The mere thought of that long, veiny cock deep inside me always stirred up unwanted emotions. Karik knew his wayaround a woman’s body—how to touch, where to touch, and when to touch.
The man was experienced in ways that made me jealous of the other women he’d been with. Jealousy was the last thing I should feel, but I couldn’t help it.
This distance was beginning to mess with my mind. I hated it. But not as much as I hated how badly I craved him again.
I’d stayed up late a couple of nights, playing with myself, imagining he was the one touching me. Not my proudest moments, by the way. I thought masturbating with the memory of our last encounter was going to help me.
It didn’t.
It only made it worse.
Hence, the reason for my frustration.
I despised myself for craving the same man I claimed to hate. Yes, I made a mistake by falling for his charms. But that was supposed to be a one-off. It was never supposed to happen again.
So why the fuck did every cell in my fuckin’ body want this man? Why did I long for him so badly?
Was this a sign I was slowly becoming addicted? Obsessed?
Fuck, no!
The very possibility scared the shit out of me. I didn’t want to fall so hard; I didn’t want to be in too deep to crawl out. This was a disaster.
Maybe if I had just listened to Agata and not confronted him that day, none of this would’ve happened. But if I were being honest, it was bound to happen sooner or later.
To get my mind off my sexual frustrations, I decided to bury myself in the cases I was reviewing. While at that, I foundsomething shocking. The explosives supplier in the current case had ties to the same shell company involved in Vetrov’s case.
The company was called Arvex Solutions. It was registered eighteen months before the warehouse bombing. Eleven months later, it was dissolved.
What were the odds of two separate cases being tied to the same company?
Because I was only working with bits and pieces of the actual case, I couldn’t get the full story. My access was limited to the documents he provided. To figure this out, I needed more details.
He kept files like this in his study. If I wanted answers, that’s where I’d find them.
One cool evening, I sneaked into his study while he was away. The door was unlocked, so I slipped inside and closed it behind me. I froze for a moment, recalling the heated sex we had in here earlier in the week.
My eyes fell on his table, and those memories came rushing back all at once. The relentless strokes, the fervent kisses that left us breathless. The way he fondled my breasts and fingered my pussy with practiced ease.
A cold shiver shot down my spine, and for a moment, I almost forgot why I was here.
“Snap out of it,” I said to myself, smacking my own cheek.
After a few short breaths, I regained control of my thoughts and rushed to his desk. I skimmed through the files on the surface. Nothing useful. The bottom drawer was unlocked. I withdrew it and scanned the inside. Older documents, property records. Nothing connected to the Vetrov case.
I straightened, eyes roaming the interior until I spotted a cabinet along the left wall. Instinctively, I headed over and tried to open it, but it was locked.
“Great,” I mumbled under my breath, looking around for the key.
Then it hit me. My hair clip.
My hands reached up, pulled the pin holding my bun, and my hair fell loosely over my shoulders. With practiced ease, I slid the thin metal into the keyhole and began to twist gently.
Sixty-nine seconds. That’s how long until the lock gave way. Inside were two folders, stacked neatly, one on top of the other. I reached out and withdrew both, then opened the first one.
It had transaction records. Payments routed across six separate entities, each one dissolving within a year of the last transaction clearing.
I knew this was what I was looking for, so I skimmed through the pages. One name appeared multiple times across different routing points. Not Vetrov. Someone else entirely.
