Page 48 of Cruel Pleasures

Outside her door, I dig around inside her wristlet for the key to her room. She throws herself onto the bed the second she’s inside, bouncing against the large mattress. Purring, she sits up and pats the space next to her.

“Mmm… fuck me again, Archer,” she moans, then drops back against the pillows for a look up at the ceiling. “Show me that big dick. I want to suck it like a lollipop.”

Her giggles would be cute if not paired with her slurred words.

“You’re a mess, did you know that?”

“I want this off… ugh!” She scrabbles at the zipper of her dress, almost ripping the fabric.

I grit my teeth. I may have a voracious and violent appetite, but even I recognize the designer behind the piece. Vintage Versace that she’s about tear to shreds with clumsy hands and long nails.

“Careful. You’ll rip the zipper off. Here.”

I pull her upright by the arm, a hand clamped down on her shoulder to hold her still. The other tugs the zipper down with the respect Versace deserves. She pushes the thin straps off her shoulder and wiggles her hips ’til the fabric’s trapped around them.

“Ugh!”

“Maybe stop squirming around like a petulant child. I’ll get it off you,” I scold.

Once I’ve pulled the dress past her hips and down her legs, she releases a sigh of relief. Her lids hang low, her skin still dewy from the heat she’s feeling.

I feel heat too… for an entirely different reason.

Outside the hedge maze where we fucked, it was dark and everything happened so fast. I didn’t get a chance to enjoy the sight of her.

That’s no longer the case.

Imani Makune sits before me in her lacy black bra and thong panty. She lacks such self-awareness that she doesn’t realize her breasts practically spill out of the bra and her parted thighs offer me a lurid view of the thin fabric that clings to the folds of her pussy.

There’s even a wet patch in the crotch of her panties from our earlier transgressions.

I breathe through the flame of arousal that scorches me up.

It has me questioning just what I plan to do with the rest of my night. I’d decided I would do some investigating of my own and figure out if Talia Weinberg’s murder was a crime of passion or part of the game being played.

How can I when I’m left in the company of a delectable woman high as a fucking kite? A woman who’s begging to fuck all over again?

“Are you going to fuck me again?” she asks as though reading my mind, pursing her lips. “I’ve waited long enough.”

“Is that what you want, minx? For me to fuck you like one of the dirty sluts on stage?”

She stretches her body on the bed, her head tipping back against the pillows. “Mmm… yes. But… we forgot condoms. I have some…” she yawns. “Over there.”

I glance over my shoulder at the dresser drawers, then step over to pull the top right open.

Empty.

I move onto the drawer on the left, pulling it open expecting to see some of her things stashed inside. Normal possessions like underwear and the condoms she speaks of. Instead, the drawer rolls open to reveal the last item I’d expect to find in Imani Makune’s bedroom.

A large kitchen knife covered with dried blood.

Have I misjudged? Is our little impersonator here to do more than just spy?

My grin is quick to work onto my face as I arch a brow. I reach into the drawer and pick up what appears to be the murder weapon that did Talia in last night. “What do we have here, minxy?”

The knife’s heavy in my hand. The blood stains the otherwise clean, sharp blade. I turn around to face the imposter only to discover I might as well be alone.

Imani’s fallen asleep. Light snores tumble out of her, her body twisted in an unnatural position.