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

The champagne arrived. I didn't touch mine. "I'm a P.I., Mrs. Whitmore. Not a co-conspirator."

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

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.

"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." Milfs Like it Big - Veronica Avluv - Mistress P.I.

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.

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

I was making one of my own.

She saw me first. A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips. She excused Mark, who slunk away like a chastened dog, and beckoned me to her booth.

I picked up the envelope.

She reached across the table, her fingers tracing the back of my hand. "I hired you to see if you were as clever as they say. And to offer you a different job." The champagne arrived

Her other hand slid a thick envelope across the table. "I need evidence of my husband's infidelity. He's been seeing a woman in Santa Monica. Get me that, and I get my settlement. Mark and I can live well. And you?" She leaned closer, her breath warm on my ear. "You get to watch."

She slid a photo across the desk. It was grainy, blown up from a security feed. Mark, entering a discreetly lit club in the valley. The sign above the door read The Velvet Key .