by Song, Myra
“I’ll send over the details and paperwork,” I offer, standing to leave. “Oh, and one more thing. What is Miss Martin’s address?”
The Chief’s expression morphs from befuddled to scowl. “What do you need a PI for?”
My face becomes stony. “That’s my concern, Chief.”
“Take my advice, Mr. Locke. She’s way too much trouble.”
I’ve been playing nice so far. No longer. I square my shoulders and lean in, placing my hands wide on his desk. It puts me close to him, and he’s forced to lean back and look up at me. “Yet again you insist on giving me information I don’t ask for, while denying me what I did. Are you going to give me her address or not?”
His face is red and sweating, jowls trembling. “It’s against protocol to just hand out addresses.”
“Tell you what,” I smile, and this time it’s a wolf’s smile, “I’ll add in an extra fifty thousand to your fee and you can give me her address, or I can walk out of here and fucking Google it and you get no money.”
“Give me a sec to pull it up.”
“Good man.”
I stand up again, giving him space to work. I probably should have just searched it, but the Chief had worn me thin. Not to mention I’m feeling a lingering spite toward him for speaking to her so rudely.
As I wait, I picture her again. She was wearing a v-neck t-shirt, the vee showing an enticing amount of cleavage. It had been rumpled, like her trench coat. And fuck, those hips in those painted-on jeans. I wanted to sink my teeth into them. Even her cute, scuffed shoes.
She looked girl-next-door gorgeous in her adorable “private investigator” get up. But I knew she’d look ravishing in evening wear. And completely irresistible in rope and nothing else, her body bound and presented to me.
The Chief pressed a piece of paper in my hand and I left without thanking him.
The visions of Elise Martin were too delectable to let go of, so I handed the paper to my driver and did what I always do when I see something I want.
I go get it.
Elise
My rust bucket barely makes it to my apartment, which doubles as my office. It sputters, brakes shrieking in protest as I pull into my parking space.
I live in the dodgy end of town. When I got the place, it’s because I didn’t know any better. I’d just moved to the area. Now I stayed because it was all I could afford.
Except as I reached my door, a note was hanging from it. Rent was past-due. So maybe I can’t afford it, after all.
Crumpling the note and shoving it in my jeans, I let myself in. It’s a dump, but it’s clean and it’s home. My cat, Murphy, is lounging in the sunlight, streaming through one of the many windows. I love the light. All that glass doesn’t offer a lot of privacy, which I suppose makes the “p” in my job title a bit ironic. But it soothes me.
I shrug out of my trench and toss it on a chair-- one of only two in the main room. Two chairs, one for me and one for a client. A large, wooden desk-- my father’s before it was mine and probably the nicest thing I own. It’s mahogany, ornate and heavy. It was a fucking beast to get up the stairs when I moved in. I think that’s why I love it. It’s like my dad; steady and sure.
I’ve got a bedroom off to the side, a bathroom with a shower that only works half the time, and a kitchenette. Speaking of kitchen… I wonder if I have any food. Non-ramen food, preferably.
I’m kneeling down, digging in the cabinets, when a knock startles me. I hit my head. “Goddamn!”
Knocks only meant one thing, though. Business. Something I could desperately use. Brushing my hands down my front, I let my hair out of its ponytail and finger comb it on the way to the door.
Typically I don’t worry too much about appearance, but after my time at the station (fuck you, Chief), I was rocking a little too much of the hobo-chic.
Opening the doors, I plaster on a smile, hoping this would be worth it--
And nearly slam the door back shut when I see who’s on the other side.
The guy from the Chief’s office. Locke. Richest man in the area, Dalton had said. He still looks like sex and I can feel my body heating. But how in the hell did he find me?
As if reading my mind, he says “Chief gave me your address.”
“Pretty sure that’s illegal.”
“You’d know, not me.” He smiles and my heart flutters. He’d caught me in a bad moment at the station. I’d been a bitch to him and I knew it. I am trying to be a bitch now, but it is hard to when I want to lick from that angled jawline down to his jeans, then see whether it was true what they said about tall men with big feet.
A quick glance at his polished black shoes assures me I very much want it to be true.
“And why would I know?” I stand aside, though, and he saunters in like he owns the damned place. It should bother me, but instead I shiver. Apparently I need to get laid, because Locke shuts down all my better judgments, it seems.
“You’re an ex-Detective, right?”
Oh, thank you, Mr. Locke. He’s prodding me, seeking to provoke me. The irritation cuts through my lusty fugue and I get a little clarity. “So not only did you intimidate him for my address, but you fleeced him for my info. What does a big, bad CEO want with a Private Investigator?”
He leans on my desk. It riles me in too many ways. Pissed that he’s so comfortable and at ease in my place while I feel like a scattered mess, and fuck, it makes me want him more because his body is phenomenal. I only got a hint in the Chief’s office.
Now the bright light from the windows casts him in silhouette and it’s obvious from the cut of his tailored suit that he works out. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, biceps bulging tight within the fabric. The suit’s matching gray pants are cut tight and this man does not skip leg day, his quads thick and taut.
“I have two propositions for you.”
“I don’t do propositions. I do jobs, Mr. Locke.”
“Just Locke.” It’s a command and I bite my lip. His eyes pierce me and my stomach quivers. “Fine. The first job is sex. I won’t pay you in anything but orgasms, but I promise to make each and every one of them the best in your life.”
I almost rock back, that’s how blown away I am. Who the hell does he think he is?
My temperature's rising. The problem is, it isn’t just because I’m angry. Paid in orgasms might not be dinner, but my stomach isn’t the only thing starving. I don’t want to admit how long this dry spell has gone on.
“What’s the second job, then?” My voice sounds huskier and he grins. Damn him, he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
He shakes a finger. “Oh no. You only get the second job offer if you take me up on the first.”
I want to punch him. Right in his goddamn gorgeous face. I want to tell him to get the hell out, and tell him where he can stick his proposals, and--
I want to say yes.
Because, let’s face it-- I haven’t been laid in forever. And right now my pussy is heating to defcon five. That sultry, asshole look in his eyes promises to take it all the way past ten into eleven. Have you ever heard of defcon eleven? Neither have I, but damn, I’m jonesing to find out.
It’s creepy that he found my place, and the former Detective in me is making note. It says: Creepy. Okay, noted. But most likely I’ll never see this guy again. He saw me in the Chief’s office, decided he liked what he saw. I can work with that. So long as I don’t have to work with him?
“Yeah, okay,” I say, gripping the bottom of my t-shirt and yanking it over my head. “I’ll accept. But you better pay up, buddy, or you’re in for a world of hurt.”
Locke
My dick goes hard as a crowbar at her threat. Better pay up? Oh, I’m going to make her scream for that. I’ll make her come until she blacks out.
You don’t get as rich as I am without keeping promises and not paying back debts. It’s why I rarely promise anything and I never go in debt.
But Elise yanked her shirt over her head and
I’m stunned into silence.
Her body is everything it promised to be. Moving toward her, my skin heats. It’s humid in her apartment, the downside to cheap living in a shitty part of town. The moisture in the air feels like it’s tugging at my skin and I need us both naked, like, yesterday.
I don’t kiss her. Not at first. If she’s going to play these ballsy games with me, then I’m going to play her right back. Instead I grab the straps of her bra and pull them quickly down.
“Hey!” She cries in anger, but I don’t care because her tits are freaking glorious and I am going to enjoy this. As she scrambles to free her arms from the tangled straps, I grab her and pull her up and toward me. Elise’s back bends and her nipples are offered up like appetizers.
Don’t mind if I do.
Pale pink and plump, she’s got large nipples on average-sized breasts and it’s just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I take one in my mouth and she stops struggling so hard, an audible sigh escaping her mouth.
The Private Detective tips her head back and lifts herself more. I give it to her, sucking it into my mouth. It pebbles quickly as I latch, giving me something to graze with my teeth. As I suck and bite her breast, I move the hand not supporting her body to the other and palm it.
Elise is responding more to my rougher touches. It sparks something dangerous in me. A fire I try to keep tempered. But when I bite more roughly at her nipple, tugging it away from her body with my teeth, her hands knot in my hair and urge me on.
Oh, fuck.
I knead her other breast hard. It’s soft and pliant, filling my grip. My fingers dig in a little and she hisses and lifts a leg, hooking it over my hip.
I was going to fuck her in her bedroom. First times, and all that. But we’re not going to make it. Hell, I’m not going to make it much longer.
Maneuvering her body, we make our way over to her desk. If I thought she kept better care of her records, I’d feel remorse as I sweep the papers on the floor. But I’d peeked over there and she fits the stereotype P.I.-- loose stacks of papers and pens missing tops. Not organized.
She doesn’t complain, and that’s a point for her. My fingers make quick work of Elise’s pants, unbuttoning them. She moves to push them eagerly down, but I stop her, grabbing her wrists and circling them with the fingers of one hand.
“Not so hasty,” I coo, her eyes meeting my gaze. They’re burning with lust and irritation and I almost laugh. I haven’t felt this exhilarated by a woman in years.
“I’m not much of a foreplay girl, Mr. Locke,” she warns, trying to dare me into fucking her hard and fast. Instead, I squeeze my grip on her harder, until she winces, while sliding my other hand into her panties.
Christ, she’s wet. Her soft, velvet folds part easily for my fingers. Elise is still trying to free her hands from my grip, but her legs open wider. I thrust two fingers into her hot channel and she gasps, eyes wide.
My own balls feel like they’re going to explode already and damn, I’m too close to coming and I haven’t even taken my pants off. That’s how hot this girl is making me.
That’s okay. I like a challenge. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this turned on by sex, this intrigued by a woman.
That’s because she’s a P.I., Locke, and a former Detective. You like to play with fire. I squash my chiding subconscious down easily because Elise demands my attention by beginning to grind down on my hand.
“When I let you go, put your hands behind your head. Don’t let them fall,” I order her, loving the flare of anger in her gaze.
“I don’t do bossiness, either, Locke.” But when I release her wrists, she does as I say, her hands meeting behind her hair. It forces those delectable breasts out again and I fight the urge to suck her nipple back into my mouth.
I begin fucking her with my fingers, slow and steady. Each time I thrust them in, I press my palm firmly against her swollen clit.
It’s hot in the room. What was humidity before feels like a sheet of moisture now, draped over our bodies. My shirt is sticking to my damp back and my hair is plastering to my forehead, which I lean forward and connect with hers.
We’re forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Our eyes are locked on to the others’. She smells good, like sweat and a hint of something floral. The floral notes surprise me-- with her converse shoes and wrinkled jacket, I’d have taken her as a citrus girl. Something light and fruity and a little tomboyish.
Instead I’m catching notes of jasmine and ylang-ylang. Both are soft, subtle scents. Both are thought to be sensual. Aphrodisiacs.
My little P.I. has a naughty side, it seemed, that extended past her sassy mouth and response to roughness.
Somewhere inside of me, a warning bell goes off. This is bad news.
But I’m so in tune to her now. Neither of us is backing down. Elise is grinding on my hand now. I start to time my fingers’ thrusts with her breaths, fucking her a little quicker, a little harder. As she starts to gasp, her skin flushing pink, I curl my fingers toward me and find her sweet spot.
Elise tries to stay en guarde, tries to not blink, but as her orgasm ignites, her eyes squeeze shut and she moans, a deep, throaty moan that makes my cock twitch. Her pussy is clamping down hard on my fingers and fuck, I can’t wait to be inside of her.
Her body becomes languid as I slide my fingers out, like she thinks it’s over.
That’s when I drag her pants and panties down. Wary, she kicks them off and I smile. Her knees are a little shaky. Lifting her hips, I sit her on the edge of her desk and sink to my knees in front of her.
“I’m just getting started,” I growl before shoving her legs open.
Her beautiful, pink pussy is waiting for me. It’s shaved (another surprise) and sopping wet. Licking my lips, I’m startled to discover just how much I’m looking forward to licking that wet slit.
Elise doesn’t like my hesitation. “Locke, it’s just a pussy. Get licking or get out.” Her voice is thin and she’s all talk, still coming down from the first orgasm, but I groan and dive in.
As my tongue sweeps through her velvet folds, she cries out and grips my hair once more, pulling me closer.
What can I say? I’ve always loved eating pussy. But hers… hers is something else. Divine.
Her sweet musk is coating my face. She becomes my whole world. And her taste? I could drink from her each day and never grow tired. It’s sweet and light and I want more.
My hands grip her thighs and I shove my tongue into her tight hole.
I could fall in love with this girl.
Don’t even fucking think it.
Elise
My body is on freaking fire.
Locke is between my legs, all gung-ho like my pussy is the greatest thing he’s ever experienced. I’m all for giving lovers, but this is…
This is insane.
Each nerve is pulsing with pleasure, my skin is practically crackling. That first orgasm had been more intense than I’m ready to admit. The eye contact, the way he’d paced his thrusts exactly to my breaths? Sweet mother of God, I’ve never experienced something so, so-- intimate.
This was just supposed to be a fuck!
And part of me is already scrambling to get him out of the apartment, because a man who fucks a stranger with this level of intensity can’t be good. But that part of me is easily drowned out by the rest of me, which is practically screaming “More, more, more!”
Locke sucks my clit into his mouth, drawing hard, and I can’t believe it. I come again, my body quaking as it grips me fiercely. He won’t stop, sucking my for all I’m worth, the pleasure dancing into the realm of pain, the climax being dragged out.
I feel it in my fucking toes, and I’m worried, because this is so unreal I’m afraid I might get addicted.
I shut my eyes and lie back on the desk. It’s embarrassing that I’m avoiding looking at him, but my stomach is still quivering with aftershocks.
Locke isn’t having it. “You moved your hands,” he says as he
stands between my legs. “Pull your knees to your chest but keep them spread.”
What? Oh. When I’d grabbed his hair while he was licking me. What kind of weirdo was this guy?
The kind who turns you on, apparently.
Truth be told, I’ve never actually done any of the kinky shit. When you’re a P.I., you see way too much of people’s weird fetishes to want to try them. The things I’ve seen while investigating have pretty much made me fifty shades of what-the-hell.
And I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t like being bossed around. It was one of many reasons why I left the force. It’s the only reason I’ll admit to out loud. I don’t like men telling me what to do.