"Please... find my husband, Mr. Cross," the woman in white asked as she lit a cigarette.

I'd rather shoot him. I reflected. He doesn't deserve you.

Whoever the bastard might be.

I'll admit, it wasn't the first time a dame walked through those doors. But this was different. God damn, even her scent hit like a drunken trucker. Her perfume stuck to my skin while burning into my core. Chemical warfare never smelled so good.

My mouth dried but I covered by pouring her a bourbon. It's not day drinking when it's for two.

"Why don't we start from the beginning Mrs.-"

"Mason. Angelina Mason. Funny, I'm still not used to the sound. I've been Angelina Delacruz for a lifetime. Originally, we considered keeping my name. Brian was like that, any little thing for me. But Daddy insisted. Daddy is very traditional and as much as I hate to say... always gets his way."

"Brian, the husband?" I check.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Take it we're newlyweds," I pulled out a notebook so my hands could stay busy.

"Since last Friday. 3:00 in the afternoon, if we're being precise," she answered. Her tone struck me as if she was never anything else.

"Interesting," I offer.

"I know what you're thinking. Cold feet, right? He realized marriage wasn't for him or something like that. But I'm telling you that's rubbish. Spare the pity. Here's another silly woman thinking her man's different. I'm sure you've had a hundred like me in this office. But I'm telling you he's different. Something's wrong. I feel it. Deep inside. So if you're not going to try, speak up now. Because I guarantee, Mr. Cross, if you don't pour every bit of yourself into pleasing me, I'll destroy your life and salt the earth. Are we clear?"

Clear as faith. But she couldn't have been more wrong. The thought Brian Mason ran off never crossed my mind. Not cuz of true love. But because those curves straining to burst from a white dress. But because of the fierceness in those eyes as she threatened me.

The passion.

I'm okay at reading folks and knowing the days after a wedding. I've had three myself. With someone like Angelina, no man would bother leaving the room.

"Mrs. Mason, not going to lie. I'm hardly what you'd call an upright or honest sort of fella. But if you pass me cash and want something done, it'll happen. Frankly, I don't give two cents if it is nerves. Or whether Brian's got a boy in Saratoga. My fee is $50 a day plus expenses. I'm going to hose you a little. Enjoy a nice bistro maybe take my girl out. But I'm also going to find the runaway groom. Does that work?"

Red lips pressed together as she hid either rage or amusement.

Considering the blood pumping to my head and the lack of oxygen, I was impressed by my own performance. My focus moved from her body- somewhat. Now her eyes centered my attention. Green but sharp it was like jade from a Chinese spear. Those irises missed nothing I bet. Judging everyone. Stripping me down so to speak. Long ago I learned to recognize a predator. Shame I never picked up how to walk away.

"Acceptable," she finally answered.

"Glad tidings. Now why don't you tell me about the last time you saw him," I turn the conversation to my bread and butter.

"Three days ago. We were at the Hotel Tallyran, honeymoon suite. We delayed because Daddy had some last-minute business over the weekend. He claimed that he wanted Brian to tag along. Knew it was to annoy me," she offered a quick eye roll. Fathers can be so frustrating.

"Did it work?" I asked.

"I wanted my wedding night, Mr. Cross. I don't care for waiting," those green eyes flashed again and I almost died.

"Did Mr. Mason say anything odd about the trip?" My voice at least kept everything professional.

"No... but to be honest I didn't ask. He doesn't need a boy in Saratoga, Mr. Cross. After a year of floral arrangements with Mrs. Augustine, endless warnings from Father Callahan, and trying to sneak past Randall -

"Who's that?"

"Daddy's... oh, how should I say... Bloodhound. We call him a butler. So it had been months since our last private moment. The second the bellhop closed the door, well... Must we go into detail?"

Every last one.

But a demonstration would be better.

"Sure," I answer. "But not about that. Rather the particulars of your last conversation."

"Well, that's just it. We didn't really have one. It was 2:00 in the afternoon. We'd gotten a late start. So I suggested ordering room service. Brian said he could do with a stroll. That he'd hop over to Port Bella, and order my favorite dessert. Not a ten-minute walk followed by a twenty-minute wait. I thanked him... enthusiastically. Then told him I'd shower before he came back. He never did."

"What did hotel security say?" I asked not expecting a useful answer.

"They saw him leave and stopped caring," she responded.

"The police?" I asked for semi-legal reasons.

"I have reason to avoid them and the money to do so. Here is a $400 deposit. I'll expect results soon, Mr. Cross, very soon. I left my card with your girl up front. I'm back with Father. Should you need to reach me, ring between six and seven," the orders were crisp and clear.

Then she stood. Sex isn't stationary. Her movement promised ecstasy. The way the ivory fabric clung as she rose, and the slight adjustment of her hips controlled my gaze. She turned away as I downed my drink and watched her ass call my name. Alive and hungry under those vestments. Normally even I would stand when a lady exits. But right now I couldn't risk the gesture.

Angelina Delacruz stopped at the door, framed in profile. The one side of her face caught the light and I saw the first hint of a smile.

"I'm not above rewards, Mr. Cross," she almost promised. "For men who prove worthy."

With that, she walked out and left me to pray for a favor.

Silence kept me company for but a moment when Sandy knocked gently on the door.

"Everything okay in there, Lance," a reluctant voice intruded.

"Yeah." I blame my hoarseness on the booze. "Sure thing. Nothing but dimes."

She opened the door. Sandy was a cute little blonde I'd helped a few years back. Kind of girl who would eventually grow up to be a wide-smiling Mama Bear. The type with toddlers perpetually grabbing at their hem. Or a babe nestled against the crook of an arm. Warm, open, everything good in the world. But a lot of those avatars of maternal innocence start out as nothing but pure sex. Sandy sure fit the mold. Not that I ever did anything. The round face, large eyes, and massive knockers may have caught my attention once or twice. But she worked for me and knew enough to make my life hard.

But now the blush of her cheeks and heavy breath told on her. Our guest had gotten to more than me. Didn't know sweet little Sandy went that way. Or maybe the angel who walked out was simply special.

"New case, Boss-Man?" She held the edge of the door and looked like she might fall. I pushed forward the drink our client left untouched.

"Yep. Missing husband. Left her stewing in the bridal suite." I kept my voice casual.

"What? Is he fucking nuts?"

"Who knows," I said. My assistant stumbled forward as if her legs were about to give. What the hell was wrong with us?

"Thanks, boss." She smiled before throwing back. As she did strands of hair fell across her face. Wild. She's coming undone. I could have stopped this.

Could.

"What's the plan?" She sucked on a broken shard of ice as I poured us both another.

"Find out what's public about the families, Mason and Delacruz. She mentioned something about her father. Sounded like he might be a tough old bastard. So I'll ask Buddy. See if they got anything via the precinct. But first things first, I look into the hotel."

Disappointment has a pulse and I felt it pound as she looked into the bottom of her glass.

"Is that really the first thing to do?" she muttered.

"What else is there?" I invited.

I saw when she decided. The dart of her eyes, the deliberate placement of the glass. She didn't stand. Rather she crawled. My desk doesn't have a front so nothing stopped her from coming directly to my straining zipper. In my head I resisted. I wouldn't stop her but if I'd managed a few words at least I could lie to myself. Say I tried. But even that pitiful theatrical bit of hypocrisy died in my throat. She wasn't practiced but very committed. She tugged my belt and soft manicured hands undid each button.

"Never thought we'd actually-" She giggled. "Not me. But... God it's just what I want."

My cock cast a shadow across her face. It was almost like she hid behind the thick, throbbing pillar. A desperate grin before she slowly wrapped her fingers around the shaft. Those hands slid gently up and down stretching the skin. A vicious bolt of pleasure hit me. I'd never felt so hard yet so far from coming. The tip of her tongue touched the tip of my head. Then Sally moistened the dark red as pre-cum started to flow.

"Mmm," she hummed. "Thanks for the drink, Boss."

"Have all you want," I sipped the bourbon before saying. "But don't leave a mess."

Sandy didn't dignify that with a response. Nor did she immediately push my straining cock down her throat. Rather she licked and tasted. She seemed so small. It's not that I'm... ok I'm a big guy. I won't lie cause I'm not humble. But the way she worshiped my dick, nibbling the balls, enjoying the salt, made me feel like a giant.

Finally, she opened her mouth and spit, leaving a shimmering trail down my dick.

"Fucking hell, Sandy. I thought you were a good girl," I managed as the first third of my cock vanished down her throat.

A sweet little moan is all I get in return. Her mouth was quite full. But as she looked up, with big brown eyes it appeared I might have hurt her feelings. Then she started to suck.

"Never mind! You are a good girl. Fucking Christ! Keep going, Sandy. If you keep that up I'll give you a nice juicy reward."

She hummed her approval and continued. She even managed to get three-quarters of the way. Not bad. My dick felt ready to explode. So did my lower stomach, and every nerve in my body. But as the seconds abused my senses nothing happened. She kept going but I just got harder and harder.

I sensed her growing frustration which bordered on panic. Had to take control. Didn't want this to be bad for her.

"Touch yourself, Sandy," I order. "Go ahead. And let me see you drip over my carpet."

With practiced ease, one hand slipped into her skirt. I saw the movement peripherally. She struggled to breathe as she tried to please us both.

"I want you to cum. Can you do that for me, baby girl?"

She pulled away from my still painfully hard dick falling backward on the floor, legs spread, using both hands. Her eyes were half closed and wantonly misty. The innocent Madonna transformed before me into a whore of Babylon.

"Lance!" she managed before her eyes fully closed. She bit her lower lip, arched her back, and pumped her fingers faster. The pulpy sounds and smell hit me at the same time. She was almost there.

"Now," I demanded.

She did. I saw the break, the shutter. The orgasm went in waves, traveling up her spine until she collapsed onto the floor. She peered up looking ashamed.

"You didn't come." She pouted.

"Not your fault, love. You did great."

"Then what happened..."

How should I have answered? I didn't know. So I just smiled and waved it all away.

"Why don't you make those calls now? Let's get what we can before I visit the hotel."

....................

I'm a big believer in opportunity. I'd promised Mrs. Mason to take advantage of her cash. I do keep some promises. So the chance to book a room at a premier hotel stood out. Especially since I still hadn't found any relief.

My old partner on the force was a humorless black-haired Irish bastard. Protestant Irish, my mother would have said. Even though he wasn't. He patrolled the city trying to spread God's will. You could call him moral, uptight, immune to graft and immune to mercy. A complicated guy.

Anyway. I fucked his wife the entire time we worked together. Recently I'd stopped. I had this entire New Year's resolution about attracting peace into my life. Part of that was not putting my life on the line for pussy.

But times were hard and so was I.

"Jesus," she moaned against the headboard. Our sweat and other juices ruined these sheets. Right then I had a fistful of red curls while my other hand wrapped about her throat. I felt the thunder of her pulse. We've been at it for hours.

But somehow my dick wouldn't go down.

"What's gotten into you?" her voice broken and body limp. She still wanted more, I could tell. The way she weakly stroked my forearm. The pitiful, gleeful hums. But it was also clear if I let go she'd collapse and then sleep like the dead.

But I was pissed. Furious that I still really couldn't get off. So I took it out on her. Forcing her through another orgasm. She wouldn't rest until I could.

Or so I thought. Finally, seeing there wasn't any point, I released the pretty useless cunt. Shannon croaked, smiled, and purred curling up in the sheets. Not asleep. Deeper than that. Fucked into a coma. I on the other hand wasn't getting any winks.

So I might as well get to work.

A quick shower later it was 2:00 in the morning. I closed the door on the sleeping paramour. In my pocket, I had a whole bundle of pictures. Some came from newspaper articles, two mugshots a buddy of mine supplied, and one I took earlier myself. Photography is essential in this business.

The world that exists after midnight is kind of a half-formed thing. Two groups inhabit it. The tourists, who travel from party to party, delighting in mundane vices, their premature sins. But some of us are natives. We work here. There is less glamor in the dark. We're a tougher lot, meaner. But we also possess a sense of camaraderie.

The leathery woman at the front desk knew me and I knew her. Not specifically. We hadn't met. But she glanced at my gun and I eyed her cheap shoes and expensive bag.

A deal could be made.

"Evening cowboy," a slow whistle came with her words. "How can I help?"

"Last Friday. Day shift but I bet there's gossip. Or more. Newlyweds. Husband stepped out for a cigarette," I stress the important beats fast.

"Sad stuff. How much did you say you'd bet on it?" the woman didn't bother looking up yet.

I slid her $100. She perked up.

"Listen, I ain't hear nothing. Like a ghost. But I do know that family he was about to hook up with... well he ain't the only one who vanished. A shame. Did you see him?" She leaned close enough to whisper and I smelled the whisky keeping her warm.

"Got a picture from the paper. Looks like a nice enough guy," I offered.

"A real gentleman. Not at all like that harpy, the 'wife.' She's pretty I'll give her. The entire family has got a kind of diabolical draw. They own the building, you know. Most don't. But I've been here forever. Seen things. Like later that day, after poor worried Angelina checked out, who should check in but the gorilla?"

"This guy," I passed the mugshot of Randall Forsyth next to a second portrait of Ben Franklin.

"Doesn't do him justice. He looks human in this. But that's our fellow," she stroked the two bills lovingly.

"Don't suppose you can let me see the room," I separated a third bill which she took. But used the moment to take my wrist.

"Sure can, mister. But whores here want more than money. I've been getting complaints about your room all night. What have you been doing to that poor girl?" I take in her shape, and I admire her center of gravity. Skinny on top and round where it counted.

"Anything she wanted," I answered.

My cock still hadn't gone down.

"Ya got twenty minutes to spare before we take a look, gumshoe? The office door over there locks," the desperation in her voice brings out the humanitarian in me.

I made my way around the desk before I warned.

"Just a heads up, dame. I'm in no state to be gentle. And I'm gonna destroy that plump little ass so you'll have to stand for the rest of the shift." I ran my thumb along her cheek. "We clear?"

She answered by turning around and reaching for a room key while pressing that very ass against my dick. My hands instinctively went to her waist finding the best place to grip. She pushed harder as I unzipped her skirt.

We didn't make it to the office.

.............

An hour and a half later, she let me into the mystery room or rather gave me the key. I knew she'd say it was stolen. It's fine. We all have our jobs.

Mine led me there. The moment the door opened I knew. Mission accomplished. I'd seen these sorts of rooms before. Down in the basement, the only other vacancies are storage closets and boilers. Here things happen you don't want heard. A place where everything is controlled.

Brian Mason's body was tied to the bed, face down. The photo didn't do him justice. He was beautiful even in death. Cherubic was probably the best word for him. Man had light golden curls and a lean swimmer's body. Supple also comes to mind. Or would have if he'd been breathing.

I hated him. For no other reason than he inspired lust in a woman I wanted. This was the body Angelina Delacruz craved. And it was nothing like mine. I knew those were wicked thoughts, but it was late. Reality seems warped. Desire isn't supposed to extend so long, right? A few sharp intense moments. But I'd been drowning in longing for hours. Her perfume still burned my skin even surrounded by death.

I looked at the binding around his wrists. These were not installed recently. The wall was decorated with weapons of pleasure. Crops, ball gags, and studded dildos of monstrous size. I opened a drawer and saw a collection of lubricants. Another displayed a leather mask.

A mirror faced the bed, but not a very good one. The angle seemed all wrong if you wanted to watch yourself. Unless you weren't watching from this side.

"Knock knock," I said to no one in particular and drew my gun. It did not take me long to find a hidden seam in the wall next to the glass. I pushed it open and found the hidden room. The photography and camera stood exactly where I suspected. What caught me only mildly by surprise was the small priest huddled next to them. His mouth was half open as if trying to conceive an excuse.

"Confessions done changed since I was a choirboy, Father." I aimed the revolver. "Why don't we?-"

But we both heard a new key scratching the lock. Quickly, I shut the hidden door and put a finger to my lips. Father Callahan nodded in understanding. Time for quiet.

The first figure to step inside could have eclipsed the sun. In his police file it simply read 6"5', 260 lb. But that doesn't tell the story. He made you feel small. Like those fingers could tear joints apart. His presence alone sent an electric current of flight or flight. But he wasn't alone. A woman followed, elegant and poised. She wore black paired with an expression of total superiority.

"Boss said we should get rid of the body tonight," the big man offered. "Shame what happened."

"Yes, a pity," she responded impatiently. "But we're past that now. It's almost 4:00. And if you hadn't wasted so much time at the docks we wouldn't have to rush this."

"Sorry, Miss Augustine," he answered ashamed.

"Well, I suppose that will have to do. Now lay next to the body. I didn't come all this way to leave unsatisfied."

"But the boss?"

"Now, boy," she commanded.

And he does. The mountain of muscle crawls uncomfortably onto the bed. Face into the pillow next to the dead body. He reached up and pulled down his trousers. His granite ass cheeks were still red from whatever punishment previously received. I remembered the front desk clerk in this same position not even half an hour ago. My cock twitched in expectation. My body thought I'd have this new flesh.

But no. This offering is solely for Miss Augustine. She removed the refined jacket and blouse revealing a dark corset. A nightly blue, highlighting large pale breasts elevated spectacularly into view. She turned to the mirror and smiled. A signal to begin recording. I nodded at the priest to my side. He began his work with the camera.

"This will have to be rushed," she said inserting a single finger into Randall's asshole who groaned thrusting back. "Don't blame me, it's your fault. Only I get to cum tonight. But because I'm kind I'll let you taste. Understood?"

"Yes, mistress," the man chanted obediently.

"Good boy," Mrs. Augustine purred.

She didn't bother taking anything off the walls. When she removed the skirt, a thick polished strap-on already gleamed at the ready. She did take a step stool from under the bed and ascended to position. Once at the perfect height, she brought the one gloved hand hard onto the goon's hind quarter.

"Beg me, bitch!" she demanded.

"Please," he did in fact beg and I felt the need through the glass.

"Is that how you ask your master? You're not worthy of being violated. Dirty, weak, small-dicked cunt," her cheeks flushed and her breasts strained as she picked up speed.

"Please. please fuck me. I'm going to die if you don't fuck me with your giant cock," his two massive hands griped the headboard and the sound of it banging against the wall reminded me of gunfire.

"Good boy." She approved and redoubled her assault. They didn't waste time. As she continued to sodomize her servant I heard the rapid sounds of Padre furiously jerking off. Without thinking I almost pulled my own out. Something was fucking wrong with me. And all of them.

"Such a filthy boy!" Now shouting, she thrust her arms were fully outstretched. Her breasts burst through the binding and those magnificent orbs slammed against each other as she fucked. I wanted to help her. I'd hold them in place and stick my cock in between. They were probably warm as her soaking cunt.

"We're almost out of time. I've changed my mind. Cum dog. But thank me for the mercy. Later on, I'll demand a reward." Her eyes closed as she smiled.

All he did was grunt or maybe roar might be a better term. But nothing English. Nothing human. I saw the seed fire from his cock. Then he fell. She did not but allowed an affectionate moment to stroke his hair.

"Sweet little, Randall," she cooed. "Your ass is why we keep you around. My good delectable little boy."

"Man put on a hell of a show," I agreed before pushing the priest out in front of me and stepping into the light. I made sure the first thing they saw was my gun. Didn't want anyone taking unnecessary risks. Then I begin my standard speech.

"Let's be clear. Anyone moves they die. Okay, Padre. Why don't you handcuff the good little cum bucket against the wall there? I'll take these photos."

"Are you the police?" The woman doesn't have the soul to look ashamed. Or even nervous. Maybe it's cuz I still kept gawking at those round large tits.

"Nah," I answered. "Was asked to keep them out of it. This phone work?"

It did.

"Hey, pretty lady," I said to Sandy not using a name. "Going to need my repo department to visit the hotel. Send the works. Also some muscle. Should be okay but don't want risks. I found Mr. Mason."

....

Took hours to go through the material. I needed a projector for the film. But I finally got to see the details and meet Mr. Delacruz.

I knew it was him. That had to be Angelina's father. A magnificent man with the same cruel green eyes as his daughter. Even through the screen, his presence was suffocating. One called him handsome because their vocabulary can't do him justice. A different kind of allure than the sweet angelic beauty of Brian. He was at least fifty, probably past sixty but with a body carved from stone and a face set with passionate intensity. Power and control, which never seemed clearer than when he had his cock sucked by a desperate Mr. Mason.

Which was the subject of the first video, so simple. Adorable, helpless Brian dressed to impress his father-in-law. It started a few moments of the prologue. I saw Brian's attempt to do the right thing and walk away. Mr. Delacruz simply stood there as his daughter's fiancé completely confident. They spoke but there was no mic so I don't know what either man said. But eventually, the pretty little man knelt and chokes on his master's dick. You could see the moment Daddy orgasmed because he forced Brian to swallow.

The others got more complex. Brian tied up or in costume, crawling about the floor, felicitating strangers in masks. Whatever limits the young man may have imagined, were gone. In my favorite he was tied up, standing against the wall as Mr. Delacruz tested every last strap-on. The largest looked like it could be used in the javelin.

Thankfully I was not working alone. Sandy helped. It was not a lot of relief. But every half an hour or so as my vision blurred she opened up. First, she practiced deepthroating. Later she crawled onto my lap, skirt bunched along her hips and rode me. Her moans provide a new soundtrack.

"How does it feel? What's it like to get fucked there? I wanna know. Will you show me, Lance?" Her voice was so hoarse it crawled up my skin. Then she adjusted so I could demonstrate.

Tight. Inhumanly overwhelmingly tight. The sounds coming from her throat awakened a part of my brain from the jungle. She hissed through her teeth but pleaded for more. We kept watching. My thrusts matched Mr. Delacruz's rhythm. She gasped and then moved faster. Sandy had become such a greedy little whore. If minutes passed without my cock she becomes petulant. I owned her. I knew this because she kept telling me.

"Don't stop! Use me. I'm nothing but your little cum slut. Please... I'll do anything. Don't stop!"

And I didn't. For what seemed like an eternity. Long after the movie in front of us has run down. After she'd lost consciousness a stupid grin plastered across that sweet face. Nothing for me changed. Still hard. Still exhausted. Still in the middle of a warped reality.

But soon. Soon I'd get my reward.

...........

It was between 6:00 and 7:00. Visiting hours according to Angelina. I'd got a few choice stills in my breast pocket. Angelina needed to see them. That's the job.

Delacruz Manor resembled a fortress. Gates, guards, and cameras every few feet and death waiting for the careless. It was a combination of experience and fate that helped me stay undetected.

I hadn't called ahead.

I found a small side entrance, locked of course, but I brought my picks for a reason. Not as tough as I expected. Maybe they thought no one would brave the armed guards. Maybe this was a trap.

Either way, it was too late to turn around.

Music flowed through the hallway like a wind tunnel. Offbeat, unsettling violins set my heart a pace. I was used to the throbbing in my temples by now. The bending of time and space wherever I looked. I hadn't slept in twenty-four hours, and this nonstop yearning corrupted every other emotion: Fear, joy, victory.

Now rage and lust played along with this atrocious off-kilter post-modern bullshit. But at least it meant the host was distracted.

The halls and stairs are carpeted so there were no creaking floorboards. Two flights up, and I found a small storage room with a phone. An old industry trick let me call the operator, and have them ring the main house. It only took a moment for the ringing to end.

"Angelina Delacruz's residence," I recognized the voice immediately. The posh voice reminded me of the sinful body ready to violate a willing Randall before my interruption.

"Hello, darling," I used my best British flair. "Hate to be a bother, but Angel told me to call between the hours of six and seven. Now we're halfway through and I've hardly a moment to waste. I'll be on the Intrepid before long and need her sign-off before I go. Tell her it's Archy. That's a good girl."

Servants hate being ill-informed but will never admit to ignorance.

"One moment, sir." Her demeanor was impeccable. But it was at least three minutes before I heard Angelina's soft suffocating voice over the line.

"Archibald, you wicked monster. I've been waiting for this call. Any word."

"I'm on the third floor."

"Away! How dare you? With that stunning red-headed countess you've been seducing. My, my. What will her husband say?"

"Can you come?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something to tell him."

"Be here in five, or I disappear. Storage room."

"Well, you drive a hard bargain but I'll manage-"

"Good."

She hung up because I didn't have the strength. I wanted to bask in those throaty intonations. Find release at her command. But I still had a job.

I put down the first packet of indiscreet photographs starring her husband and father next to the phone before stepping into a corner. The room was nothing but shadows. Crates the size of bodies were stacked everywhere. So I had plenty of cover. I check my revolver before picking a corner near the small window.

Light cut into the dusty cobwebbed meeting place. A momentary paradise passed far too quickly with her in silhouette. The kind of figure we call an hourglass because it stops time. She entered the room and more details assaulted my senses. The voile dress, scarlet and sparkling with diamonds triggered a spasm in my palm. I wanted to rip the sheer part of the fabric and free her breasts. Taste every inch.

Angelina Delacruz didn't need further instruction. Seeing the paper wrapping next to the phone, she opened them without a word of warning. I'd meant to be kinder.

"Fucking perfect," a devilish smile crossed her face. "I've got him."

"There's more," I offered from the dark. "Not just your late husband but a whole host of the well-to-do. I recognized a few. Kept the police chief in that pile."

"Stupid, stupid, Daddy." Her fingers turned the rotary phone. "Time to step aside."

I heard the line pick up and a deep worried voice. Angelina silenced the man.

"No worries, Ed. I've got them. Yes, in my hands. Faster than I thought too... my man is very good. They're having a celebration now. Be here within a quarter of an hour. I've made the preparations, you'll have an easy entrance. Don't worry chief. I'll be a much kinder master than he ever was," she spoke quickly and without the need for a response. Once done she hung up the phone.

"Follow me, Mr. Cross. We've only a few moments before the police arrive. They won't be asking any questions." The infernal delight she took in her words twisted my soul. But without resistance, I stepped into the light. Her eyes assessed me. What was she thinking? I'd burn a man alive for a few kind words from those pursed red lips.

We turned into the hall. With unearthly grace, she led us back downstairs. She didn't bother to warn me to be silent. I'm no fool simply a slave. The party was off to our left, but we hooked right into a study. A roaring fireplace mixed with soulless electric lights. A life-sized portrait of the elder Delacruz dominated the room. I suppressed a sharp chuckle when I realized I'd never seen him this dressed.

"A moment," Angelina said as if waiting for tea. She went to the bookshelf no doubt about to reveal a hidden chamber.

"Let me guess, Ivanhoe? Good for secret passages," I guess.

"Collected works of Poe. Cask of Amontillado was the inspiration I believe." Her fingers caressed the edge of a black leather tomb. I saw her lips twitch in the beginning of a grin.

Maybe that's how I knew.

Can't think of any other reason because I didn't spy a shadow on the wall, or a strange reflection. Maybe I caught the earliest hint of fear cross my lady's expression. But whatever the case I dropped, turning as I did. Randall's bullet missed by inches, destroying a small globe on the desk. He entered through a different hidden hallway. Mrs. Augustine ducked behind her lover and protector urging the monster on.

But he had his chance.

My gun fired twice. The first kills. The second knocked him back into Mrs. Augustine who screamed. Over the high-pitched alarm, Angelina shouted.

"Get in now!" She held the door open.

I did. My queen awaited after all. She didn't let the steel doors close until I'd safely crossed the threshold. But once I did, they slammed shut, and the locks set. Now we're inches apart. A small window let us peer into the library. I couldn't hear anything but my heartbeat and her breathing. But we watched Angelina's father rush into the room pulling some young sweetheart behind. He slammed his hand against the now-locked entrance. Nothing. He cursed and raged.

"Close the window," she whispered.

I did.

The panic room was a cozy little nook. A phone hung on the wall, a small closet decorated the side, and a private generator hummed in the adjoining chamber.

There was also a bed.

"Excellent work, Mr. Cross," she opened a small cupboard next to the cold box. With practice, she popped a bottle of champagne. "Frankly, I didn't think you'd survive... or move this quickly. But you've done nothing but exceed my expectations since our first meeting."

I wanted her.

"Shall we drink to poor Brian's memory? Murdered by his lover. My dear father. Scandalous. Tragic." She handed me the crystal glass filled with French temptation. "Cheers."

"Bullshit," I answered putting down the glass. Her smell has nowhere to escape. I breathed more of that hellish perfume. But also something harsher, a musk. My tongue and lips dried in anticipation. She did not move back. Her furious jade eyes keep my glare.

"Whatever do you mean, Mr. Cross?"

I answered.

"Daddy dearest didn't murder your man. He'd corrupted that angel from tip to toe. Made him walk away on his wedding night. All to prove he could. Put his hands on what was rightfully yours."

Her neckline, the diaphanous material felt like nothing in my fingers. Words were difficult, ripping the fabric, easy.

"I expect loyalty from my men," I heard rather than saw her put down her own glass.

"You deserve worship."

"Do I?"

"Maybe not. But it's what I'm offering."

"Then start."

My mouth went for her neck and she hissed... something. Pleasure, pain, I was past caring. I was past human yet again. But one of her hands clutched my hair bringing me closer. The other made its way to my belt. The taste of her skin caused me to grunt like a fucking teenager. But I'd waited days for this mixture of salt, oil, and skin cream. When I finally pulled away, it was only to finish tearing. I freed her breasts from some intricate sensual binding. A sharp long nipple fit deftly between my teeth. The tip of my tongue teased the sensitive little spear. Now her hissing began to stretch into raspy breathing which edged into a long moan.

I loved that sound and wanted to hear it echo. So I pushed her onto the bed.

Her bronzed calves were strong. Muscular. I felt them tighten around my neck as I began to feast. First, as a courtesy, I licked the juices already dripping down her leg. 'Twas my favorite flavor. So I took my time enjoying the scent, nibbling along her inner thigh. She's pushed her snatch into my mouth impatient for more. That's good, the greedy always cum the hardest.

"Not yet," I moaned into her core and felt the shiver spread up her sides. "I'm collecting my bonus." Then slowly I dipped my tongue into the pulsing wetness before tracing up, gently teasing every nerve along her entrance. But I stopped before I hit the clit, and danced my way around.

"Fucking brute," both her hands pulled at my hair trying to force me to hurry, or go deeper, or simply hurt me. Punishment for keeping her on the edge. But I endured.

"So fucking good," I push two fingers into her soaking wet pussy and separate them when I got to the knuckles. "Have a taste."

Her mouth was almost as warm around my fingers as her cunt. I let her lick before I continued.

A moment passed before she realized we were no longer teasing. That my tongue now abuses her poor sensitive clit. She bucks but my left hand forces her back down putting pressure on her lower stomach. I gently adjusted my other digits inside her and curved my middle finger. I found the delightful soft pulpy spot while my tongue lashed out above. Angelina released my hair and instead grabbed the satin. My first wish came true. Maybe it was the blood pumping to my head or the nature of the panic room. But her desperate cries echoed.

"Fuck! I'm coming again. Jesus... what are you doing!? I can't... I can't... breathe... FUCK!"

Two spams followed in short succession and I'm not able to inhale. Her legs have my head in a lock. I could die, a happy ending without a doubt.

But I still had to fuck her if it was the last thing I did. To be inside and unleash these days of agony. So instead of breaking her hold on me, I picked up speed. My fingers pumped her snatch as quickly as my tongue played with her clit. A few moments later she spasmed with another climax.

"I'm..."

But she couldn't finish the sentence. There's no more breath in her lungs. Instead, a hollow whistle escapes. Every muscle in her body contracted for a moment before slowly releasing.

Here I stood while she watched. I removed my tie, vest, shirt, and undershirt. Maybe with the multiple orgasms, her real expression became clear. She gawked at my muscles and scars before gesturing towards my trousers.

"No more waiting," I promised.

I sent my shoes flying into some corner. My pants slid down catching briefly on the erection that had not left me since our first meeting. A brutal red cock dripping precum onto the velvet carpet. She spreads her legs in anticipation, delight highlighting the green of her eyes. My knees hit the mattress and I took a leg in each hand. She reached forward, her fingers guiding my cock inside. I'd planned on gentle. I'd hurt dames in the past but there's nothing to be done. I thrust the moment I could. The oxygen she'd recovered forced out, her breasts swinging upwards. She grabbed them to keep them still while biting her bottom lip hard enough to hurt.

And then I thrust again and she began to curse.

So did I.

The agonizing pleasure didn't die down but became more intense with every inch I offered. The shuddering moans, the clawing at my chest, her legs shaking in my hands, the melting of my body until nothing felt real but my fiery iron cock and her warm wet cunt. Time left us to our business. One moment she was spread in front of me and I was thrusting harder. The next I was crushing her chest with mine, her legs stroking the side of my torso, our hands in each other's hair while our tongues tasted the other. At some point I was standing, her calves wrapped around my waist, arms limp over my shoulders as my hands cup her round juicy ass. Fucking her against a soundproof wall.

And that was a good thing.

And then I came. After days of misery, I shot my seed over and over again. On her face, breasts, and yes deep inside. Enough times that it ran out of her, our juices mixing and forming a creamy pool atop the bed.

And we were so exhausted I didn't bother moving when I felt that sticky puddle touch my lower back. I didn't care, Angelina lay with me, one leg wrapped around mine, hands playing with my sweat-matted chest hair. I was a gentleman so I kept one hand on her ass, while the other stroked her cheek.

"If you ever betray me," she managed to say after some amount of time. "I'll kill you. Do you hear me, Lance?"

"No worries, Goddess. Couldn't if I wanted. Lost any free will the moment you stepped into my office. I'm your man. On earth, heaven or hell. That was my last job. We're a pair now."

We might have talked more. I don't rightly recall.

Cause I'd already said what mattered.