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“Big.”
“Bigger than Grady?”
I snort. “Is that a serious question? Biggerandthicker.”
“Then he’ll definitely need to take it slow. Have him eat you out first. Make him work for it.”
“Thanks for letting me know what you’re into.”
A mischievous smirk spreads onto Imani’s face. “You know I don’t have a fuck buddy right now. But when I do… you best believe he’s not getting any cookie ’til he’s worked his ass off for it. I expect to comeeverytime. Damn sure if he’s getting to stick it back there.”
“That’s the thing. Kaden makes me come. Several times. ’Til this happens.” I gesture at my stiff walk as we move over to the shop counter.
Imani waves it off and advises me to use a cold compress on the outside of my panties.
“I never had this problem with Grady.”
“That’s because Grady had a pinky for a dick that left you unsatisfied.” Imani folds her arms in defiance when I shoot her a look. “What?! He did! You told me yourself. You used to finish yourself off after he went to bed.”
It’s true…
“Grady’s very… simple in bed. Almost always the same position. Almost always a few minutes, then we’re done. It’s routine.”
“And Kaden?” Imani’s brow arches again.
“Explosive. Terrifying sometimes.”
“In a good or bad way?”
I think for a second. “Both.”
“So you might actually be done with Grady for real this time.”
“He’s blocked and hasn’t dared come by the Velvet Piano again.”
“FYI, he’s still keeping tabs. He’s stopped by here twice asking about you.” Imani senses my dread and then rushes to clarify that she’s told him nothing.
We grab coffee from the local Java King when her break time comes, and then go our separate ways. She has to return to Strictly Pleasures. I have more job hunting to do.
Since my audition with Fyodor turned out to be a pervy disaster, I’m back to square one. Searching endlessly for a decent enough job that can supplement the income I used to earn writing obituaries at theEaston Times.
The Velvet Piano so far isn’t enough to tide me over.
I stop outside a local bakery and check myself out in the mirror. Today I dressed somewhat conservatively in a crop top sweater and high waisted pants. In twenty minutes, I’ll be interviewing for a receptionist position at the dental office down the street.
“Lyra Hendrix?”
I drag my gaze away from the bakery shop window and follow the sound.
Two people have walked up to me. One a White man. The other a Black woman. Neither familiar faces.
The man has short, spiky hair that looks freshly cut. He’s sporting the usual middle-aged belly that’s the result of one too many beers. In contrast, the woman at his side is tall, toned, and athletic, with box braids twisted into a large bun at the back of her head.
I take a cautious step back at their hard stares. “How do you know my name?”
The man flashes a badge. “We were hoping we could speak to you for a moment. We tried to reach out to your home of record, but we weren’t able to reach you. I’m Detective Maloney and this is my partner, Detective Laurent. If you don’t mind, we’d like to ask you a few questions in relation to Maximillion Keys’s murder.”
22Kaden
