So Detective She Breathed

She walked my office like she owned it, and for those few precious minutes it was hers. I watched the rain soaked red lights from outside glow across her body, a shimmering promise of curves drawn in blood. She turned, leaning into the air being pulled through my fan, her hair dancing to another’s tune, bathing her head in flames. Hot, red hot.
“So detective,” she breathed, “will you take the case?”

With apologies to Raymond Chandler. Words and pictures by me.
DAZ Studio, no postwork

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