This is from the horror novel I self-published ten years ago, which has been re-edited. I've presented it to my publisher in the hopes they will release the new version.
The truck driver stared down at the nude woman splayed like cheap living art across the motel room bed. He wondered what in God’s name he was doing three hundred and fifty miles from home the night before Thanksgiving.
It had nothing to do with the woman lying before him like an offering to some lustful pagan god. She was magnificent in her bold wantonness, a high priestess of men’s longing and sexual rage.