(First responders arrived at 12:31 AM.)
(The residence was found unsecured.)
(No survivors were located.)
(No remains were recovered.)
* * *
Case status: Open.
Classification: PENDING REVIEW
Distribution: Restricted
One
My Hotel’s Across The Street -Finn
The bar’s closing call had already begun when she slid onto the stool beside me. No small talk, no names—just the slow, unhurried sweep of her eyes from my mouth to my hands wrapped around the glass. Her edges were sharp: a black leather skirt riding high on pale thighs, red lipstick that looked like it had a rap sheet, and eyes that said,Let’s not pretend this is romantic.
“Another round?” the bartender asked.
She answered before I could, slowly licking her lips. “Two shots of tequila and whatever he’s having—but make his a double.”
I raised an eyebrow. She tilted her head, a silent calculation in her eyes:Worth the trouble, or not?
We didn’t speak until the shots were gone. Her fingers found the inside of my thigh—a slow graze at first, almost accidental, then her nails caught, a deliberate scrape that made me set my glass down.
“Your place or mine?” her voice barely cleared the bass line thumping through the sound system.
“My hotel’s across the street.”
The negotiation was over.
* * *
The door had barely clicked shut before she shoved me against the wall. Her mouth found mine—teeth first, catching my lower lip, followed by her tongue. Her nails raked down my chest through my shirt, and I felt the drag of them even after her hands had moved on. Salt. Lime. Something faintly copper.
She broke the kiss only long enough to yank her top over her head—a black lace bra, nothing delicate, just enough to frame her breasts before she reached behind herself and unhooked it without ceremony. My hands found her hips and pulled her against me, letting her feel exactly where thingsstood. She found my belt. The buckle clattered open as if it had personally offended her.
“Condoms?” Her hand was already moving against me through my jeans.
“Top pocket of the duffel.”
She pushed off me and stalked toward the bed. I followed, shedding my shirt, kicking off shoes, pulse hammering in my throat. By the time I reached the doorway, she’d stepped out of her skirt and left it pooled on the floor—nothing left but black lace panties and those knee-high boots she hadn’t bothered to remove. My dick got harder. God, I was going to fuck thesmugout of her.
She dropped to her knees without preamble. No teasing. No coy glances up through her lashes. Wet heat, suction, her tongue dragging slow and deliberate along the underside while her hand twisted at the base in perfect counterpoint. Hollowed cheeks, anoccasional scrape of teeth that made my hips jerk. She hummed low in her throat—a sound of genuine satisfaction, as if she had nowhere else to be—and I hissed through my teeth. I tangled my fingers in her hair.
She slapped my hand away. Hard.
“Don’t.” The word came out muffled but unmistakable. “Just stand there and take it.”
So I did.
My thighs hit the edge of the mattress. I grabbed it, released, and grabbed again. She maintained her pace, neither speeding up nor slowing down. At some point, I muttered something—I don’t know what—and she completely ignored it. When she finally took me all the way down, I lost awareness of the room. She stayed there, swallowed, then pulled off slowly, and the cold air hit me like a slap.
She stood, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and shoved me onto the bed. I landed hard. She climbed over me, her tits swinging into my face before she righted herself and settled onto my hips. One slow grind. The lace, soaked through, warm and slick against me, and she watched my jaw go slack as if she’d been expecting exactly that.
