Charles's breath came in ragged gasps as his fingers dug into her hips, pulling her to him with a steady rhythm. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he growled, thrusting deep into her dripping pussy, his cock stretching her pussy tight around him. “God, I love fucking you.”

Charles Worthington, an eccentric billionaire infamous for his taste in younger women, was utterly lost in the moment. The woman sprawled naked on his desk had her legs locked around him, pulling him harder, urging him to take her without restraint.

The dim lighting of his den threw twisted shadows over their bodies, the air heavy with the musk of leather and the unmistakable scent of raw, forbidden sex. Every thrust sent tremors through the mahogany desk, their skin slapping together, filling the room like some depraved symphony.

She moaned beneath him, her voice thick with lust. “Sí, Charlie … más fuerte,” she begged her accent thick and dripping with desire. “I want you… dentro de mí… más profundo.” The Spanish and broken English mixture set something off inside him, driving him into her with animalistic hunger.

His wife was upstairs, asleep in their marital bed, seemingly oblivious to the raw, dirty betrayal happening only a few rooms away. The danger—the thrill of it—only made him harder.

Charles grunted, thrusting faster. “You love this, don’t you? Tell me how much you want me.”

“Te quiero, Charlie … te quiero tanto,” she gasped, her nails digging deep into his back, raking down his skin as her body arched into him. “Harder… por favour, don’t stop… más, más.”

The desk creaked beneath them, its sturdy frame barely holding up to the force of their movements. Charles could feel her pussy clenching tighter around him, her breath coming in jagged bursts. He was close, his control hanging by a thread, and he knew she was right there with him.

Charles groaned, his body trembling as he pushed deeper, harder. His voice was nothing but a desperate growl. “You feel so fucking good, I can’t hold back.”

“Sí, Charlie, sí!” she moaned, her words a feverish plea. “Don’t stop… más duro… más!” a

Charles lost himself, slamming into her with savage intensity. Her pussy squeezed him tighter, “Oh fuck yes, I'm cumming.” Charles groaned as he exploded inside her. He exploded, filling her pussy with a hot load of his seed.

Her body convulsed beneath him, her head thrown back in ecstasy as her orgasm ripped through her. “Dios mío, sí, sí, sí!” she cried out, her nails leaving angry red marks down his back. “Sí, Charlie… sí… oh, fuck, sí!”

Their moans tangled together as they came, their bodies shaking with the force of it. Charles’ hands gripped her hips so hard it left bruises as he rode out the final waves of pleasure, their hearts racing as one.

But as the heat faded and the sweat cooled, the room grew still, silent except for their laboured breaths. This den, once a sanctuary for his most perverse desires, now felt heavier, darker. Something hung in the air, a creeping sense of doom. The young woman would be the last to see Charles Worthington alive before death slipped in, leaving behind nothing but secrets, sin and murder!

As the sun barely began to peek over the horizon on a foggy, rainy Sunday morning, Detective Maximus James Lane, known to most as Max, rolled up to the massive Worthington mansion. Max had been a detective for what felt like a lifetime, a tall, grizzled bastard whose soul had been scraped raw by the job’s unrelenting grind.

Red and blue lights bathed the towering mansion, casting eerie shadows on its cold, stone walls. Raindrops slid down the façade like tears, and Max’s trench coat clung to his frame, heavy and wet as he trudged up the long driveway, his mind already on the shitstorm waiting for him inside.

Something about this case was off—he couldn’t shake that feeling. Max had worked plenty of murder scenes, but this one hit differently, like a punch to the gut. Cases with rich pricks always did, but this one felt darker. He didn’t know it yet, but this one was going to get under his skin and fuck him up in ways he wasn’t ready for.

Max ducked under the police tape, nodding at a uniformed officer standing by the door. “In the den, Detective,” another cop muttered, barely looking at him as he jerked a thumb toward the dark hallway. “It’s Worthington.”

“Fuckin’ great,” Max mumbled under his breath, jaw clenched tight as he stepped into the house. A dead billionaire was just what he needed, he thought to himself. The place screamed money—marble floors gleaming, chandeliers dripping with crystal, walls lined with bullshit art that probably cost more than his entire year’s salary. But underneath all that luxury was something rotten; a weird stillness hung in the air like the place knew it was hiding some seriously messed-up secrets.

When Max stepped into the den, his stomach churned. Charles Worthington, the billionaire, was slumped in a plush leather chair, dead. Blood had already soaked into the overpriced Persian rug, pooling from a brutal stab wound in his chest. And there it was—the murder weapon—a hefty letter opener, still jammed into his chest, like someone wanted to make damn sure he stayed down.

The whole scene screamed personal, looked like somebody close to him decided to settle a score. There wasn’t any sign of a struggle; Worthington knew the person Max was certain.

The desk was a wreck, not from any kind of struggle. No, this was the kind of mess that screamed Worthington had been screwing someone senseless right there before things went sideways. Max picked up on it right away, his eyes narrowing as he took in Worthington’s half-naked ass, a silent confirmation of exactly what had gone down.

Max’s gaze swept the room, soaking in every filthy detail. Worthington wore only silk boxers, his shirt hung open, chest bare. There was something heavier than death hanging in the air—secrets, dirty fucking secrets. Illicit shit that no one was supposed to know. Max’s pulse picked up, and his mind started to put the pieces together.

“Who the hell was in the house?” Max barked at one of the officers, his voice low but stern.

“The wife and the maid. Nobody else,” the cop replied.

Max’s lips pressed into a thin, angry line. “Where the hell is Mrs. Worthington?”

He straightened up and nodded toward the living room, “In there,” the officer muttered, eyes wide. “She’s… not handling it well.”

Max made his way through the mansion, the weight of the case pressing down hard on him, but not as hard as what was coming next. As soon as he entered the living room, he spotted Mrs. Worthington on an antique sofa, but it wasn’t the furniture that stopped him in his tracks.

She rose slowly, wrapped in a silk robe barely hanging on, the thin fabric doing a lousy job of covering her curves. Max’s eyes swept over her bare shoulders, the silk clinging to her body like she didn’t care if it revealed everything. His throat tightened, and his pulse kicked up a notch. Hell, she was far too young, too sexy, for a guy like her husband. And now, with those tear-filled eyes and tousled hair, she was irresistible in the worst way possible.

Her gaze locked onto his, and something flickered—grief, yeah, but also lust. Max forced himself to stay professional, but it wasn’t easy when every part of him was telling him to do something else entirely.

“Mrs. Worthington,” he said, keeping his voice steady even though his body sure as hell wasn’t. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I must ask you a few questions.”

Vivian nodded, her movements slow and sultry like everything she did was designed to drag his attention back to her body. And damn, it worked. The robe slid open just enough to tease him with the soft swell of her breasts, her long legs crossing in a way that practically begged him to look.

“Of course, Detective,” she whispered, her voice low and husky, like grief mixed with something much more dangerous. “Call me Vivian.”

Max swallowed, forcing his eyes back to her face. “Where were you when your husband was found?” he asked, though staying focused was getting more challenging by the second.

Vivian’s lips trembled as she spoke. “I was asleep… I didn’t hear anything until Maria—our housekeeper—came in screaming. That’s what woke me.”

Max raised a brow, his eyes trailing over her despite himself. “You didn’t hear anything? Not a sound?”

Vivian shook her head, her lips parting as she spoke, and Max’s gaze dipped lower again, catching the slightest glimpse of what the robe barely covered. Her skin looked so damn soft. “No… I didn’t hear a thing,” she whispered, her voice laced with an edge that tightened Max’s gut.

He stepped closer, the scent of her perfume hitting him hard—sweet, heady, and dangerously intoxicating. His eyes wandered lower despite every effort to stay professional. This woman wasn’t just grief-stricken—she was lethal. She was casting a spell over the unsuspecting detective.

“Did your husband have any enemies?” Max asked, his voice rougher than he wanted it to be.

Vivian hesitated, biting her lip in a way that made Max’s mind go straight to places it shouldn’t. “ Charles had plenty of enemies,” she said softly, her voice dripping with suggestion. “But I can’t imagine anyone going this far…”

Max’s eyes dropped again, taking in the way the robe barely held on, the curve of her breasts more visible with every breath she took. His fingers itched to pull that fabric aside to see what she hid underneath. But he clenched his hands into fists, holding back.

“Vivian,” he rasped, barely holding it together. “I need you to come to the station for more questioning.”

Vivian uncrossed her legs slowly, deliberately and Max’s breath caught in his throat as her robe shifted, revealing more of her creamy skin, her bare thighs. She leaned back, her robe falling open just a little more, her breasts almost spilling out as she locked eyes with him, her lips curling into a seductive smile.

“I’ll have my driver bring me,” she murmured, her voice thick, sultry.

Max’s throat tightened again, fighting the primal urge building inside him. The case had just gotten a hell of a lot more complicated. He wasn’t sure if he was tracking down a killer—or falling into her trap.

As Max walked through the hallway, he caught sight of Maria Sanchez, the housekeeper, standing by the door, wiping her tear-streaked face.

Marie was young, likely in her mid-twenties, with long jet-black hair framing a stunning face. Even in her uniform, she had a sensual allure that was impossible to ignore. Max thought to himself, was she more than just the housekeeper? Was she the one who had been naked on Worthington’s desk?

“Maria, do you speak English?” he asked, his voice still thick with the tension from his encounter with Vivian.

“Si… yes, I do a little,” she stammered, her voice quiet, her eyes filled with fear.

“Good. It would help if you came to the station,” Max said, speaking slowly to help Maria understand him.

Maria nodded, barely whispering, “Si.”

“I’ll have an officer take you,” he said, walking away, trying to clear his head.

A week had dragged by since the brutal murder of Charles Worthington, and Detective Max Lane was still no closer to answers.

The case reeked of passion—this wasn’t random. It was intimate, personal. The wife and housekeeper were the obvious suspects, but he had no proof. Possibilities burned in his mind—had Vivian killed him for screwing around? Or was it Marie, a scorned lover? Maybe they’d done it together, united by resentment and revenge.

Max had repeatedly grilled Vivian, Maria, and the house staff, but it led nowhere. Their alibis were airtight; supposedly, no one had been at the mansion that night. But the evidence told a different story. Charles Worthington hadn’t just died—he’d gone out with a bang, literally.

His semen was found at the scene, mixed with vaginal fluids that sure as hell didn’t belong to Mrs. Worthington. And the fresh scratches on his back? They proved that his last hours had been as wild as they were deadly. Charles had been living on the edge—and it seemed someone had finally had enough.

The damn broken security cameras hadn’t helped—no footage of who came or went that night, an all-too-convenient detail for the murderer. But Max didn’t need video to feel it in his gut—the killer was close. Likely from inside the house. Too damn close.

He needed hard proof, and right now, all he had was bullshit and dead ends. It was time to return to the mansion and crank up the pressure. Vivian’s calm was hanging by a thread, and Max was sure she’d finally crack with the right push.

As he drove up, Max immediately sensed something was off as he approached the Worthington mansion. The front gates were wide open. That was strange as hell. Vivian was paranoid about security, especially after her husband’s death. She kept the place locked down like Fort Knox. So, why the hell were the gates open now? Frowning, Max drove up the long driveway, the mansion looming like some twisted castle against the gray sky.

He parked the car, stepped out, and the pavement crunched under his feet as he made his way to the front door. Ringing the bell, he waited, eyes darting around, scanning for any sign of life. He rang again, no answer.

A wave of unease hit him. Something wasn’t right. He decided to take a look around the back, where the pristine lawn stretched out like a damn postcard. He glanced inside as he passed the massive windows, but the rooms were empty —no Vivian, no one. The place was too quiet, like the calm before a storm.

As he approached the garage, something caught his eye—a light was on. He slowed his steps, moving cautiously toward the small side window. Max Peered inside, his stomach tightened.

There she was—Vivian, her back to him, standing in the garage, talking to the chauffeur Roger. Max recognized him immediately from questioning him. Roger had a solid alibi back then, cleared too quickly perhaps, Max thought. He was tall, built like a brick wall, in his mid-thirties, and annoyingly good-looking in that perfectly tailored black suit. But it wasn’t just the conversation that threw Max—it was how close they were, too damn close. There was an intimacy that screamed at Max to pay attention, raising more questions.

Max’s eyes narrowed, locking onto the heated exchange before him. What he saw wasn’t just an employer and her staff exchanging pleasantries—no, this was way more personal. The way Roger looked at Vivian, his gaze stripping her down, and the way her body responded, practically inviting him in—there was nothing professional about it.

Then, out of nowhere, Roger made his move, pulling Vivian into a rough, hungry kiss like he couldn’t wait another second. He claimed her mouth, his hands already gripping her body as if he had every right to touch her.

Max felt a sick twist in his gut. Vivian and Roger—this wasn’t just some fling. It was deeper, wild, and shattered everything he thought he knew. His mind spun—was this affair behind Charles’ death? Was this lust-fueled tryst the key to it all, or was there something even more sinister lurking beneath?

Max always prided himself on being able to read people and see things others missed. But this? Hidden away behind the garage window, he became a dirty voyeur, drawn into the raw, carnal spectacle unfolding just feet away.

Max’s breath quickened from his concealed spot as Vivian—the polished, grieving widow—dropped all pretense. She tore at Roger’s clothes, her body pressing into his with an urgency that left nothing to the imagination.

“I’ve needed this all fucking week,” she hissed, her fingers trembling as she yanked at his belt.

Roger smirked, gripping her ass roughly as his large hands made their way to her pussy. “I know. I can feel how wet you are already.”

His voice was low, desperate, as he pulled her dress up, exposing her body in one swift motion. Roger could barely breathe, his pulse thundering in his ears as Vivian dropped to her knees, her hands wrapping around his cock. Vivian looked up at him.

“I’m going to suck the life out of you,” she growled, licking her lips before taking him deep into her mouth.

“Fuck, yes,” Roger groaned. His head fell back. His hips bucked as Vivian devoured him, her tongue swirling around the tip before sliding down his shaft.

“Just like that. Take it all,” Roger moaned.

The obscene, wet sounds of Vivian’s mouth on Roger filled the air, her hand stroked in sync with her mouth, her lips glistening with saliva. Max’s cock throbbed painfully in his pants, and he quickly unbuckled his belt and undid his zipper, stroking himself as he watched the scene unfold.

Roger gripped her hair, pulling her head back roughly. “Get up. I’m not finished with you yet.” With a quick move, he yanked Vivian up, spun her around, and bent her over the hood of the Bentley. “You want me to fuck you?” he growled, positioning himself behind her, his cock teasing her wet entrance.

“Do it, Roger,” she gasped, spreading her legs wider. “Fuck me hard. Don’t make me wait.”

With a low grunt, Roger slammed into her, his cock burying itself deep inside her with one brutal thrust. “God, you’re so fucking tight,” he growled, his hands gripping her hips as he set a punishing pace, each thrust rougher than the last.

“Yes! Fuck! Right there,” Vivian cried out, her body jerking forward with every thrust, her nails scratching at the car’s smooth surface. “Harder, Roger, don’t stop! Fuck me harder!”

Roger’s pace quickened, his hips slamming into her ass as he pounded her without mercy. “You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he snarled, his grip tightening on her hips. “I want you to scream when you cum.”

Vivian’s moans turned into desperate cries, her voice shaking with need. “Oh, fuck, Roger! I’m so close! Don’t fucking stop!” Her legs shook as the pressure built inside her, pushing her closer to the edge.

“I’m going to cum! Oh god, I’m going to fucking cum,” Vivian screamed desperately.

Roger grunted, slamming into her even harder. “Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my cock.”

With a scream, her orgasm crashed into her, her body convulsing violently. “Oh fuck! Yes! Roger!” Vivian cried, her pussy clenching tight around his cock as wave after wave of pleasure tore through her.

Roger wasn’t far behind. “Fuck, yes, I’m going to cum, fuck yes,” he groaned, his body tensing. Roger pulled out at the last second, stroking his cock as thick ropes of cum shot across her back. “Take all of it,” he growled, watching his release drip down her skin. “Fuck, yes!”

The garage was thick with the scent of sex, the sound of their ragged breathing filling the air. Vivian slumped over the hood of the Bentley, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Roger stood behind her, chest heaving, with a satisfied smirk as he admired the mess they’d made.

Max watched the entire scene from just outside the garage while he stroked himself, unable to hold back any longer. His orgasm hit like a freight train, hot cum spilling over his hand as his body shuddered with release. He gasped, barely able to stand as the pleasure overwhelmed him, his knees buckling while he tried to catch his breath.

Max swallowed hard, his pulse still racing, his release pooling on the cold floor beneath him as he struggled to process what he’d just witnessed.

Max fought to regain control, his mind spinning from the dirty spectacle burned into his brain. He hadn’t just watched Roger and Vivian go at it—no, he’d been part of it, lurking in the shadows, getting off to their obscene affair. The shame gnawed at him, but Max swallowed it down. He still had a job to do.

Roger and Vivian were getting dressed now as if nothing had happened, as if they hadn’t just been fucking like animals in the garage moments earlier. The way they looked at each other, the way they kissed, this wasn’t a fling they were familiar. Roger and Vivian had been lovers for a while, it was apparent.

Max waited, letting them finish their clean-up and redressing before he made his way to the main house. He rang the doorbell, piercing the silence and making everything feel dirtier. That innocent little “ding-dong” felt like a slap in the face after the depravity he’d just been part of.

When the door swung open, there she was—Vivian Worthington, all polished elegance with a wicked smile on her lips. You would never know moments before she had been bent over a car in the garage.

“Hello, Detective,” she purred, her voice a slow, deliberate caress.

“Hello, Mrs. Worthington.”

“Vivian,” she corrected, stepping closer. “Call me Vivian.”

Max gave a curt nod, though saying her name felt far too intimate or dangerous. “Vivian, I’ve got some questions. Can I come in?”

“Of course. I’ve sent everyone home, so it’s just you and me tonight,” Vivian said, her eyes glinting with something unspoken. “Drink?”

“No, thanks,” Max said, his voice too rough and harsh. He couldn’t let her get under his skin—again. “Mind if we talk in the den?” he added, knowing it’d unsettle her.

Vivian’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she smoothly recovered. “Whatever you want, Detective. I’ll make do,” she replied, her tone dipping into something sultry. She led him through the dim hall, the tension between them so thick it almost felt like foreplay, every step a deliberate beat.

The den was still the same as the night of the murder: bloodstains soaked into the carpet, an overturned desk, and the unmistakable chill of death clinging to the air. Vivian glanced around, a flicker of something—guilt?—crossing her face before she turned away, a single tear tracing a path down her perfect cheek.

Max didn’t buy it for a second. He’d just seen her getting fucked by Roger like her husband never mattered. She wasn’t grieving; she was a suspect. And Max was done playing her games.

“So, Vivian,” Max started, his voice neutral, “anything come back to you since we last spoke? Anything new to share with me?”

Vivian wiped at her eyes, slowly shaking her head. “No, Detective, I’ve already told you everything.”

Max nodded but pressed on. “We found new evidence—fingerprints, DNA…”

Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes gave her away—just for a second, fear flickered. “Any matches?” she asked, her voice too calm.

“Not yet,” Max replied, observing Vivian. “But it won’t be long.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said, her voice like velvet, too practiced, too smooth. “I want justice for Charles.”

Max leaned in slightly, studying her. “You’re the main beneficiary of Charles’ estate, right?”

Her face hardened, her composure cracking just a bit. “Yes,” she snapped, her voice tight.

“That’s a hell of a lot of money,” Max said, voice low and deliberate. “That’s a damn big motive.”

Vivian’s eyes narrowed, her demeanour turning cold. “Are you accusing me, Detective?”

Max didn’t flinch. “I’m saying you had plenty of reasons to want him dead.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “I didn’t kill Victor.”

The air between them thickened with tension, which felt almost dangerous. Max leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Did it piss you off, Vivian, that your husband was screwing around?”

For a brief moment, something bitter curled her lips into a twisted smile. “Victor wasn’t perfect. He had his… appetites. Maybe he strayed from time to time.”

“You lied to me, Vivian,” Max said, his tone sharper. “Did his cheating finally push you far enough to kill him?”

She laughed, but it was dark and cold, her eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Detective, you really don’t understand, do you? In our world, fidelity is just a formality. We play the game our way.”

Max leaned in even closer, his voice barely a whisper now. “And what about you, Vivian? Do you play the game?”

Her smile twisted into something wicked, her eyes gleaming with seduction. Vivian stepped closer, her body brushing against his as she whispered, “What do you think, Detective? What does being faithful even mean anymore?”

Max’s pulse quickened, but he held steady. “We found more than just fingerprints at the scene,” he said, his voice low and constant. “Semen, vaginal fluid… The lab results are back.”

For a moment, her mask slipped, but she recovered quickly. “It wasn’t me,” Vivian said smoothly. “I told you, I went to bed early that night.”

“Were you alone that night?” Max asked, stepping closer, their bodies nearly touching, the air between them crackling with tension.

Vivian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she leaned in, her breath hot against his neck, her lips grazing his ear as she whispered, “Why are you here, Detective? You don’t think I had anything to do with Charles’ death… do you?”

Before Max could even process what was happening, her lips crashed into his—hot, demanding, tasting of lust and danger. His body stiffened, and his mind screamed for control, but the sheer intensity of her overwhelmed him.

Her scent hit him like a wave—a mix of perfume and the unmistakable musk of recent sex still clung to her skin. It clouded his thoughts, muddling his instincts. He knew he should stop, knew this was a line he couldn’t cross, but the pull of her was too strong. Max didn’t stand a chance.

“You’ve thought about fucking me, haven’t you, Max?” Vivian’s voice was a low, seductive taunt, her breath hot against his skin as her lips brushed just close enough to make him shiver.

Her fingers moved slowly, teasingly, unbuttoning his shirt one button at a time. Each one she slipped open felt like a punch to his control.

“Stop,” Max said and tried to push Vivian away

“I’ve seen how you look at me. I know how bad you want this.”

Before he could even think to respond, her mouth was on his again—harder this time—her lips rough against his, her body crashing against him. Every warning in his head was screaming at him to pull back, to stop, but his hands moved on their own, gripping her waist, yanking her closer, craving more.

Vivian made her move, her breath quickened as she unbuckled his belt with expert precision, her hands shoving his pants down with an almost violent urgency. Vivian had him now, dragging him toward the desk, pulling him like she owned him.

Her dress hiked up, legs spread wide as she leaned back onto the desk, daring him with those wild eyes. It was the same desk her husband had died at, and now it would witness something even darker.

Max’s heart thundered as he stared at Vivian, sprawled out, completely naked, daring him to come closer. She spread her legs wider, her fingers slipping down to her wet folds, rubbing herself slowly, teasing him with every tempting move.

“Fuck me, Max,” she growled, her voice thick with need, her body practically begging for it.

She was insatiable. Roger had barely left the garage, and now she was ready for round two with Max.

Something inside him snapped. His fingers found Vivian’s wet slit, teasing it for just a second before he yanked his boxers down and gripped his cock. Without a moment’s hesitation, he thrust into Vivian, burying himself deep in one firm, desperate motion. Her gasp was sharp, her back arching off the desk to take him deeper.

Max’s grip on her hips was fierce, almost bruising, as he slammed into her over and over, every thrust harder than the last. The sound of their fucking filled the room, a filthy rhythm that drowned out everything else. Her moans became cries, her nails raking down his back, clawing at him, urging him to give her everything.

“Harder,” she snarled, her voice raw, desperate, her body twisting beneath him, chasing the next high. “Fuck me harder, Max. Don’t hold back.”

Max didn’t. He couldn’t. His cock pounded into her, her tight, slick pussy clenching around him as he drove into her, the desk groaning beneath their frantic movements. Her nails scored his back, drawing lines of fire, but all he could think about was how much he needed to keep going, to fuck her until she couldn’t take any more.

“Oh god, yes,” Vivian gasped, her voice rising in pitch as her body tensed beneath him, her breath ragged. “Don’t fucking stop—I’m so close!”

Max’s pulse hammered in his throat, his cock throbbing as her walls began to tighten, her pussy squeezing him. She was on the edge, shaking, her body losing control.

“Fuck, Max!” she screamed, her voice almost unrecognizable as her body convulsed. “I’m cumming, fuck, yes, yes, I’m cumming!”

Her pussy gripped him hard, milking his cock as she came, her body jerking beneath him, and it was all he could take. Max’s orgasm crashed over him like a freight train. “Oh fuck, Vivian,” he groaned, his voice loud and rough. “Fuck, yes. I’m going to cum.”

Her body pulled him deeper, her slick heat pushing him past his limit. With a savage growl, he came hard, his cock pulsing as he emptied into her, their bodies locked together in one last violent collision.

The room was silent but for the sound of their ragged breathing. Max slowly pulled out, his cock slipping free with a wet sound. His heart was still pounding, but he already felt the weight of what he had done.

Vivian, though, wasn’t bothered. She sat up with a satisfied smile curling across her lips, like a predator who had just finished devouring her prey.

“That was fucking incredible,” she purred, smoothing her dress as she stood, hips swaying as she walked across the room to the bookshelf. Without missing a beat, she pulled out an envelope and handed it to Max, her eyes dancing with satisfaction.

“Here,” she said, her voice thick with smug amusement. “This should help with your case, Detective.”

Max stood frozen in disbelief, tightening his chest as he clutched the envelope. The weight of what had just happened lingered in the air as they dressed, the silence broken only by the soft, tantalizing rustle of fabric sliding over their skin. She led him down the hallway, her heels striking the floor with a steady rhythm, each step thick with tension. The air between them pulsed, electric, charged with everything left unspoken.

In the foyer, she halted, turning to face him. She leaned in close, her lips brushing his cheek, her breath warm and intoxicating. She lingered there, her lips hovering, inviting him yet taunting him, dangerously close.

“Thank you, Max,” she murmured, her voice a dark, seductive purr. “I know you’ll do the right thing, Max.”

Max’s mind reeled, lost in the aftermath of their forbidden encounter. All he could manage was a hoarse “Good night.”

Vivian’s lips curved into a sly smile, her eyes glittering with secrets.

Max sat in his car, heart pounding, adrenaline surging as he ripped open the envelope. There was a thumb drive and a bank statement for Maria Sanchez—the housekeeper. His eyes widened at the number. Over a hundred grand stashed in her account. “Fuck… fuck!” he cursed, his breath ragged. Panic clawed at him. He’d been reckless, thinking with his dick instead of his head, and now he was tangled in something dangerous.

Racing home, he slammed the door behind him, every nerve on edge. He fumbled with the thumb drive, jamming it into his laptop. The screen flickered to life, and the footage hit him like a punch to the gut. Maria, naked, writhing on the desk with Charles Worthington, their bodies tangled in a haze of lust. The timestamp was precise—this happened the night of the murder.

His stomach churned. He could feel the walls closing in. Maria was being framed, and he was trapped in the middle of this sick game.

His blood ran ice cold. He had fucked Mrs. Worthington—Vivian—on that same desk. At the crime scene. She’d lured him in, used him, turned him into her pawn. Every kiss, touch, and lie had all been part of her plan. She’d set the stage, and now he was locked in her twisted narrative.

Max thought about turning himself in for a moment, letting it all come crashing down. But no. He couldn’t. Maybe morning would bring clarity. Maybe the night could wash away the mess he’d sunk into. Or perhaps it would drag him down even further.

The next day, guilt tore at Max, festering inside him like a sickness. He was anger-pissed at himself for being so damn weak, for letting Vivian reel him in with that seductive charm of hers. Now, he was about to frame an innocent woman for murder—all to cover up the filthy mess he’d made. Maria might’ve been screwing Mr. Worthington, but she sure as hell didn’t kill him. Max couldn’t go through with it. He wouldn’t. But before he could make any decisions, his phone buzzed. It was Vivian.

“Hello, detective. Sleep well?” Vivian’s voice was smooth as silk but dripped with venom like she knew she owned him.

“Fine,” he muttered, though it felt like he was suffocating under the weight of his damn mistakes.

“The evidence is clear, isn’t it, Max?” she purred, her tone as icy as it was seductive, wrapping around him like a noose.

He hesitated, his mind racing for any possible escape. “It’s not that simple, Vivian, I—”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, cutting him off. “Charles screwing that little slut behind my back… after everything. But you know what you need to do, Max. Get the damn warrant. Put this whole thing to bed,” she commanded, her voice cold as steel.

A surge of panic hit him. “Maybe we could… talk this over. Work something out,” he said, his voice betraying just how fucked he felt.

“Don’t humiliate yourself, Max.” Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, dripping with contempt. “You’re going to help me Max. You decided that the second you fucked me on my dead husband’s desk, remember?” she added with a sneer.

“I watched the video again last night.” Her voice oozed with dark pleasure, every word drenched in poison. “Watching you take me… right there at the crime scene, with Charles’ blood still practically drying on the floor. So filthy. So goddamn wrong. Taking advantage of a grieving widow like that.”

His heart thundered, his mouth going dry. “Vivian, no… you didn’t—”

“Oh, but I did,” she interrupted, twisting the knife deeper. “And I’ve got every filthy second saved. Imagine the headlines: ‘Detective fucks grieving widow on dead husband’s desk, surrounded by his blood.’ Can you picture the fallout? Your family, your colleagues? What would they think, Max?”

A cold dread crawled up his spine. He was trapped, and Vivian knew it all too well.

“You don’t want to lose everything, do you? Your career? Your family? Your freedom?” she hissed, every word slicing into him like a blade. “So get the fucking warrant, Max. Do what I told you to do.”

The line went dead, leaving him shattered. Max knew he was in too deep to escape. She owned him now, body and soul, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

In the following days, Max did what Vivian planned and told him to do. Hell, he didn’t have much of a choice. The investigation unfolded like a puzzle, every piece sliding into place just as Vivian had planned. The cash, the sex, the DNA—it all pointed straight to Maria as if she’d been guilty from the start. It was fucking perfect.

The warrant for Maria’s arrest burned in Max’s hand as he drove, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Four police cruisers tailed him, silent and steady, like they were heading to a funeral. Max’s heart hammered in his chest as the Worthington estate came into view. He knew damn well that Vivian had orchestrated this whole mess, and now he was neck-deep in her bullshit.

Max felt his stomach twist when they rolled up to the staff's residence on the Worthington property. He had a sick tension in the pit of his stomach as he pounded his fist against the door. “Maria Sanchez!” His shout cut through the heavy silence, but there was nothing. No response.

Max clenched his jaw, turning to the officer with the battering ram. “Take the fucking door down.”

The door splintered open with a loud crash, and the cops swarmed in, guns drawn. Room by room, they cleared the place. It was empty. Maria was gone, and she’d taken everything with her.

Max exhaled, feeling his pulse skyrocket for a whole new reason. A smirk crept across his face—Maria had been tipped off, no doubt about it. Vivian, the puppet master, was pulling every damn string, even now.

“Put out an APB,” Max barked at the officers, his voice hard. “She’s on the run.”

But he already knew it didn’t matter. Maria was long gone, probably sipping a margarita in some sun-soaked paradise by now.

As the others filed out, Max lingered in the doorway, his gaze drifting across the room Maria had once called home. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this plan was bigger than he’d realized. Vivian held all the power; he was just another pawn she could move around at will.

Max couldn’t get Vivian out of his mind. The cruisers had barely pulled away when he started toward the mansion, a tight coil of anger driving each step. He needed answers—he couldn’t let her walk away from this. She’d used him, played him like a fool, and now she’d slipped free, untouched, with blood on her hands. Shame burned through him for letting himself be drawn in, for being seduced so easily.

The doorbell’s chime shattered the silence, echoing through the hallway as Detective Max Grey waited, jaw clenched, already on edge.

“Hello, Detective,” Vivian purred, her eyes gleaming as she answered the door.

“Hello, Mrs. Worthington… Vivian,” he corrected himself, his voice thick with barely contained disdain.

“Can I call you Max now that we’re…,” she paused, letting her gaze linger with a mocking smile, “Close friends.”

Max slammed the door shut with a ferocity that made the frame shake. His fists clenched so hard that his nails dug into his palms. Vivian’s unnervingly calm, smug gaze only fueled his rage, her confidence hitting him like a slap. She wore her body like a weapon, each curve and move deliberate, crafted to twist him around her finger. Tonight, though, he was done with her mind games.

She strolled down the hall, her figure pouring into the room like sin, hips swaying and neckline plunging low enough to taunt him further. She crossed her arms, tilting her head in mock innocence. “What’s got you so worked up, Max? Come, sit a while.”

“I will stand. You planned this, all of it,” Max spit his words with raw fury. “You won’t get away with this, Vivian,” he stammered, his voice rough with barely contained rage.

She just laughed softly. “Oh, darling Max, I already have.”

His disgust was evident. “How can you live with yourself?”

Vivian settled onto the couch with a casual grace, that damned smugness never leaving her face. “Max, everything is not as it appears. Charles was a monster. Whoever killed him… trust me, he deserved it.”

“Cut the fucking crap, Vivian,” Max snarled, leaning in closer, his face inches from hers, rage burning in his eyes. “I know you’re behind this. You’ve been screwing with me since the beginning.”

A dark, wicked light gleamed in Vivian’s eyes as she stood, her lips brushing his ear, her voice low, a silken snare. “Lie to yourself all you want, Max, but we both know you loved it. You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” Her fingers traced a slow, torturous line down his chest, each touch stoking a dangerous fire inside him.

Max’s thoughts spiralled, captured by the memory of their last encounter—the sounds she’d made, the wild look in her eyes as he’d claimed her. She was in his veins, and damn if she didn’t know it.

Vivian’s fingers hooked into his waistband, pulling him closer, her breath hot against his skin as she whispered, “You’re so predictable, Max. I can feel how much you want this. Starving for it, aren’t you?” Max pulled away from her, increasing the distance between them.

Vivian traced her fingers along her dress hem with a coy, mocking smile, lifting it ever so slightly. Max watched, every nerve strung tight as her dress slid higher, her bare thighs catching his gaze. She leaned back, lips curling, and that annoying smile killed him.

Suddenly, she grabbed him, crushing her mouth against his in a brutal kiss, teeth biting his lip until she tasted blood. Her hands found his neck, nails biting into his skin, her hips grinding against him as she took control. “Fuck, Max,” she growled, frustration and lust twining in her voice. “You hate me, but I know you want me. Admit it—you can’t resist.”

The last thread of Max’s restraint snapped. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her roughly against him, words meaningless against the intensity of his want. In a last desperate attempt to hold back, Max shoved her back onto the couch, her legs spreading without hesitation, dress hiked high enough to reveal her smooth, bare pussy—she’d come prepared by not wearing panties. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Tell me you don’t fucking want this,” she breathed, spreading her legs wider, her fingers trailing between her thighs to her wet smooth pussy, taunting him, her gaze locking onto his with a primal challenge.

Max’s hands roamed up her bare thighs, rough and demanding, his voice a deep growl as he moved lower to her, his fingers sliding between her legs, feeling how wet and ready she was for him.

Vivian’s moans filled the room, her head thrown back as she arched into his touch, nails digging into his shoulders. “Lick me, Max,” she whispered, her voice breathless and trembling with raw need. “Lick my fucking pussy…”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His fingers slid inside Vivian’s pussy, his mouth following as he pressed his tongue against her clit, his movements slow, deliberate, teasing at first, then rougher, more insistent. She moaned louder, her hips rising to meet his mouth, her breath coming in ragged gasps as he worked her over, giving her everything she demanded: no restraint, no mercy.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” she whimpered, her voice a throaty plea, each word dripping with need. “You’re so fucking good at this… don’t stop, Max, oh god yes,” Vivian screamed out.

His fingers moved faster and harder, driving Vivian closer to the edge. Her legs trembled, and her breaths came faster, each one sharp and desperate as Max felt her body tighten around his fingers. She was close, so close, and he could feel every second of it as her climax built.

“Max…” she gasped, her voice breaking, her body arching as she cried out, completely lost in pleasure. “I’m gonna cum…”

Her whole body jerked, her legs tightening around him as she shattered, her orgasm ripping through her, her voice raw, unrestrained. “Oh fuck, yes… god, I’m cumming!” she screamed, her nails digging into his head as she rode out every wave of her release. He didn’t relent, his mouth and fingers easing her through her orgasm, his touch lingering as her body slowly relaxed.

When the final shudders faded, Vivian slumped back against the couch, her breath coming in shallow, gasping breaths. Her skin flushed, and her lips curled into that same infuriating, triumphant smile.

She looked at Max, her voice a dark, breathless murmur. “You’ll never get enough of me, Max,” she purred, her voice barely audible but brimming with confidence.

Max ripped off the last of his clothes; standing naked, Vivian stared at him, her eyes dark with pure, unrestrained lust. His cock was hard, throbbing, already aching to be buried inside her.

“God, you’re so gorgeous,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to her pussy. She was slick and ready, practically begged for him.

Max climbed onto her, guiding just the head of his cock into her, feeling her tight heat wrap around him. He couldn’t hold back. He slowly lowered himself into her warm wet pussy.

“Oh yes, Max, fuck me,” she moaned, her voice full of need as he drove deeper, harder, each thrust rougher, more desperate than the last.

Vivian’s moans grew louder, almost a rhythm against his movements. She slid her fingers down, rubbing her clit in sync with his pounding, the friction driving them both wild.

Vivian was wet, tight, and felt perfect around his cock, and Max was lost entirely in the moment. “Oh God, Max, yes. You’re going to make me cum again,” she gasped, clenching around him.

He thrust faster, feeling her start to unravel, her body tightening as she reached her peak. “Yes… god… yes!” she cried, trembling beneath him as she came, her release washing over her. Max slowed, savouring the feeling as she rode out the waves of her climax.

Breathless, she looked up at him, her lips parted. “I want to finish you with my mouth. Let me taste you,” she whispered hungryly.

With a low growl, he pulled out of her dripping pussy, his cock hard, slick, and throbbing. Max stood beside the couch as Vivian sat up and reached for him. Her slender fingers wrapped around him with that perfect, maddening mix of urgency and control. Her eyes never left his, dark and unrelenting, a silent challenge, and when her tongue flicked out to taste him, tracing his length with long, teasing strokes, he felt his breath quicken.

Vivian took his throbbing cock into her mouth. She owned him, sucking him deep, her lips creating a tight seal as her tongue worked him with ruthless precision. She moved with an unrestrained rhythm, drawing him in, pulling him further, her hand pumping him in perfect sync, every stroke deliberate, unrelenting. Her other hand slid down, rolling his balls, her fingers teasing with just the right pressure, each touch igniting something primal, pushing him closer, daring him to let go.

“Goddamn, Vivian,” Max gasped, his voice hoarse, a warning tangled with desperation. “You’re going to make me cum.”

Vivian’s eyes sparkled with wicked intent, and instead of easing, she only quickened her pace, taking him deeper, her lips like a vice, her tongue twisting around the head of his cock with a fierce, calculated skill that shattered whatever control he had left. Every nerve in him tightened, each pulse a building storm, and she took him willingly, her mouth relentless, consuming him whole.

“Fuck Vivian… just like that,” he groaned, his hips jerking, his breath harsh as he surrendered, feeling the pleasure rip through him.

“Oh fuck I’m cumming fuck,” Max grunted.

Vivian felt him tense, his balls drawing tight, and as he spilled his load into her mouth, she took every drop, savouring the heat, the wild pulse of his release. Even as Max pulled back, the last drops marked her lips and face, a testament to his surrender. She didn’t stop, rubbing his cock against her lips, milking every last pulse, leaving him trembling and spent.

When he finally looked down, dazed, barely coherent, Max managed a low whisper, “Vivian… you’re fucken unreal.”

She licked her lips, her gaze filled with satisfaction.

Max gently pulled Vivian to her feet, his lips meeting hers in a soft, lingering kiss. He tasted the remnants of their shared moment, a trace of saltiness on her lips. His heart raced, and he felt a pang of something he hadn’t expected—maybe something deeper than he was ready to admit.

As they both dressed, Max watched Vivian with a newfound curiosity. Something about her, something magnetic, made him feel like he’d lost all control. He’d come here with a purpose, determined to put things to rest, but he fell for her again.

Vivian broke the uncomfortable silence between them. “Do you still hate me, Max?”

He should, he thought. Vivian was still technically a suspect, someone he shouldn’t be involved with. But he couldn’t find any anger or resentment when he looked at her. Instead, Max chuckled softly. “Yeah,” he teased, not even believing himself.

Vivian laughed, playfully nudging him. “Asshole.”

“Let me walk you out,” she offered, a gentle warmth in her voice.

They walked side by side down the hallway, the silence filling the space between them. When they reached the foyer, Vivian turned to him, her gaze softening as she searched his lips for a kiss.

“Maybe our paths will cross again someday, Detective,” Vivian said, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Her fingers lightly brushed his arm.

“It was… interesting meeting you, Vivian,” he replied with a smile, feeling a strange calm wash over him.

“Oh, wait. I almost forgot—I have something for you.” She reached for a small box on the table and handed it to him. “Don’t open it until you leave.”

“No, I can’t accept this,” he tried to refuse.

“Nonsense. Take it, Max, and take care. I’m glad I met you,” She smiled, her eyes dancing with secrets.

“Goodbye, Vivian,” Max said, tucking the box under his arm as he walked away, unsure of what he had honestly gotten himself into.

As Max walked toward his car, he spotted Roger approaching the house. No longer in his sharp chauffeur’s uniform, he looked casual, almost unrecognizable. “Good evening, detective,” Roger greeted, his voice smooth as he passed Max and headed toward the front door.

Max muttered a brief response, “Good evening,” but his smirk told the real story. His suspicions were confirmed when he glanced back and saw Roger pull Vivian into a close embrace as soon as he stepped inside. Roger had been part of her twisted scheme from the very beginning.

Max’s mind raced, trying to make sense of Victor Worthington’s death, but it was too late. He was outplayed and compromised, and there was no fixing it. It was over, tied up in a neat, sinister bow.

Max grubbed the steering wheel hard. His knuckles whitened as he tried to calm his racing heart. Everything had spiralled out of control, the last few weeks pushing him to the edge of a life that no longer felt like his own. His eyes fell to the box beside him, its pull irresistible. With trembling hands, he flipped it open. His pulse spiked. There it was—a fortune in cash, bundles of hundred-dollar bills stacked high, so much money it almost felt obscene.

A heat wave flushed through him as the weight of it all sank in. The temptation, the betrayal, the money—it was too much. As he sped down the driveway, the lines between right and wrong blurred, fading into nothingness.

A sly grin crept onto Max’s face as thoughts of Vivian flooded in. What a woman—sexy, dangerous, a real piece of work he thought. She’d played him, Maria, Roger… maybe the whole damn crew. Or hell, maybe they were all in on it, and he was the only fool. Either way, he was too damn tired to care.

Despite everything, a surge of desire and twisted lust still rippled through him. Vivian’s hold over him was unshakable, her presence unforgettable. She was the woman who had changed his life forever.

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