by Harley Stone
“Your body is too beautiful for clothing.” His voice had deepened with desire, and his open admiration heated my core.
I slid one hand to my breast, tweaking a nipple, while the other dropped to my bare pussy. He watched as my fingers stroked my folds.
“Does that feel good?” he asked.
Throwing my head back, I nodded. “So good. Don’t you ever touch yourself, Rishi?”
“Sometimes. When I’m alone.”
It was time to push him even further out of his comfort zone. “Finding your own pleasure is important.” I dipped a finger inside my pussy, getting the digit wet before sliding it seductively up my body and popping it into my mouth. Moaning, I made a show of licking my finger clean.
His nostrils flared. “What do you taste like?”
“Would you like to find out?”
His nod seemed uncertain.
Biting my lip so I wouldn’t smile, I fingered myself again before giving him a taste. His eyes widened as he sucked off my juices.
Releasing my finger with a pop, Rishi growled, “Turn around.”
All too ready for whatever he wanted to do to me, I spun and looked out the window. This side of the building faced the Rideau Canal and the Parliament building beyond that. Between the lush trees, the water, and our sixth-story view, it was so peaceful up here.
“Lean against the window.”
I did as I was told, pressing my erect nipples to the cold glass. The shock felt good. Sucking in a breath, I forgot about everything else.
Rishi’s hands roamed my body, petting, squeezing, stroking. I heard him drop to his knees behind me as he gripped my thighs. Before I could look back and see what he was up to, his face slid between my legs like he was a mechanic and I was an engine he was about to service. Leaning back on his hands and looking up at me, he gave me a shy smile before the wet heat of his tongue landed on my folds. Surprised, I gasped. His touch was soft and hesitant, like a child exploring his boundaries. As his confidence grew, his mouth clumsily navigated my most sensitive area, probing, tasting. I let out a moan of appreciation, and his tongue dipped inside my channel before stroking my folds again. Each lick grew more confident, and before I knew it, he was attacking my pussy like it was his first meal in days.
Rishi wanted to bring me pleasure. I could feel it in every lick and suck.
Determined to give him what he wanted, I closed my eyes and focused on the sensations of cold, hard glass against my nipples and his hot, wet tongue on my pussy. Sex was more than just another way to make money. It was an art form. A way to express myself in a giving and taking of pleasure without the possibility of heartbreak.
Sex was the only safe way I could feel a connection anymore.
Amelia and Selina both fell away and for a moment, I existed.
Pressure built. I fought it as long as I could, wanting to stay in that moment.
But finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I exploded.
Finished, Rishi pushed himself back between my legs and stood, tracing his hands up the back of my thighs, over my ass, and up my back to my shoulders.
With weak knees and drooping eyelids, I stayed pressed against the window. “That felt amazing.”
“I enjoyed it as well. Very much. It’s not what I expected. You taste sweet.”
A daily serving of pineapple did the trick, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. “Good. I have no objections to you feasting on me as often as you want.”
Releasing his cock, he rolled on a condom. “I’m going to fuck you now, if that’s okay?”
His manners always made me smile. “I’d like that.” He didn’t tell me to move, so I didn’t.
Grabbing my hips, he positioned himself at my entrance and drove home. Still sensitive, I let out a cry. My sounds only encouraged him to go harder and faster. The plush material of his suit slid against my bare skin, adding sensuality to the experience.
The sounds of flesh slapping, the smell of his cologne mixing with my perfume, the feel of him driving deeper, it was all art. Beautiful. Freeing. But far too fleeting.
Rishi had the sexual stamina of a teenage virgin, and it didn’t take long for him to find his release. Pulling out of me, he got rid of the condom as I collected the shreds of my dress and tossed them into the trash.
When Rishi rejoined me, he had his phone in hand and a disappointed look on his face. “Something came up with a friend, and I need to make a call. Do you have many friends, Selina?”
I didn’t like answering personal questions, and that one cut straight to the heart. The one person in the world I considered a true friend was dead. I had nobody in the world I could trust anymore. “Sure,” I lied.
Brushing my cheek with a knuckle, he gave me a sad smile. “Personal connections are important. They make life a little less lonely. Unfortunately, they also require maintenance.” He shook his phone with a frown. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour or so, but I took the liberty of booking you a massage downstairs to keep you busy.”
I didn’t need constant entertainment any more than I needed personal connections, but there was no use arguing. Rishi liked to spoil me, and I never spurned his kindness. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Looking over my nakedness, he added, “I trust you brought something else to wear?”
“Of course.”
By the time I’d donned a plain blue sheath dress and stepped back into my shoes, Rishi had his phone attached to his ear and was deep into a conversation in his native tongue. I needed to get a room key from him, but figured it could wait until I returned. Grabbing my purse, I blew him a kiss. He smiled. I stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind me.
My masseuse’s hands could bend steel and reshape rock. She diligently worked the kinks of stress out of my neck and shoulders, turning me into a pile of goo before leaving me alone so I could dress. Slithering off the table, I somehow managed to pull my clothes on and slip into my shoes. The bottle of water she’d left by the door barely revived me enough to get me back upstairs.
As I rounded the corner that led to Rishi’s suite, I saw a man stepping away from his door and heading the opposite direction of the elevator I’d come from. Wearing work boots, jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap, he looked like some sort of maintenance worker. Hoping nothing was wrong with Rishi’s suite, I hurried my steps and knocked out my code.
No answer.
Strange, considering the maintenance man had clearly just left.
Wondering if Rishi was still on his call, I put my ear to the door, but couldn’t hear anything.
Maybe he stepped out when the maintenance man arrived?
Possible, but since Rishi had set up my massage, he knew exactly how long it would last. Courteous to a fault, he would have messaged me. He’d never leave me waiting in the hallway.
Maybe he thought he gave me a key?
Still, he would have contacted me if he needed to step out. Wondering if I’d somehow stopped in front of the wrong door, I verified the room number and knocked out my code again.
No answer, no sound, nothing.
Wondering what to do, I leaned against the door frame and pulled out my phone. I had no new emails, so I composed a quick message to Rishi, asking what he wanted me to do. As I waited for a response, something dripped in front of me. I looked up to see if I could find where it came from. In the two centimeters of pale wooden frame that extended out above the mahogany door was a sloppy red X, glistening like it was still wet. My gaze dropped to the carpet to see a few drops had landed, splattering my white pumps with something that looked a lot like blood.
Impossible.
I stared up at the X again, wondering what the hell was going on. My phone dinged with an incoming email. Praying it was an apologetic message from Rishi telling me there was some logical explanation for the weirdness happening above his door, I opened the app.
The email was from me, as in ‘Amelia Davis’ showed as the sender. Nobody who
knew about this email account had access to my real name. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and goosebumps rose across my flesh. The message was yet another Bible verse.
“When I say unto the wicked, O wicked man, thou shalt surely die; if thou dost not speak to warn the wicked from his way, that wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood will I require at thine hand.”
I stared up at the X, the possibly bloody X, and tried to write the email off as a coincidence. My racing heart didn’t buy it for a second. All the air rushed from my lungs and my legs lost their strength. Sliding down the wall, I landed on my ass with a thud.
Something very fucked-up was going on, and I needed to find out what.
Taking a shaky breath, I called the hotel’s front desk.
“Someone killed Rishi.”
That wasn’t how I’d meant to start the phone conversation, but my brain felt like mush. After hours of dealing with the police, and the window closing on a flight I needed to catch, there was no time for small talk. Might as well get right to the point.
“Rishi? The client you’re scheduled to be with this weekend?” Janae asked, sounding almost as confused as I felt.
Polly and I didn’t work alone. There were six of us in the area—well, five after Polly’s death—and although we were each independent entities, we pooled our resources for things like the town car service, background checks, and referrals. A British immigrant who went by the name of Janae had donned the mantle of team mom. She was in her mid-fifties and all but retired, but she kept one diamond-tipped acrylic nail firmly on the pulse of the group. Since Polly’s death, Janae had created an online group calendar, and begged us all to enter our appointments. She must have been monitoring it closely to recognize Rishi’s name.
“Yes. He’s… he’s dead.” I dumped my underwear drawer into my open suitcase and set the drawer aside, not bothering to slide it back into the dresser.
“Who killed him, Selina? Slow down and tell me what you’re going on about.”
It was too hard to hold the phone and pack, so I put her on speaker and dropped the cell on my bed. “I don’t know. Nothing makes sense.” I should have been eating steak au poivre and drinking Dom Perignon champagne at Zoe’s with Rishi, but instead, I was dumping clothes into my suitcase and preparing to go into hiding. I grabbed another drawer.
“How…? Selina, I—”
Taking a deep breath, I started the quick and dirty abridged version as I packed.
“The hotel manager found his body?” she asked when I paused to grab my last dresser drawer.
“Yes.” I closed my eyes against the image that would forever be ingrained in my mind. “Multiple stab wounds. Blood everywhere.”
“Bloody hell,” she breathed.
“Literally. The cops were called, and the security footage was pulled.” Finished with the necessities from my dresser, I selected a few items I couldn’t live without from my closet and stuffed them into the garment bag laid out on my bed. “Detective Monte grilled the fuck out of me, and I told him everything. My god, I thought he was going to throw me in jail. Thankfully, the cameras in the hallway and the statement from the masseuse cleared me. He said I’m not a suspect, as of now. They’re looking for the guy I thought was the maintenance man. Turns out, he wasn’t supposed to be there. They captured his image on the security footage, but his face was blurry, and I didn’t recognize him. I gave them all the information I could, but I don’t know anything useful about Rishi, his family, his friends, or his business.”
“What are you doing?” she asked as I zipped up the garment bag. “What’s that noise?”
“I’m packing. I’m getting the hell out of here.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I showed Detective Monte the emails and told him I’m worried they’re connected to Rishi’s murder and I don’t feel safe here. I’m sure he thinks I’m crazy and someone trying to convert my soul has nothing to do with the murder, but after Polly… He’s letting me go back to the states. I’m only here on a work visa, and my record is clean.” And no matter what I did on the side, the good detective didn’t want the blood of an American third-grade teacher on his hands. “I promised to keep my phone on and come back if he needs me for anything.”
“Where will you go?”
Setting my two large suitcases and garment bag by the door, I looked around the flat, feeling like I was missing something. The picture on my dresser snagged my attention and made my chest squeeze. I scooped it up and added it to one of the bags. “I think it’s better if I don’t tell anyone. I’m sorry. I’m sure I’m overreacting, but…” I had no idea how to finish that sentence, so I left it hanging.
Janae was quiet for a moment, and I thought for sure she’d tell me I was. “You were with Polly before she was murdered, and now Rishi. Paired with those bloody emails… I don’t know if it’s all connected, but something’s going on. It’s probably a good idea for you to get out of here until it’s sorted.”
That wasn’t very reassuring, but at least I didn’t feel crazy for fleeing the country. “Thank you, Janae. For everything.”
“The cops will do the killer,” she replied.
I knew “do” was her British way of saying arrest or capture, and I wished I shared her faith in the system, but Polly’s murderer was still at large. Hell, it might even be the same person.
How?
Why?
I had tons of questions but not one single answer.
“Be careful, Selina,” Janae said.
“I will. You, too.”
I disconnected the call, grabbed my luggage, gave my beautiful home one last look, and headed for the door.
4
Hound
I HAD AN interview scheduled with Morse at eight a.m. sharp, and I couldn’t be late. I’d set my alarm for six-thirty, but must have slept through it, because sunlight was flooding my room when my eyes popped open. Panicking that I’d missed the opportunity I’d been waiting for, I checked the time. It was seven-thirty-eight; I wasn’t late yet, but if I didn’t get my ass in gear, I would be.
The lingering effects of last night’s back spasms and subsequent lack of sleep were kicking the shit out of me. My body begged for more rest, but staying in bed wasn’t an option. Feeling wrecked, like I’d been run through a meat grinder and dipped in vinegar, I got up and hauled ass down the hall to take a shower. Once my teeth were brushed and my hair was combed, I threw on a pair of slacks and a collared shirt, giving myself the once-over in the mirror. The result wasn’t pretty—the circles around my eyes had darkened and I could use a haircut and a shave—but I didn’t have time to deal with any of that shit now. Hoping for the best, I headed downstairs.
The second and third stories of the old fire station that served as our club headquarters housed sleeping rooms and locker-style bathrooms. My room was on the second floor, positioned halfway between the stairs and bathroom. The ground floor was made up of a large common area, an industrial kitchen, six offices, more bathrooms, and a meeting room we called the chapel since it’s where we held our weekly church meetings. On a good day, walking from one end of the building to the other made me feel like a ninety-year-old man in need of a full body transplant. Today, it made me want to drink antifreeze.
Hurrying past the common area, the smell of freshly brewed coffee tempted me to pop into the kitchen and grab a cup, but I was cutting it too close already and couldn’t risk being late. Link’s office was the next room I passed. His light was on, but I didn’t see him. The other three offices—shared by members conducting club business—were dark. Passing them all, I set my sights on the door at the end of the hall.
Morse rented the space for his personal business, and the club gave him a fat discount in exchange for his services. I wasn’t sure what all he did, but knew it had to do with internet security and hosting. By the time I knocked on his door, my legs were trembling, and my head was throbbing. I needed a gallon of coffee, a comfortable chair,
and about a week of uninterrupted sleep, not necessarily in that order.
“Hey, Hound,” Morse said, opening the door and stepping aside so I could enter. “Good to see you, brother.”
Since I’d only been out of rehab for a few weeks, I hadn’t gotten to know any of the brothers all that well. The Dead Presidents had a strict no drug policy and Link made no bones about tossing me out on my ass if I fell off the wagon. I couldn’t blame him. The club was far too important to let one prospect’s addictions jeopardize it. Everyone knew my history, and I caught their concerned glances whenever I got the shakes from muscle fatigue or struggled to keep my balance. I could almost hear them wondering if I was using again. Hell, I was surprised nobody had made me piss in a cup yet.
Sometimes it felt like the whole world was waiting for me to fuck up.
Morse wasn’t like that, though. From the moment I met him, he seemed to accept me. Encouraged me, even. He didn’t make me feel like I had shit to prove, and I appreciated the hell out of him for that.
“Good to see you, too. Thanks again for this.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You don’t know what the job is,” he replied with a smile. “Here, let me show you around.” He led me past a row of computer servers to a desk with an ergonomic chair. “This is where you’ll sit. If the chair doesn’t work out for you, let me know, and I’ll get you another one.”
I was confused as hell. “Where I’ll sit? You mean for the interview?” Why would he care if a chair didn’t work out? How long was this interview gonna take?
His brow furrowed. “You want me to interview you?”
“I thought…” I scratched my head, trying to figure out how to word what I’d thought and why. “Link said…”
Morse grinned. “Ah. That’s the problem. Link’s one of those guys who likes structure and order. He has his way of doing things, and I have mine. I’m not asking you to perform brain surgery here. There’s nothing you can fuck up that I can’t fix. Link said you took a coding class in high school.”