“Tell me, Detective. Does the fact I’m a proxy add to the appeal? Do you find the synthetic fascinating, the alloyed skin more alluring than skin that is not?” “You’re well aware that your chosen looks are breathtaking. A woman hardly needs to have such . . . specific predilections to want to push you up against the wall and make you scream.” I pinch one bare breast. She arches into me, as reactive as a taut wire. “But perhaps.” Her lips purse on the thumb of my free hand. She talks around it as she might around a cigarette. “I can tell a fetish when I see it—the alacrity of your orgasms. The
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