I feel the heat rise in my groin as he executes the platter lift, his hands igniting the fire as he firmly grips my hips, holding my tiny body above his head, the spinning rink filling my peripheral vision.
Even in the midst of a national competition, I want him. His arrogant way of ignoring me only fuels my burning determination. I’m known for getting what I want, at least with men, but he doesn‘t know me, doesn‘t try to know me.
There are only eleven perfect ways to kill another human being and get away with it. Karl Draiman had been thinking of a twelfth way for many years and he had just written his first novel about it called 'Perfect Twelve'.Book sales were peaking until somebody, somewhere... left a bad review! His lifelong dream of being a…
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