“I was involved with Lily…on the rebound,” Sumi went on. “Anyway, with Lily, it was just about sex. Nothing like the way I feel about you. What happened to us, Milan? Why’d you cut me out of your life?”
Milan felt a terrible twinge of guilt. She’d never felt anything except lust for Sumi and it was time to allow her to get on with her life. Find true love with Ms. Landers, Harper, or someone who wanted a lesbian affair. It was time to tell Sumi the truth.
“Sumi, I’m going through something right now. I can’t be in a relationship with you…or anyone else, for that matter.” Milan relayed the news as gently as she could.
Sumi was briefly silent. Then, as expected, she erupted into a violent, profanity-laced tirade, a searing mixture of Korean and English curse words, hurled like knives.
Milan quietly disconnected the call, truly grateful that she wasn’t within the range of one of Sumi’s chamber kicks.
Who knew what vengeful tactics Sumi would come up with? Pure Paradise still wasn’t out of the woods yet. Milan still wanted to talk to Maxwell and hear his take on the subject. Whatever he thought best, she’d still demand that he send a team of top-notch attorneys to counsel her on the right course of action.
Though the single beep from her cell was barely audible, Milan was jolted awake. She sprang upright, disgusted that she’d slept through the ringing phone and had missed Maxwell’s call. Urgently, she reached over to the nightstand for the cell, expecting to see the voicemail message icon lit. But, surprisingly, Maxwell had left a text. He never did that.
Curious, she clicked on the text icon, and was startled to see a one-word message: Baby…
Her eyes shot upward and spotted Hilton’s number. She flattened her hand against her heart to control the excited pounding. He hadn’t said anything really conclusive, didn’t ask how she was doing, didn’t state that he missed her or was sorry for the way things had ended.
But that one word, baby, said it all.
The breakup wasn’t irreversible. There was hope for their relationship. Hilton still cared!
And Milan had enough sense to know that Hilton wasn’t ready to discuss their problems. He just wanted her to know that she was on his mind.
In her darkened bedroom, she imagined that she saw sparks of multi-colored lights shaped like miniature valentines, igniting like an array of fireworks.
She peeked at the one-word message again and then snapped the phone shut. With a smile on her lips, she tugged the duvet over her head, snuggled into a cushy pillow, and fell into a dreamy sleep.
CHAPTER 31
Milan sneered at the monitor in her office. Sumi was such a slimeball! There she was in living color, climbing up on the massage table and working her tight pussy muscles on Ms. Landers’ clit. Ms. Landers, or Jill, as Sumi had taken to calling her, was too prudish to get naked. She was still wearing her designer clothes and pumps. Her dress was hitched up around her waist, her spindly legs gapped open. Sumi was putting it on her so good; Ms. Landers’ cosmetically tightened face was contorted in a horrible sexual grimace.
And Sumi, behaving like the slutty ho from hell, was pussy snapping hard and fast like she was possessed, while talking dirty in Korean. Ms. Landers arched upward, clutching Sumi’s small waist as she pulled her closer, on the verge of cumming.
Sumi pulled away and hopped off the table.
“What’s wrong? Don’t stop. Please. It was right there. My orgasm was right there.” Ms. Landers looked distraught, reaching out for Sumi, her arms flailing like a woman drowning.
“Shh,” Sumi comforted. “Lie down. Relax,” she urged. “I have a big surprise in store.”
Though furious that Sumi had disregarded her orders and continued to run Pure Paradise like a whorehouse, Milan leaned forward, eyeing the monitor, eager to know what other deviant sex act Sumi had in store for the horny, rich matron.
“I want us to come together, Jill,” Sumi said softly, as she stroked Ms. Landers’ salt-and-pepper hair. “Have you ever made love to a woman with your mouth?”
Ms. Landers grimaced and shook her head adamantly.
“Don’t care about me, Jill?” Sumi purred.
“Yes, but I don’t know how.”
Sumi was already climbing back on the massage table. “It’ll come naturally,” she assured her new lover. Turned in the sixty-nine position, Sumi aligned her vagina with Ms. Landers’ pursed and unwilling lips. Stretching her neck, she aimed for the woman’s clit, and then applied light, teasing tongue strokes until Ms. Landers became so excited, she parted her own lips and drove her tongue deeply inside Sumi’s tight walls.
Milan watched furiously as the two sluts gave each other pleasure. Sumi had a hell of a nerve, conducting her illicit affair right in Milan’s face and in her place of business. Sumi was deliberately continuing to desecrate the business that Milan was trying to clean up and put back on track. She and that rich ho could have conducted the co-mingling of their cunts in a hotel or at Sumi’s place. It was disrespect of the highest degree and Sumi would be dealt with eventually.
The moaning and sighing coming from the speakers was so loud and annoying, Milan wanted to slap the shit out of both boisterous bitches. And just when she thought they were finally ready to bust a couple of nuts, the door to the massage room eased open.
Milan’s jaw dropped when she saw Deputy Dawg enter the room, his chest poked out in self-importance, badge gleaming, one hand on his nightstick and the other on his gun as if Milan had personally called him to handle some shit.
Then to Milan’s utter amazement, Royce instantly lowered himself down to his knees and began to stealthily crawl toward the massage table. It was both stunning and sickening to watch him crawling across any floor other than the one inside her office, but she thought she’d pass the hell out when he started sniffing the air like a dog in heat, his long bumpy tongue lolling outside his mouth, his eyes glazed over with lust, and even more unsightly were the streams of drool that spilled down the sides of his hanging jowls.
Ms. Landers, preoccupied with her first venture into the intricacies of pussy sucking, had no idea that Royce had entered the room. While Sumi licked Ms. Landers’ clit, Royce lifted up to the table and braced himself with the heels of his hands; his fingers hung limp, positioned to resemble a dog’s begging paws. With his bump-roughened tongue, he licked the length of Ms. Landers’ parted labia, lapping up her pouring juices while Sumi sucked the old broad’s clit.
Milan clenched her teeth and clamped her hands over her ears in preparation for Ms. Landers’ big orgasm and the accompanying explosion of deafening sound that the loud woman was bound to emit. Milan had heard her scream yesterday and knew Ms. Landers was capable of hitting notes high enough for a dog to hear.
She was not, however, prepared for the violent tremors and body-shaking that sent both Ms. Landers and Sumi crashing to the floor. Certain she heard skulls cracking and bones breaking, Milan shut off the monitor, unable to bear the sight of their broken bodies lying in a crumpled heap.
Having a client injured on the premises was really bad news. This latest fiasco was again beyond her scope. Unwilling to hang around and get threatened with another lawsuit, she picked up her purse and called her driver. She didn’t have time to fire Royce, but she’d hand him his pink slip tomorrow. How dare he crawl around, sniffing, panting, and drooling for another woman’s pussy flavor. Admittedly, she hadn’t been using his long and gifted tongue, but before she’d trained him and brought out the canine in him, he hadn’t bothered to use his tongue to its fullest potential.
Right now, Milan was trembling, hyperventilating, and perspiring so badly, the armpits of her charcoal bouclé, collarless, classic Chanel jacket were completely sodden. She needed to get the hell out of Pure Paradise. She knew she wouldn’t stop shaking until she was locked inside the safety of her home.
Sumi was probably injured from the fall, but she had work to do. Milan didn’t know and didn’t care how Sumi would manage it…she could limp, h
obble around on a makeshift set of crutches, whatever it took. One thing was for sure, that slutty little twit had better get herself together and slip into damage control mode.
She required the services of Maxwell’s team of high-powered attorneys more than ever. So, where the hell was that rat bastard? He hadn’t responded to any of her calls. Distressed, Milan pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. Oh, the hell with it! She was sick of Maxwell’s ass. He’d given her the impression that Veronique was sent packing to some place akin to Siberia. But she had a sneaking suspicion that Veronique was somewhere in the shadows and had a hand in Maxwell’s unwillingness to return her calls. If Veronique was back in the picture, Milan might as well throw in the towel.
As ugly and haggard as she was, the woman was a trained dominatrix. Milan was a master at emotional torture but she was no match for a trained dominatrix. Even with the help of Sumi and Harper, Milan couldn’t compete. Sumi and Harper were mean-spirited and kinky; they didn’t know crap about any of the equipment that was installed in Milan’s basement. Milan thought about the mummifying kit that came with instructions she hadn’t bothered to read. She’d bet Veronique knew how to mummify a submissive without an instruction manual.
Milan was really weary of her kinky lifestyle. She wanted something meaningful. She was at the verge of opening her phone and gazing at Hilton’s one-word message, when her better judgment told her to keep her head on straight and to postpone going all gaga until she got some more money out of Maxwell. He owed her for all the services she’d rendered. And if she planned on keeping her business running, she’d have to have counsel from his superior legal team. Sure, she had originally planned to go after all his billions, but Maxwell was becoming more and more of an unbearable headache. Veronique could have him—after he settled his account with Milan.
She wanted to move on with her life and was willing to settle for…hmm. Twenty-five million or so. Yes, twenty-five million seemed appropriate, it was a fair price for the year and a half of dominatrix devotion she’d extended, not to mention how she’d catered to his sick desires by turning the basement of her home into a freak show of a dungeon. Damn! It was going to cost a bundle to disassemble all that creepy equipment—the cell, cages, bondage tables, and other crap, many of which were bolted to the floor. Milan shook her head, thinking about the cost and inconvenience of having her basement remodeled. But it had to be done. Soon! She couldn’t bear to look at any of those torture devices much longer.
Later that night, the ringing telephone brought her out of a fitful sleep. Her silent cell lay on the pillow next to her. Both Maxwell and Hilton usually called her on her cell. It had to be Sweetie. What now?
“Hello!” Her voice was hoarse with irritation.
“Milan Walden?” an official male voice asked.
Aw, shit. Milan sensed trouble. Adrenaline started pumping. She was instantly wide awake. Fully alert. That fucking bitch, Ms. Landers, had called the law on her. And that fucking Maxwell and his team of high-paid and highly intimidating attorneys were nowhere to be found to get her out of this trouble.
“Ms. Walden, this is Agent Whitaker. I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Her mouth fell open. Surely, her ears were deceiving her. She did not hear the person on the other end of the phone identify himself as the motherfucking FBI? A call from a regular Philadelphia officer of the law would have been earth shattering enough, but the FBI! Oh, Lord! What kind of clout did Ms. Landers have?
“I apologize for the late hour,” the voice continued, “but my partner, Agent Pulliam, and I would like to come by and have a talk. Shouldn’t take very long. Just want to verify a few facts.”
A few facts, my ass! She knew exactly why they wanted to talk. They wanted to involve her in a sex scandal and accuse her of using Pure Paradise as a front for hooker-related activities. Her thoughts racing, she thought about that governor who was ensnarled in an FBI probe. Milan gulped in fear, praying that none of the sex providers on her payroll had crossed any state lines. God, she hoped they were all from Pennsylvania. She didn’t need to be slapped with an additional charge of conspiracy to sex-traffic across state lines. What else could they pin on her? She wondered. Ms. Landers had most likely sustained some pretty bad injuries from that fall. Oh, Christ! They’re going to hit me up with assault and battery charges, as well!
What was going to happen to her? Would she be thrown in one of those country-club, white-collar-crime-type prisons, or would she be treated like an average Joe and sent to a women’s penitentiary? Oh, Jesus. Where was Maxwell? She wouldn’t make it very long behind bars. She fully intended to take Sumi down with her—Harper, too. This was their fault for putting up that website for the specialty menu and bringing unnecessary attention and chaos to Milan’s well-run salon. Her place of business was her own private piece of paradise. Now it would be splashed in the headlines. Tarnished and disgraced, forever. Pure Paradise would now be a place for that gaudy double-decker sightseeing bus to make a pit stop so the polyester tourist crowd could point, gawk, and snap pictures to include in their Philadelphia slideshow.
“I don’t understand. Uh…what is this about?” Milan feigned innocence, trying to buy herself time to string together a bunch of lies—some sort of alibi.
“We prefer to speak in person, if you don’t mind,” the agent said.
There was an explosion inside her head—the thunderous detonation of her world collapsing around her.
CHAPTER 32
Where was Sweetie when she needed her? Fast asleep with her phone unplugged, most likely. Lazy heifer!
Milan quickly threw several items in an overnight bag—a small tote on wheels. She packed underwear, a pair of jeans, a couple T-shirts. Ballet flats. Casual and comfortable travel wear.
She had no intention of sharing a few facts with the feds. That was out of the question, at least tonight! She had to flee—seek refuge somewhere, get her head together while she got her story straight.
She could kill that fucking Sumi for getting her in this position. She could easily strangle that hussy with her bare hands for creating that scandalous menu. All this drama, including Ms. Landers’ concussion, or whatever had happened to the ol’ bag, was Sumi’s fault.
Milan should have known better than to give an unqualified person so much power. But because she had tried to uplift another person, she’d been destroyed. It was outlandish that an ex-secretary—a virtual nobody—had driven her business into the ground. And now Milan had to scurry out into the cruel world, back on the lam, again. Fuck!
She zipped her luggage closed and then remembered she hadn’t packed any toiletries. Inside her elaborate bathroom, she scooped up her essential beauty products, the notions and potions she absolutely could not live without.
Then the doorbell rang. “No, no, no!” Milan stamped her foot in time with each word. With her getaway plans foiled, she slid the packed tote on wheels under her massive bed. She checked her appearance and then quickly spritzed her neck with Kimochi. Perhaps the unusual fragrance could entice the agents, woo them senseless with her seductive scent, persuading them to look down another path for the real criminal—some lowlife type who wore stinky, cheap cologne. It was worth a try.
The doorbell rang again. The sound seemed louder, more persistent, and extremely intimidating. She doused her wrists with the fragrance and went downstairs to open her door to two very unwelcome guests.
Milan wore a welcoming smile that was so wide and so fake, her eyes slanted and her face hurt. But this was not a social call. The agents didn’t smile back. Their faces were stern and offered not even a semblance of friendliness. They were on official business and made it clear by not cracking a smile or uttering a sound that remotely resembled a greeting.
Both agents flashed gleaming badges encased in leather. Very impressive. But under the circumstances, it was hard to appreciate the badges’ high-polished shine. Royce would no doubt have given a canine tooth to sport such an el
aborate badge, displaying an eagle on top and the words Federal Bureau of Investigation, along with other initials that warned that the bearer of the badge was not to be fucked with.
In Milan’s mind, Deputy Dawg and Sumi should be the people the agents wanted to question. It was they, and not Milan, who were responsible for Ms. Landers’ injuries. In fact, Milan had personally witnessed Sumi working the woman into a frenzy as she sucked her clit and then Deputy Dawg used his bump-ridden, long-licking tongue to literally throw Ms. Landers over the edge.
I will not take the rap for Sumi and Royce, she vowed inwardly. But her rational mind knew that by being the owner of Pure Paradise, she was going to take a hard fall. She swallowed the knot of fear that had formed in her throat.
“Good evening,” she said pleasantly, her insides quivering as she willed her knees to stay still and stop knocking together.
“Good evening, Ms. Walden,” said a ruddy-complexioned agent with intense brown eyes. The other agent merely nodded.
Milan gestured for them to enter. They crossed the threshold, wearing somber expressions.
Inside the foyer, the ruddy-faced guy said, “I’m Agent Whitaker.” His intense eyes seemed to be in motion, darting about and already searching for clues. He made Milan nervous.
“This is agent Pulliam,” Agent Whitaker introduced in his official no-nonsense tone, and nodded toward his partner, a tall man with hazel eyes and a receding hairline. Agent Pulliam gave Milan a quick smile. Her eyes moved from Pulliam to Whitaker. Good cop, bad cop, Milan decided.
“Why don’t we sit in the great room,” she suggested with a pleasing smile, and motioned them to follow her. She allowed a little suggestive sway to her hips, just in case the two agents could be bought off with sexual favors of the kinky kind. She’d do anything to save her neck and there was nothing beneath her at this point. Her basement was a few feet away, fully equipped with freaky furniture and loads of gadgets.
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