Example text
Her hand closed around an enormous, blood-gorged pole of muscle. It pulsated in her hand like an animal and almost weeping with grateful ecstasy she pointed it into her own wet, turgid flesh. The thrust of its entering, the unbelievable pleasure made her gasp, brought her legs up almost around his neck, and then like a quiver, her body received the savage arrows of his lightning-like thrusts; innumerable, torturing; arching her pelvis higher and higher until for the first time in her life. she reached a shattering climax, felt his hardness break and then the crawly flood of semen over her thighs.
How would his own three sons have reacted to such a tongue-lashing? Santino would have sulked and behaved badly for weeks afterward. Fredo would have been cowed. Michael would have given him a cold smile and gone out of the house, not to be seen for months. But Johnny, ah, what a fine chap he was, smiling now, gathering strength, knowing already the true purpose of his Godfather. Don Corleone went on. “You took the woman of your boss, a man more powerful than yourself, then you complain he won’t help you.
She felt something bumming pass between her thighs. She let her right hand drop from his neck and reached down to guide him. Her hand closed around an enormous, blood-gorged pole of muscle. It pulsated in her hand like an animal and almost weeping with grateful ecstasy she pointed it into her own wet, turgid flesh. The thrust of its entering, the unbelievable pleasure made her gasp, brought her legs up almost around his neck, and then like a quiver, her body received the savage arrows of his lightning-like thrusts; innumerable, torturing; arching her pelvis higher and higher until for the first time in her life.