Nikki Tyler P.I. - Part 4

Nikki Tyler hands her client the evidence. His wife is fucking someone else. She watches the disappointment flatten his face, then pockets the check and leaves him to sort through the wreckage alone. Sandra is still missing. Nikki picks up the trail at an apartment two blocks from the bar where the girl was last seen. Sandra's friend answers the door in a silk slip, hair mussed, mouth already curious. Nikki asks the usual questions. The answers come slower, softer, until the air between them thickens and the friend steps closer, knees brushing Nikki's thigh. They never make it to the couch. Nikki sinks to the rug, drags the slip higher, and buries her tongue between the friend's thighs. The taste is salt and heat and immediate want. She works her mouth until the friend's hips jerk, then swings a leg over and grinds down cunt to cunt, slick folds sliding, clits catching on every pass. They move like they have nowhere else to be, rocking until the rug burns their knees and the friend's moans turn ragged. When they finish, Nikki is breathing hard, thighs sticky, and Sandra's friend is smiling like she's already forgotten the questions.