Walk on the Wild Side Read online

  Praise for the writing of Suz deMello

  Walk on the Wild Side

  Author Suz deMello delights her readers with a torrent of sensations for the mind with a dangerous, unabashedly sensual game between a phoenix who rose from the ashes of her own poverty and a dragon who skirts the unsavory edges of the law.

  -- Diane Charles Linford, author of Handle Me With Care (Loose Id)

  One word: HOT! James Li can tie me up any day! Lots of sensuality and enough anticipation to make you break out in a sweat. If you like a little bondage with your heat, this is the book for you!

  -- Alicia Sparks, author of “The Xai Chronicles I: Jason's Quest” in Rites of Passion (Loose Id)

  Suz deMello's first book at Loose Id creates an electrifying ride of sizzling pleasure and heart-stopping suspense for Detective Eliza Blue Bowman on her undercover assignment as a BDSM sex slave to solve the mysterious disappearance of another woman.

  -- Barbara Karmazin, author of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (Loose Id)

  Hard work, hard sex, soft spots for kink and charisma - these are the things that make Detective Eliza Blue Bowman's world spin. One hot read!

  -- Lyn Cash, author of Kinky Kruising: The Big O (Loose Id)

  WALK ON THE WILD SIDE

  Suz deMello

  www.loose-id.com

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * * * *

  This book is rated:

  For substantial explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable (ménage, BDSM).

  DISCLAIMER: Many of the acts described in our BDSM/fetish titles can be dangerous. Loose Id publishes these stories for members of the community in which these acts are known and practiced safely. If you have an interest in the pleasures and pains you find described herein, we urge you to seek out advice and guidance from knowledgeable persons. Please do not try any new sexual practice, whether it be fire, rope, or whip play, without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

  Walk on the Wild Side

  Suz deMello

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-29

  Carson City NV 89701-1215

  www.loose-id.com

  Copyright © January 2006 by Suz deMello

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

  ISBN 1-59632-203-9

  Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

  Printed in the United States of America

  Editor: Robert Buckley

  Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter

  www.loose-id.com

  Chapter One

  San Francisco, California

  After securing the crime scene and filing their preliminary report, Detective Eliza Blue Bowman and her partner, Tom Hardwick, went to Liza’s apartment for a little R, R, and S: rest, relaxation, and sex.

  Their unit, Major Crimes, was no sleigh ride ... more like a slay ride, and Liza had learned that she needed this break after opening a new file. They’d work the case the next day.

  She always liked to shower after her shift, rinse the day’s stress down the drain. Her bathroom, unusually large for a flat in the Avenues, had been renovated by the prior owner into a tile floored, luxurious spa, with an oversized glass brick shower with two showerheads.

  She turned them both on full blast. Sconces set into the glass wall held a dozen vanilla-scented pillar candles, and a row of red cinnamon candles lined the creamy marble counter. She lit all of them, then flicked off the electric light. The flames seemed to multiply, their light bouncing off the gold fixtures and mirrored walls. Steam billowed out of the shower, mixing with the candles’ heady scent, obscuring their brightness.

  While Liza undressed, Tom strolled into the room, already naked. The mellow candlelight shimmered along the lines and planes of his toned body and glittered on the sharply cut edges of the etched crystal champagne flutes he carried, their stems dangling from his fingers. A bottle of Domaine Chandon Napa Valley Brut -- her favorite -- hung from his other hand.

  Neither spoke. Words weren’t necessary, and would have been drowned out by the thundering shower.

  While he popped the cork and poured, his blue eyes surveyed her as she stripped. Aware of his scrutiny, she slowed her movements, unbuttoning her plain, Oxford-cloth blouse with deliberation to expose a pale pink bra. She dropped the blouse’s shoulders to her elbows, turning to display herself. The steam turned the flimsy silk transparent. Tom spilled the champagne, his attention shifting to the dark nipples of her small, high breasts. They tingled with anticipation, beading tight and hard.

  She pulled off the blouse and, stretching it out like a band, rubbed it across her breasts and shuddered with pleasure.

  Tom set down the glasses, and she glided toward him, dropping the blouse on the floor. He gathered her into his arms, bringing her in close. She twisted from side to side, rubbing her silk-clad nipples over his bare chest. It was a game she liked to play, trying to rub his nipples with hers, even though the task was impossible. He was big and broad, she small and finely boned. She had to strain onto her tiptoes to push her breasts up his torso, but she did it anyhow, enjoying the caress of silk on flesh and the subtle rasp of his curly blond chest hair against her bra.

  With a sigh, he buried his hands and face in her hair. She’d found that men loved her black, wavy hair, which she wore shoulder length and perfumed with an exotic jasmine fragrance. Then his fingers traveled lightly down, stroking her sensitive neck. She shivered, with every tiny hair lifting.

  He drew his fingertips down her throat to her shoulders until he encountered her bra straps. He hooked his thumbs under them and slid them down to her elbows, then passed his palms over her nipples. She felt them harden into tighter points. Her flesh zinging with delight, a happy moan sang from deep in her throat.

  He cupped her breasts, and desire rocketed through her. When she gasped, he smiled and said, “Have some champagne.” She took it, and as they sipped, she regarded him.

  Tom was about her age -- twenty-nine. He had stubbly blond hair, blue eyes, a gentle touch and a nice, serviceable cock, thick but not too long. Over the past four months, they’d learned a lot about each other’s bodies, and the sex was generally fabulous.

  It was too bad, Liza reflected, as she took him in her hand, that she wasn’t in love with him. But she needed the wonderful, mindless sex they had. She always needed to escape her job after checking out a fresh crime scene.

  She pumped his cock with her right hand and watched Tom throw back his head and close his eyes, groaning. The hand holding his glass began to shake. She smiled and let go of him long enough to put the champagne on the counter.

  “No,” he said. “Don’t stop. Please.”
<
br />   She squeezed him again. He opened his eyes and reached for her, unsnapping the bra clasp between her breasts with nimble fingers. He massaged them, rolling her nipples between his fingers until they throbbed and ached.

  Tense with need, she thrust her hips toward his cock. The tip brushed her skirt, and he lifted it, revealing her pink thong panties. Taking her by the hips, he hitched her onto the wide countertop. The marble was cool beneath her butt and thighs, and she enjoyed the contrast between the counter and the heavy, hot steam filling the room.

  Tom eased her knees apart and lifted them high and wide. Kneeling, he ran his lips along one thigh toward the thong, then skipped across to the other leg, leaving a tingling trail in his wake.

  Liza groaned. “Don’t make me wait!”

  He laughed and danced his tongue over her clit, an elusive feather of a touch. She moaned with desire and grabbed his head, forcing him closer.

  He used his tongue to push aside the silk thong, which scraped across her clit, sending thrills through her pelvis. He sucked her clit hard, just the way she liked it. A delicious languor pervaded her limbs, hot and relaxing all at once, presaging her release.

  She sighed with sheer joy. It was good but she hadn’t come when he hugged her tight, walking her into the shower, barely giving her time to tug off her rumpled skirt and thong. Torrents of hot water pummeled her skin, drenched her hair, ran in streams down her body. Tom pulled the showerhead out of its rack and aimed its flow at her pussy. Liza leaned against the glass wall for support and opened her legs, letting the pleasure build and her first orgasm sweep over her in hot, rippling waves. While it was happening, Tom dropped the showerhead and stepped toward her, his bulky, muscled torso glimmering in the shifting light, a stray beam catching the moisture coating his shaft.

  He pressed his big body against Liza, forcing her against the glass wall. Its coolness penetrated her back, and she sucked in a breath at the contrast. Reaching down, he grasped her left knee and again pulled her high and open, then rubbed his cockhead over her clit, then back toward the slit. He lifted her a bit, then lowered her onto his rod.

  Being opened by his cock drove her higher, and the head rubbed against her G-spot, sending arrows of ecstasy through her. She groaned -- close, so close. Grasping his shoulders, she let her body writhe around him, glorying in the sensations. She closed her eyes and let her orgasm carry away her life.

  When she could, she hooked her ankles together firmly at the small of his back, using the leverage to ride his thick, hard cock. She pushed her clit against his pubic bone, chasing another orgasm, and her pussy clenched him in a hot, hard grip. Tom pushed her more securely against the glass wall, letting it take her weight.

  She flexed her internal muscles to heighten their pleasure. Bucking, he flooded her, his jism hotter than the steamy water, his groans of ecstasy filling her with a heady satisfaction. She liked making him come, reveled in her ability to reduce him to a panting animal wholly in her control.

  But there was something missing, and she knew it. She just didn’t know what that elusive something was.

  Love? Nah. Love had no place in her life. She didn’t believe in the concept. Friendship and good sex would have to do.

  * * * * *

  Thoroughly soaked, very clean, and unbelievably relaxed, they staggered out of the shower and dried off. Liza donned a thick white robe and wrapped her wet hair in a turban, while Tom tied a towel around his waist. Their relationship hadn’t yet progressed to leaving fresh clothes at the other’s place. Maybe later, she reflected. Maybe.

  Her kitchen was small but adequate for two, tiled in white with a yellow pine table and a couple of chairs. During the day, a small window gave her a view of the far-off ocean, but now showed a gray, foggy square. She sliced and sautéed vegetables for a frittata while he grated cheese and beat eggs. As usual, they talked about the case.

  “That the neighbors heard her screaming is a bad sign,” he said about the kidnap victim.

  “That was days ago,” she said. “I’m not sure that she was abducted. Maybe she just took off for a break.”

  He shook his head. “Her absence wasn’t planned. She didn’t forward her mail or stop her newspaper.”

  “But there’s no ransom note.” She eyed a jar of minced garlic and decided against adding some. Its smell tended to stick around too long. “Despite the pile of mail and newspapers, her apartment was very neat. No sign of a struggle.”

  Tom scowled. “Too neat, as though her abductor had cleaned up after himself.” He rewrapped a hunk of Parmesan cheese in plastic and put it into Liza’s fridge.

  “Maybe. But she hadn’t taken any toiletries. Everything was there. If she was abducted -- a big if -- maybe she wasn’t kidnapped from her apartment.” She sniffed the appetizing aroma of onions and tomatoes frying in olive oil. She stirred the mixture, then added a handful of shredded spinach. It wilted rapidly.

  “But she was last seen there. Um, what do you make of Ms. Lansky’s statement?”

  “The woman at the vic’s workplace?” She poured the beaten eggs into the heavy iron skillet with the veggies and sprinkled the grated cheese on top. “She sounded jealous of the vic.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever. I thought the fact that the vic has never missed a day at work without calling in was significant. At least her boss thinks so.”

  “And her boss is a good buddy of the chief’s. When was her last day at work?” She opened the oven door. Hot air billowed pleasantly around her. She slid in the frittata, then thumped the oven door closed.

  “A week ago.”

  Liza tossed her oven mitts onto the counter. She nibbled on her index finger, a nervous habit. “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

  “What do I want to do?” He caught her around the waist, pulled her in close, and kissed her, pushing his tongue into her mouth. Pulling away, she flicked her tongue across his lips. He tried to continue making out, but she stopped him, thinking, always leave them begging for more.

  He got the message and said, “I have to testify about the search in the Fernandez case. It could take the rest of the week.”

  “Okay, while you’re doing that I’ll go back to the vic’s place and complete the witness statements. Maybe look around her apartment again and see if I can come up with anything new.”

  * * * * *

  Two days later, Liza, steaming with frustration, returned yet again to the vic’s apartment. Tom was still stuck in court, but she’d talked to every possible witness and reviewed the evidence time and again. Worse, she hadn’t found any solutions to the questions presented by this case and this victim, but more conundrums had emerged.

  A white female, age twenty-one, Sindie Keller worked as a paralegal at the law firm of White and Manning, yet lived in an exclusive neighborhood on Nob Hill, where the monthly rent for a parking space cost as much as a house would in many cities.

  Liza had speculated that perhaps the vic’s family had money, but when she researched them, she discovered that Sindie’s parents, Sam and Wanda Keller, had resided in Akron, Ohio, all their lives. Wanda, a receptionist, worked at a local attorney’s office while Sam managed a car wash. Not a prescription for great wealth, Liza thought, as she learned that the Kellers were on vacation in Florida. No one knew where, so they couldn’t be consulted regarding their child’s whereabouts.

  There was no way that Sindie Keller was living high on Nob Hill due to Mom and Dad’s money. Dammit, there had to be something Liza had overlooked. Had to be a clue somewhere.

  Criminals always screwed up. They generally thought they were smart, but they really weren’t. The vast majority of cases were easy, because most criminals left a calling card, a map to their identity or whereabouts that could be read by someone of only moderate intelligence and training. She knew she had more of both.

  But she was at a standstill. She hoped she’d find previously overlooked evidence in the vic’s apartment. But what could that be?

  Had Sindie Keller be
en turning tricks? That would explain the chic apartment, but none of the neighbors had noticed unusual activity.

  Liza pushed aside the yellow and black crime scene tape, and using the key she’d taken from Evidence, opened the door. The studio was small but had a number of charming touches typical of older San Francisco apartments: a Murphy bed, wood floors, and glass-fronted, built-in cabinetry in both the small kitchen and the adjoining bedroom/living area.

  But for the untidiness caused by the investigation -- black powder brushed onto most surfaces and open drawers -- the kitchen was tidy, more evidence that the vic’s absence was either voluntary, or she’d been abducted elsewhere. Anything that looked like a weapon appeared normal. No blades were missing from a set of knives thrust into a wooden block. A baseball mitt and a bat were tucked neatly into a closet. A hammer lay peacefully in a drawer with other household tools -- screwdrivers, nails, and the like.

  She strolled into the living area, letting her mind open, wander, trying to be the vic. “I’m Sindie Keller,” she murmured. “I’m from a small, dull town in the Midwest. Maybe my parents wanted me to stay close to home, but ... I have a streak of rebellion in me,” she said slowly. Maybe she was getting somewhere. “I headed west to an exciting city, somewhere I could become a new person, maybe get away from my mom and dad.”

  She sat on the open Murphy bed. Being evidence, it had been pulled out of the wall and stripped; she’d personally bagged the sheets and comforter. So far, no evidence of rape had been found on the bedclothes.

  A nearby bookcase was stuffed with reading materials. She reached for a colorful magazine and pulled it out. Playgirl. An entire stack of them. Curious, she slid off the bed and knelt beside the bookshelf.