| Lesbian: Lusty Liaisons: The Pearl Detective - Part 1: Harlem Nights (3/4) |
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more certain he wasn't about to keel over and die, I shouted to the two guys attending the body, telling them to let me know of any finds they might make as soon as possible before turning to Lou and nodding in the direction of the apartment building from which I'd spied the naked form just minutes earlier. “I'm taking the sunny side of the street, Lou. You take this one. Every door. You need to call at every door, not just the ones you hear the TV behind. You never know, someone could be sitting waiting to name names and clear this thing up by morning.” I didn't wait for his reply before starting off for the rear of the building. I started on the first floor. Hammering on doors, waiting a minute or two before hammering again. Most were answered by people obviously agitated by the heat, some glad of the diversion from having to try to sleep, others just peeved at having to bother moving at all. The second and third floors bore the same yield; nobody had seen or heard anything. Not unusual in this neighbourhood, but annoying nonetheless. Forty-five minutes after my first enquiry, and I was stood outside THAT door. I raised my hand to hammer it, surprised when it was opened before I'd had chance to make the descent. The female who stood in front of me matched me in height. Her hair fell about her shoulders in soft curls, honeyed skin now decently covered, although, even in shadow it was possible to see the outline of a nipple jutting, pushing against the thin cloth of the t-shirt she'd thrown on. I let my eyes travel down her body. The t-shirt stopped only just in time to keep her pussy from view. Her legs, long, shapely legs, the kind of legs anyone with a pulse would want wrapped around them. ”I knew you'd come,” she whispered, standing aside, an invite for me to enter. “I have information,” she smiled, and I walked into the apartment, calling in to despatch my whereabouts and that I was questioning a possible witness. The apartment smelled faintly of cigarettes, and I took a seat in one of the two chairs facing each other, making a big pretence of getting out my notebook, jotting the crime number, and other relevant facts as she sat opposite me, curling her feet underneath her. “Name?” I asked, much more bluntly than I'd intended, my gaze stopping short of reaching hers at the sight of the curve of her bottom where her t-shirt failed to cover. The only light in the apartment came from what I guessed to be the bathroom, and it fell short of shedding enough luminescence to light the shadow that hid her pussy from my desperate view. ”Emily Naughton,” came the reply, eventually — breaking my reverie — and I looked up, caught a smile play across her mouth. She shifted in her seat, placing her feet flat on the floor, her shirt riding up to expose the naked, smooth flesh of her genitals. Smiling, she opened her legs further and there it was. The only place on earth I wanted to be that night. ”How do you want me?” she asked innocently. “Shall I come quietly or will you handcuff me before sinking your tongue inside my willing hole? Are you a take-charge kind of gal, or do you prefer to be enslaved by your fuck-buddies? Who gets to spank who?” They say actions speak louder |
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