Sin City Mysteries

Author's note:

I have never written a mystery before, and this is my first attempt. It is completely unedited because I've been out of town for the last week, and quite frankly, forgot that I'd promised to write for this event. Between writing for two other projects, plus releasing my debut novel, this one got lost in the shuffle. Real life always bites me in the ass. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, but if you're looking for an Agatha Christie quality whodunit, you should probably pass on this one. I wrote it in one evening. Mea culpa. All errors are my own, etc.

I also hemmed and hawed about the category this should go in. For my followers, sorry, there's no kinky sex. It was a toss up between nonhuman, sci fi, and erotic horror. After chatting with a few regular Lit writers, I decided on nonhuman.

###

Mud makes a particular sound when it hits the top of a coffin.

A shovel inserted into dry grave dirt makes a solid thump of contact as it bites in and lifts its payload. The earth skitters over the coffin lid, sliding down with a whisper. It's quiet and sterile; those few moments where even the topsoil is reverent as each mourner adds to the blanket under which the departed will sleep.

It rained the day we buried my grandmother. Instead of polite granules of sandy soil, her mourners threw sticky shovelfuls of muck on top of her. The wads of mud peppering the top of her silvery gray casket looked like cow patties and made about the sound you'd expect. It was a squelchy wet splat -- just like dropping a cow pie from six feet up.

Lisette's friends were there; dozens of retired showgirls, prostitutes, and performers in flamboyant red hats over black dresses and fuck me shoes. My mother sniffed her disapproval at the spectacle of color on old women, but I thought it was charming. Besides, I knew my grandmother had a red hat in her closet that would put any Kentucky Derby fascinator to shame.

My mother, the tight assed bitch, left the wake when the male strippers showed up, lace handkerchief held over her nose as she escaped. I'll tell you one thing about Lisette's friends. They had awesome taste in booze, men, and couture -- and had enough money from filthy rich and conveniently dead husbands to let them put on a truly raunchy wake. Lisette would have loved it.

Ignoring the sounds of revelry and feminine screeches as the strippers did their thing, I tipped my martini in the direction of a massive boudoir photo of my grandmother from her days on the Vegas stage. "Fuck, I'm going to miss you, Granny."

A man I didn't know walked up as I sipped my drink. "She was one of a kind," he murmured.

His voice was soft, but rough with age and gravel. Strangely, he didn't look old enough to have such a raspy voice, but he was the foxiest silver fox I'd ever seen. He reminded me of the fitness model Anthony Varrecchia, olive skinned with silvery hair and a well-groomed beard. His black suit was perfectly cut and fitted to his bulky frame.

I smiled at the memory. Lisette had always had an eye for a pretty man, and he'd been one of her favorites, never mind the fact that he batted for the other team.

"Yes, she certainly was. Did you know my grandmother well?"

"She was my dearest." He turned to face me, his pale blue eyes cataloging and measuring, and I knew he compared me to her.

People always said I look like her, but I didn't see it. Where Lisette was tall and statuesque, with curves that rumors say made Raquel Welch jealous, I'm more fire plug in combat boots. Before she gave in to nature's dictates and went platinum, her hair had been shimmery honey, a thousand shades of blonde, amber, and chestnut. Mine is boring brown. The only thing we shared was our cheekbones and green eyes.

"One of your dearest friends?"

He stroked a cold fingertip down my cheek, making me shiver at the touch. "Yes, of course. She was a dear friend." He shook his head and smiled. "My condolences for your loss, Miss Archer."

Leaning toward me, well into my personal space, he whispered, "Her house holds many secrets. If you are fortunate, you might find one or two."

"How did you—"

He shot a cuff and looked at his watch. "I'm afraid I must be going, my dear. It was lovely to chat with you." Taking my hand, he kissed my palm. His beard tickled and I resisted the urge to tug my hand away. "We'll see each other again soon."

Without another word, he strode away, leaving me gaping after him with too many questions. I didn't believe his words about being my grandmother's friend. I wouldn't say I knew all her friends, but I knew a lot of them, and they'd have mentioned such a handsome specimen. I also had no idea how he knew Lisette had left me her house, along with a significant trust for its upkeep. We'd kept that information to ourselves and the lawyer handling the trust. Nobody questioned me, though, so maybe she'd told her friends.

Still, his words made me uncomfortable. Such odd phrasing. Dearest what, if not friend? And he hadn't even introduced himself. I tossed back the rest of my drink and rejoined the party. Lisette wouldn't want me to stew over something so silly during the last party held in her honor, and there were dozens of lovely male bodies to admire, alcohol to be drunk, and a gloriously scandalous life to celebrate.

I pasted a smile on my face and snagged a vacant chair to watch the show. The servers were attentive, the booze was free, and Lisette's debauched friends had hired a limo service to take everyone home. Best wake ever.

###

Let it be said that moving while hung over sucks. Let it also be said that a certain stripper with a cock as thick as my wrist was more than a fabulous fuck. He didn't complain over my makeshift bed on the floor of my downtown apartment. He also woke me up with croissants, hot coffee, and hotter kisses before helping me move the last of my shit into my new house. I think his name was Luke. That was probably the name on his business card, anyway. God only knew what his mother named him.

I was pretty sure one of Lisette's friends paid him to take me home from the wake, but I didn't care.

He'd said he was a student at UNLV. I didn't know if that was true, but he seemed about the right age for it, and he wouldn't be the first to turn tricks for tuition. I was a student, too, but Lisette had funded my art degree when my mother refused to pay for what she called a useless education. I was cute enough to waitress in a casino, but too short and clumsy to follow in Lisette's stilettoed footsteps.

Though most of my grandmother's personal belongings were gone, the house was fully furnished. Bearing a new mattress and fresh sheets, her antique mahogany four-poster held dominion over the room. I'd picked the mattress out myself a few months before she passed, hating the morbidity of the action even though I knew it was necessary. I could still smell the comforting fragrance of Chanel number 19. Rare and hard to find now, supplanted on shelves by dozens of chemical based celebutante brands, it was classically gorgeous just like Lisette had been.

Luke set the last box down in the master suite and wiped his sweaty face with the hem of his t-shirt, revealing his tight abs. I was well acquainted with those ridges and valleys of muscle by now, but it didn't stop me from wanting another taste.

He caught me staring and grinned as he sauntered toward me. "I saw a killer bathtub in the master bathroom. It's more than big enough for two and has a very handy detachable sprayer." He stripped off his shirt and tossed it to the floor then popped the button on his jeans.

"Mmm. How can I refuse?" I wasn't porn star gorgeous, but I wasn't the type to turn off the lights during sex, either. I could fill out a bikini and not look totally stupid. I had to wonder why Luke stayed. Surely, he'd more than earned whatever Lisette's friends paid him. I was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. I lifted the hem of my shirt but he brushed my hands away.

"Mine. I get to unwrap the present."

His green eyes flashed as I pushed the dirty blonde hair off his forehead and leaned closer for a kiss. He took my mouth hard, as if he would devour me, his teeth and lips consuming mine as he sank his hands into my hair, holding me still for his depredations. He tasted like the rich black coffee he'd brought for us.

Pulling a scant inch away from his delicious mouth, I said, "Be my guest."

I let my hands drop to my sides as he pushed up my shirt, sliding his fingers along my ribcage. He tugged the shirt up and I lifted my arms to let him tug it away. He threw it aside and walked around me, his hands stroking my bared flesh. He stopped his circuit behind me and lowered his face into my hair as he eased my shorts down over my hips. I toed off my tennis shoes, kicking them away along with my shorts.

Whispering into my hair, he said, "You smell like vodka and strawberries."

I leaned back against his chest, his sparse hair tickling. It had felt amazing on my nipples. "You smell like spice."

"Good spice, I hope." He lowered his head and nibbled the sensitive skin at the base of my neck.

"Very good." I arched my neck to give him more access, then sighed in disappointment when he moved to stand in front of me.

"I think you should get dirty before I get you clean." The skin around his eyes wrinkled as he smiled and pushed me to my knees. "Put your hands behind your back."

His thick cock bobbled in front of my face and I drooled. I like giving head. Some women think it makes them weak, but it doesn't. When you have a man's dick in your mouth, you have utter control over him. And that, my friends, is a heady sensation.

Luke's rich scent filled my nostrils and I opened my mouth for him. Chuckling, he tapped my nose with the head of his cock before easing it inside. Wrapping my hair around one fist, he fucked my throat, his cock easing in and out as he held my head still. It was so incredibly hot to be objectified and used by him, even though he had his free hand clenched around the base of his cock to keep me from choking. He tasted like salt and clean male sweat and I drooled around the thick meat in my mouth, saliva running down my chin.

Damn, a girl could get used to a guy like Luke. He was the perfect mix of nasty and kind. My pussy clenched on air as he used my mouth and I wanted to move my hands so I could touch myself as I sucked him. It wouldn't take much to send me soaring; just a brush of pressure on my needy clit would get me off. He pulled away and I whimpered at the loss.

"Such a dirty girl. Show me how much you want my cock." He backed away from me toward the bathroom, his hand still fisting his dick.

When I stood to follow, he said, "Uh uh. Crawl, dirty girl."

Normally, I would refuse. Subjugation and games of dominance weren't my kink. It seemed right with Luke, though I didn't know why. Maybe it was the decadent surroundings. Lisette had decorated her Historic District villa to engage the senses. Warm color and soft furnishings that invited touch created a sensual paradise hidden away by a stucco wall. And maybe it was his hot gaze on my body, so heavy and intent that it felt like hands on my bare skin.

I gave him what I hoped was a sultry smile as I lowered myself to the floor and did as he asked. His growl of approval had me swaying my hips as I tried to ease the ache in my clit. A wicked smirk lit up his features as he backed into the bathroom.

The mosaic tile was cold under my knees as I followed him. He tossed a handful of condoms on the shelf next to the tub and sat down on the toilet, languidly stroking his cock.

"Run us a bath, dirty girl. It's time to get clean."

I bent over the tub and turned on the taps, knowing he watched my ass. I spread my knees to give him a view of my swollen pussy, waxed bare except for a narrow landing strip. I tried to straighten, but a hand on my back pushed me down.

"Rest your elbows on the tub and stay there."

I let my hair fall forward to cover my face as I obeyed, crying out in pleasure when he stroked my pussy, his fingers grazing my clit before dipping into my channel. God, he felt good, like he knew every button to push to make me beg. His hand on my back was warm and solid, anchoring me as he stoked my need.

He brushed the crinkled rosebud of my anus with his thumb and I stiffened. Anal wasn't my thing, and I'd already gone off the reservation as it was when I'd crawled to him.

"Luke? I don't—" My words cut off with a squeal as he delivered a slap to my upturned ass.

"Relax, dirty girl. I promise to make this very good for you if you behave." He stroked my sore flesh, easing the sting with his warm hand.

I had a choice. I could stop the games and ask him to leave. I was still so horny, though, and that single slap sent warm tingles deep into my core. To his credit, Luke waited patiently for my answer, still stroking my bare ass.

"Do you even remember my name?" I snapped, suddenly tired of being called dirty.

His hand moved from my back to lodge in my hair. He tugged, pulling my head up as he leaned down to whisper, "You are Anais Archer, the granddaughter of one of the most famous showgirls in the world, and it is my honor and absolute pleasure to indulge in your curvy little body and fuck you senseless."

His teeth clamped on my earlobe; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to catch my attention. "Are you fucking me because of her?"

"At first, yes. Now..."

He straightened and I missed his warmth almost immediately.

"Now I'm fucking you because I can't not fuck you."

His thumb, wet with my juices, penetrated my ass. I screeched, mostly in surprise. It didn't hurt, but I felt... I didn't know. Luke swirled his thumb in my bottom hole, waking nerves I hadn't realized were there. My pussy clenched on his fingers and he chuckled.

"I told you you'd like it."

I hated the smug satisfaction in his voice, but not enough to make him stop. Without taking his thumb from my asshole, he reached over and turned off the taps. The crackle and rip of a condom wrapper was loud in the silence of the bathroom. His cock prodded at my wet pussy and I pushed backward. I wanted it so badly I could taste it, but he held my hips still as he worked his thick cock into me. God, he felt amazing.

Almost too amazing. I couldn't even complain when he grabbed my hair, holding me still as he bottomed out against my cervix. We'd fucked all last night, but never in this position. Never from behind where he had absolute control over me. It hurt. It was wonderful. I welcomed the sting of the stretch of my inner walls around him. I rejoiced as his thumb worked my ass, thrusting in time with his cock. Jesus, double penetration FTW.

Still keeping hold of my hair, he gripped my neck, his fingers encircling my throat as he pounded into me. The bite of fear that he might cut off my air ramped up my arousal as he used his free hand to play with my clit. He pinched that swollen, tender nub between two fingers and I screamed.

"Do you want to come, dirty girl?"

I sobbed out a breath, the air leaving my lungs in a painful rush. "Yes, please."

Luke let out an evil chuckle as he pulled out. "Reach back and hold your ass cheeks apart for me. You're going to come only when I'm buried in your ass."

I wanted to cry when he took away his thumb as well. Jesus, he'd reduced me to an animalistic bundle of need. I wondered if I should hate him for that, but he stroked a fingertip across my rosebud and the thought was gone. One finger, then two, breached my back passage. He scissored them back and forth, stretching me. I knew what he intended. I knew it and did nothing to stop it.

He was going to fuck my ass, and I was going to love it. Cool liquid trickled down between my cheeks. Where had the lube come from? I didn't care. It felt too damned good. He worked the lube into my ass, stretching the taut muscle in preparation.

"Push against me, sweetheart. Relax and let me in."

I cried out when he breached me with his thick cock, but not in pain. Between his preparation and my overwhelming arousal, the slight burn did nothing but intensify my need to a fever pitch. He covered my pussy with his hand, stroking my clit with agile fingers as he fucked my dark passage.

I clenched and screamed as I came, bearing down on him as my arms gave out and I fell forward. His fingers on my neck tightened as my head went underwater and my world went black.

###

The tub was partially filled and there was an opened condom on the floor next to me, dry and stiff but unused. I'd also drooled in my sleep and there was a puddle of saliva on the tile under my cheek. I reeked of sex and everything hurt. I groaned and rolled over to stare at the ceiling.

I would swear in a court of law that Luke had used condoms every time. Had he fucked me bareback? I was on birth control, so that wasn't a worry, but there were worse things than getting pregnant. I shivered at the thought and decided to make an appointment for testing.

Luke was nowhere to be seen, but I wasn't particularly surprised. He'd definitely done what he'd said he would do. He'd fucked me into a coma, and probably saved me from drowning. Would it have hurt him to stick around and make sure I was okay? He'd gone above and beyond the call of duty, but he could have carried me to bed. Waking up on cold tile was unpleasant and I felt a little sick. The things we'd done...

Grumbling under my breath, I staggered to my feet, wobbling as I took a single step forward. My head spun and I caught the door frame before I fell. Daylight and a too bright sun stabbed at my eyes and I squinted against the glare and tottered toward the bed. Collapsing on top of the sheets, I let my head flop to the pillow, wanting only to sleep. Luke and I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, and I was exhausted. And hungry, but I was too tired to find something to eat. Turning over, I grabbed my phone to set an alarm. I didn't want to sleep the day away. It would bugger up my schedule.

Weird. My phone was dead, but it had had a full charge before I went to Lisette's wake, and I hadn't used it. Maybe it had been left on somehow, or maybe I'd butt dialed Candy Crush. I had gotten pretty drunk. I fumbled around for the cord I knew I'd plugged in. When you live your life connected to a smartphone, you make damned sure you've got chargers plugged in and ready.

I plugged it in and blinked as it blew up with notifications. A dozen missed calls, texts, messages from social media. Lisette's friend Clarice had left several voice mails, accompanying increasingly shrill text messages.

And the dates. The most recent was dated two days after Lisette's funeral. How the fuck had I lost two days? It wasn't possible that two days had passed since I'd gotten plastered at her wake. It isn't easy to change the date on a smartphone, and it certainly isn't something someone would have done for a joke. It would also explain why my phone was dead.

Well, shit. Instead of going to sleep, I trudged back to the bathroom. Maybe a shower would wake me up. I'd have to find something to eat before I could figure out what had happened. I'd start with Clarice.

I knelt to pick up the desiccated condom, grimacing as I grasped it with the tips of my fingers. Tossing it away, I stepped into the shower stall and spun the tap to turn it on. I hissed at the pleasure pain of hot water pounding my back. The jasmine scented body wash revived me, helping to clear my head.

Coffee would do the rest. Stepping from the shower stall, I glanced over at the tub, still half full of cold water. Grimacing, I released the drain to empty it. Luke had made me start the tub. I remembered that much. I remembered crawling for him. And, to my shame and eternal regret, I remembered letting him fuck my ass.