"Don't look so surprised," I said, watching as her lips parted and turned into an 'o' shape. "You came here with an agenda and I'm a detective. It's my job to know."

Slowly, she closed her mouth and inhaled deeply. "You really are good."

"I never exaggerate, I find that despite popular belief, it doesn't promote understanding but rather falsifies the information." I took a step back from her, walking over to my kitchen.

"Do you always talk like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you fucked Merriam Webster." I heard Amy's footsteps follow me to my coffeemaker. She put the batteries I gave her down on the counter. "Is that just how you speak or is it to impress me?"

"Why would I want to impress you?" I questioned while taking the coffee pot and putting it under the tap to fill it. "You clearly already find me attractive if we go by your soaked undergarments."

"No arguments there," She chided. "Normally I don't go for blond men, but those curls are irresistible. I like hair that's long enough to drag my fingers through in throes of an ōrgasm. Pardon my language."

"Is that what you pictured when you were touching yourself last night?"

"Of course."

There was a moment of silence that was only broken by the coffeemaker brewing. She was giving me all the clearest invitations to join the party between her legs, save for maybe holding up a banner that said 'fuck-me.' She was upfront and I liked that. But was it enough?

"I don't do relationships," I curtly said when I felt her staring at me from the side. "My work is always my first priority."

"I don't do relationships either," Amy replied. I heard her take a few steps towards me, until I felt her hand land on my shoulder blade. "I'm all about the sex."

Her hand slid down the broadness of my back to the start of my pants. The other tickled my neck.

I swiftly turned around, caught her in my arms and locked her against me. She faintly gasped from the surprise and placed her palms on my pecs. "Alright, Amy. You have my attention. Use it well."

She met my eyes. Her chestnut brown pupils dilated until they turned almost onyx. She slowly brought her hand to the front of my hair, gripping it. Teasing my curls between her fingers, she pulled my head down to her face. I came closer, stopping when we were but a hair's width apart. She frowned annoyed. "What?"

I studied her face for what was probably two seconds, but felt like minutes.

There was something... about her. Something I couldn't yet put my finger on and it annoyed me. I didn't like not knowing, it annoyed me. I would just have to solve the mystery, then.

I crashed my lips down on hers, catching her by surprise, and drew a moan from her. She gripped my hair tightly to the point where I could feel her nails digging into my scalp. Letting my tongue tease the seams of her lips, I slowly brought my hands around her waist, down to her rear. I rounded them, feeling the soft warm flesh against my palms. I squeezed.

Amy moaned again, dragging me closer to her if possible. Finally when she couldn't breathe anymore, she pulled her lips from mine, sucking in a breath. "Your bed or mine?"

"Who needs a bed?" I picked her up and turned around, setting her on my counter. The thigh-length nightgown she was wearing was highly convenient as it easily allowed me to pull it up and access what I wanted. She allowed me to tug it off her body, exposing her to me. I let my eyes glaze over her body, taking it in.

Tan skin, pale breasts, creme nipples, hourglass figure, shaved from the neck down. Bottomless.

"You really came prepared," I noted tilting my head a little sideways, observing her breasts. They looked like D-cups. "Are you that confident in yourself or did you think I would be easy?"

"A little of both," She mused, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "I know I can be beautiful when I want to be, and after all, didn't I get you here pretty easily?"

"You never got me, I got you," I said, grabbing her chin. "I think you'll quickly find that I'm not your average prey, Amy. I don't play games, I don't beat around the bush. If I didn't have the fullest intentions of fucking you right here on this counter, I wouldn't. The state of the matter is I'm bored and you're horny. It's that simple to me."

She bit her lower lip, dragging it between her teeth before exhaling. Her cheeks were tinted with arousal. "Then fuck me. Don't keep me waiting."

I hated waiting myself.

I brought my lips against hers again, grabbing her neck in the process. She met me with force and wrapped her legs around me while her hand reached for my tie. She untied it and tossed it on the floor before she went for my shirt. Without hesitation, she tore it open, letting the buttons fly everywhere. The next second she was dragging it off my shoulders. I allowed her.

Once my shirt was removed, I brought my hands to her breasts while hers planted against my pecs. Hungrily, I felt her fingers roam across the broadness of my chest, down to my belt buckle. My hands cupped her two reasonably large breasts and I weighed them, feeling her nipples harden against my touch. A soft moan escaped her lips as my mouth traveled down her neck. I could feel her hands working on my belt, unbuckling it, before pulling it out of my pants completely. It joined the rest of the discarded clothes on the floor.

When her hand unbuttoned my pants and slipped inside, she was met by my hardening cock. Stroking it softly, she released a moan as I returned the favor with a pinch to her nipples. She arched into me. "Russell... I can't wait any longer."

"Back pocket," I said against her neck. While her hands sought out my wallet, I let my teeth scrape and bite along the skin of her neckline. She tightened her legs around me, breathed heavily. She then managed to pull the condom out of my wallet and tossed my wallet away on the ground. She pulled back a little, reaching for my briefs. I allowed her to pull my pants down, taking my briefs with them in the process to release my cock. She laid eyes on me with a parted mouth, a small gasp escaping her.

I lost my patience. I snatched the condom from her hands and ripped it open myself while she seemed to be hypnotized by what was the simplest thing; a hard male appendage. I sheathed myself before grabbing her chin and turning her head upwards, forcing her eyes to meet mine. "There's time for staring later. Isn't this what you wanted?"

Her throat bobbed and she nodded. "Yes. God yes, I want this—you. I want you."

She then pressed her lips against mine again, hungrier than before, more eager. Her hands wrapped around my neck as I drew her closer, bringing her warm centre to my blunt.

And then I rammed into her with no warning. Amy cried out loudly and dragged her fingers down my shoulders. Her nails pierced my skin and drew blood. I gritted my teeth, groaning at the delicious sting of pain.

I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be welcomed in a warm wet cūnt. My ex-wife had cut off sex months before the divorce and I hadn't been a cheating bastard. It felt good finally being back in the game.

"Oh, God," Amy moaned, moving a little to adjust to me. "Shit, you're—"

I cut off whatever stereotypical sentence she was about to say by mashing my lips against hers. Slowly, I pulled out of her, only to thrust back in, impaling her. She mewled and arched her back. I repeated my action, picking up the pace just a little. I didn't beat around the bush, but there was no reason to cut to the chase. Not when this felt better than expected.

I let my lips travel to the crook of her neck again, sucking and biting onto her neck, leaving a trail of burning red skin. My hands found the rear of her ass, pressing her against me with every thrust. Each time, I felt myself go even deeper, hitting her where she needed it and where she could feel it most. Her moans grew louder and her words became incomprehensible noise. At last, I felt her walls tighten around me, grasping their release.

"Russell!" She screamed, probably waking up the neighbors both up- and downstairs as her ōrgasm overpowered her, leaving her spasming in ecstasy. Her nails clawed down my back and left a trail of scraped skin as I kept pounding into her. With a final thrust, my own release came, and groaning, I let it go. My semen filled up the condom, warming her already burning centre.

"Oh, my God," She panted, clinging on to me. Sweat glistened on her body, rolled down the valley between her breasts and made her hair stick to her back.

Catching my breath, I pulled out of her, hearing her softly sag with exhaustion. I disposed of the condom in my trashcan after tying it in a knot. Behind me, I could hear her carefully getting off the counter, picking up her clothes. I myself pulled up my briefs and pants, buttoning them.

"Can I borrow your bathroom?" I heard her voice behind me. When I gave a nod, she trotted off to my bathroom and closed the door behind her.

A few minutes later, she came out again, fully clothed in her little nightgown, her skin still slightly flushed and her lips still bruised. She slandered into the kitchen to me where I had taken the liberty to pour myself a cup of the coffee I had brewed before what transpired. It was practically cold by now.

"I don't think I will be needing those batteries after all," She told.

I took the batteries into my hand, weighing them. "Take them anyway. I won't always be here when you need a fix."

She accepted them when I handed them over to her and then she looked down at them for moment. "Perhaps not. Thank you for your hospitality, Detective Crane. I hope to see you again soon."

With a last smirk, she then went to my door with a sore sway to her hips.

I kept drinking the cold coffee, staring at the door as she left, deep in thoughts.

I hadn't solved the mystery yet, but now I had gotten closer. She had suffered abandonment. That's why she felt so passionate about sex. She needed the closeness without the actual closeness. It was a survival technique mankind had invented which went back as far as the cretaceous period. The need to make love when it felt like nobody loved you. Once they had gotten their fix, their partner was trash to them.

Or, in Amy's case, a trophy. All the people who she had screwed but who never got the chance to screw her over.

And you just joined the shelf, my inner voice said.

The only difference between me and that Maddox guy, for instance, was that I didn't care. I could care less if she cared or didn't care about me. Love meant about as much to me as the numerous soap operas they aired on TV.

And that right there was why you got divorced.

~~~

"Detective Crane, always a pleasure," Ms Dee said, pursing her lips as I walked into the police station.

"It would sound so much more convincing if you didn't force your voice to sound so exquisitely polite, Ms Dee," I replied, giving her flat look. "May I suggest giving up on formalities in the future and instead just tell me why you called me so we can avoid these unpleasant encounters?"

Ms Dee pressed her lips even tighter together, grabbing the folder in her hand so tightly her knuckles turned white; I had that effect on most people. "After what happened yesterday, I find myself in the need to keep a close eye on you if you decide to misbehave again."

"Misbehave?" I said, exasperatedly. "We are five years apart in age, Erika, let's not do the whole mother/son act. Find a husband, have a kid and then do it if you're so keen on playing house. Or, you could take the alternative option and look into BDSM. I heard that's making a comeback."

Ms Dee turned beetroot red and clenched her fists. "That is enough out of you, Mr Crane! I should fire you here and now if it wasn't because—"

"—because I solved your case last night," I interjected and held out the bloody murder file. "You're looking for a murder with a conscience. He murdered the victim with an axe as the autopsy confirmed, but got remorse which was why he left the 'sorry' note. Judging from the force of the stabs he used, to the distinct way he wrote the 'y' and the 'r' in the note, I'd say he's about 18-20 years old. Kids from that generation used a particular swing to their letters since the times and trends were changing. And, judging on what the witnesses described, he's most likely caucasian. If we take into account that he probably felt bad after having murdered whoever this person was to him, he would've hidden out somewhere in the slums of his neighborhood because he was too scared to go home. At that age, it's highly likely he still lives with his parents, and if they are somewhat good at their parenting job, they must have reported him missing by now. I would start there." I handed Ms Dee the case file which she with a small hesitation then took.

She cleared her throat. "Well then. You solved another one."

"Which is why I'm hoping the reason you called me down here was because you had a new case, and preferably one that's more exiting than this one."

She nodded, taking a deep breath to collect herself. "It is. Go see Leon about it, he just got back today. He has the file."

"In that case, enjoy the rest of your day," I said before striding past her. I started heading down the hall.

Leon Jones was about the only other detective who could stand working with me. I had worked with him for three years since my name got known by the police force. For some reason, he was sympathetic about me and my methods. He allowed me to do things my way and didn't stand in my way when I was on crime scenes. In a way, I think he saw me as his partner. He seemed to care about me and had on numerous occasions invited me home to meet his children and wife. That was back when I was still married. I hadn't seen him in almost two months though, since he and his family had been on vacation in Europe, visiting some family.

"Russ!" Leon greeted me once he saw me over the top of his cubicle wall. He was a six-foot-five African-American who honestly looked like someone who should be competing in the NBA's. "Good seeing you again. Did you make it into the new year alright?"

"I got divorced. Where's the new case?"

His smile immediately dropped and a serious frown replaced it. "Divorced? You and Janelle split up?"

"That is the meaning of the word divorce to my extend. The case, Leon. Dee said you had it."

Leon looked lost for words for second, before looking down at his cluttered desk. He started going through his files. "Shit, I'm sorry to hear. What happened?"

"My work finally got to her," I impatiently replied, waiting for him to find my case. "Said I wasn't home enough."

"You kept traveling back and forth between Kansas and Florida, you can't blame her on that," Leon paused his search, to my annoyance, to send me a pointed stare. "Did you ever consider taking some time off?"

"Did you ever consider cheating on Michelle?"

I watched as Leon's face grew hard. "You're playing unfair, Russ. Are you saying you'd rather choose work over a happy life?"

"My work is my happy life, now shut up and find me my case before I leave." I had never been so impatient to look at a grisly murder case.

"Here you go," Leon finally said, pulling a file out from the rest of them. "If you just had breakfast, I'd suggest waiting to look at the pictures. They're messed up, those fucking Russians. We caught one of them. He's in detention and he's all yours whenever you're ready."

I opened the folder and skimmed the case before going to the photos. Dismembered female, raped before murdered, according to the autopsy. She had been a prostitute and apparently she had gotten involved with the wrong crowd, but what had me hooked was why they killed her.

"She stole something from them. That's all we could get out of the Bratva guy we caught before he started cursing Russian profanities and hit a guard," Leon voiced as if reading the glow in my eyes. "It was real important shit apparently, and guess what? She hid it somewhere they don't know and now it's a race against the Russians. If we get our hands on it first, this could mean big things for the police. We've been fighting these guys for years, you know that. If whatever she stole were plans of something they were planning to do and we get our hands on it first... well, you get the idea."

I blocked Leon's voice out and studied the prostitutes face, the pictures from her social network profiles. She was wild... uninhibited... most certainly into BDSM. Purely looking at her updates, plus the pictures from her social network sites, she was a prime candidate for Sexual Masochism Disorder. Locked up in chains that strategically covered the sensitive parts of her body (in some photos) and whips held in her palm, she was a girl who enjoyed her pain. Yet somehow, I doubted that she enjoyed getting dismembered by the Russian mob.

Whatever she had stolen from them had to be something worth giving up her own life for. Something that meant something to her. She wouldn't bother stealing the Russians precious plans for some terror stunt. She was a prostitute, what good would those do her? She could sell them at best, but she was too smart to do something crazy like that. She had a nice education, good grades according to her school records. She wouldn't be dumb enough to steal just anything from them. No, this had to be personal... but why would the Russian mafia torture her like this, then? And what did they have in common? Where was the link between them, the bond that tied them togeth—

My eyes drifted down to her body, glaring at her pelvis.

Solved.

"Earth to Russ? You're spacing out again, man."

My eyes snapped and I closed the folder. "I solved it. That took what, five minutes?"

Leon's eyebrows shot to the air. "You solved it? Just by looking at the file for three minutes?"

"I didn't look, I saw. Contrary to everyone else who opened this," I snorted, waving the folder. "Did you even try to investigate from this?"

"Jesus Christ, just give us the answer!" Leon barked, standing up. "Where's she hiding the info she stole?"

"It's not about where she hid it, it's about what she hid," I say, throwing the folder down. "Young woman, mid-twenties moves to Florida to seek success. Something goes wrong, she ends up selling her body to strangers at night. A condom breaks, an accidental pregnancy, a baby is delivered—"

"Wait, hold up, how do you know she got pregnant?" Leon frowned, picking up the file and going through it. "There's no birth certificate and the coroner didn't mention anything in his report about her being—"

"Because it was years ago, but you can still tell on her hips and breasts," I said, taking the folder from him. "Look at the early pictures from her social network updates. Now look at the latest. Her hips are set wider, and that's not from being fucked sideways, that's from childbirth. Labor changes a woman's body—you should know, you have three kids."

Leon gave me a skeptical look, but then forfeited. "So what next?"

"The baby got taken from her; perhaps the authorities? More like the father showed up. Why would a woman—who has absolutely no gain from hanging with mobsters—suddenly seek them out? Perhaps because they had something of hers."

"Wait a minute," Leon interrupted, scrunching his forehead in deep thoughts. "Are you telling me that the mobsters stole a kid?"

"Splendid, you're keeping up," I sarcastically remarked. "So the woman seeks out her son, who—if we calculate from the date of the first pictures online and of the width of her hips, to the huge month-long gap where she didn't post anything, to the present date—is about five years old."

Leon scratched his chin. "But... what the hell does the Russian mob want with a five-year-old kid whose mom was a prostitute to them?"

"Finally you're asking the right questions," I said, turning on my heel and walking towards the interrogation room.

"Wait, Russ, where the hell are you going?" Leon called after me, scrambling to pick up his gun and badge. I heard his footsteps behind me.

"You said she had stolen from them and I just concluded that what she stole was her kid. A five-year-old," I snapped, turning a corner in the hall.

The realization was finally dawning on Leon and his black skin suddenly turned ghost white. "Holy Christ. Are you saying we have a missing five-year-old kid in the city that's being chased down by the Brat—"

"—I'm going to get that Russian speaking so fluently English, he'll be able to immigrate once I'm done."

• • •

Brain is the new sexy.