Milfs Like — It Big - Veronica Avluv - Mistress P.i.

"No, Miss Avluv." Her voice was a low contralto. "He's stealing something far more valuable. My reputation."

"Mrs. Whitmore," I said, leaning back in my worn leather chair. "You believe your husband's son is... what, exactly? Stealing your jewelry?"

The rain in Los Angeles washed nothing clean. It just made the grime gleam. Milfs Like it Big - Veronica Avluv - Mistress P.I.

And there, in the corner, was Mark. But he wasn't with an impostor. He was with Diana.

Diana Whitmore smiled, and for the first time, it reached her eyes. "I want everything, Veronica. And I like it... big." "No, Miss Avluv

My office smelled of stale coffee and cheaper regret. The sign on the frosted glass read Veronica Avluv – Private Investigations – Discretion Guaranteed . Discretion. In this town, that was a commodity more valuable than gold.

I stood up, tucking the envelope into my purse. "Give me three days." Whitmore," I said, leaning back in my worn leather chair

"That's a private establishment," she said. "For women of a 'certain age' and the younger men who appreciate them. Mark has been seen there. With me."

That night, I tailed Mark to The Velvet Key . I wore a red dress that was a weapon in its own right, low-cut and tight. The bouncer let me pass with a nod. Inside, the lighting was crimson and gold. Older women in designer silks sat in velvet booths, laughing with men young enough to be their sons. But it wasn't tawdry. It was powerful. A matriarchy of desire.

Diana Whitmore was a vision of controlled fire. Forty-seven, silver-threaded black hair pulled into a severe bun, a dress that cost more than my car. But her eyes—green, sharp, hungry—told a different story.

I picked up the envelope.