Sinful Secrets Box Set: Sloth, Murder, Covet

by James, Ella

  Curiosity slings through me. I thought marijuana was a happy thing.

  By the time I catch up to Kellan, he’s at the front left corner of the room, just a few feet from the door through which we entered. To the right of the door is a slab of corkboard countertop, stretched under a row of cedar cabinets. His luscious back stretches as he reaches into one of them.

  I stand behind him as he fiddles with something inside the cabinet.

  “Hey,” I murmur.

  He turns to look at me, lifting his brows in acknowledgment. His mouth is twisted, like he’s irritated by whatever he’s trying to do.

  “Having trouble?”

  He shifts his weight, leaning over the counter as his muscular arm fishes deeper inside the cabinet. “This is one of our water tanks,” he says over his shoulder. “There’s a hose that runs off through this wall,” he says, pointing, “pumping fertilizer. One of our newer strains didn’t like the cocktail we were using, so I changed it up. But the new shit’s clogging all the tubing.”

  “Ugh. That sounds annoying.”

  I think I see him nod, but I can’t tell. His attention is definitely on his task.

  I look down at my boots, but who am I kidding? My eyes are starving for him, and with his back turned, I’m free to gawk without consequence. The first place my pervy gaze goes is his ass, but I don’t want to be a freak, so as soon as I eyeball-hug his taut buns, I drag my eyes up his back. I watch his muscles shift under his shirt. My fingers drift to my cell phone, tucked into the waist of my leggings. I smile, wondering if he would notice me nabbing a little .gif footage for the Smuffins group.

  I roll my eyes at myself. We’re in a grow house—hello, Cleo.

  As I admire the cords of muscle in his neck, the golden hair that blows a little in the light breeze of the fans, I wonder why a rich boy like him would turn to dealing drugs. Does he like the risk? Or was he even a rich boy at all before he started dealing? Maybe he’s like me—but I don’t think so. He seems... well-bred. I’d bet my lumpy little nest egg that a guy like Kellan Walsh knows when to use the two-pronged mini fork.

  When my brain finally tires of imagining Kellan in a tux, his long fingers clutching a teeny tiny spoon, I let my breath out and decide to risk interrupting him.

  “Soooo, these are your strains?” I ask. “Like... yours yours?”

  “Some are,” he says, still yanking on the tube. I admire his strong jaw-line, evident because he’s clenching his teeth. He pulls his arm out of the cabinet and turns to face me, shocking me again with his beauty. He leans his hips against the counter. I have to force my eyes to stay on his.

  “Most of our strains started in California. But we’ve been cross-breeding long enough that we do have our own stuff now.” He shuts the cabinet door and nods at the one leading back into the hall. “Come this way.”

  I follow him back into the hall, marveling that such an amazing grow room is attached to such a normal-looking house. He steps over to a door on the other side of the hall, then pauses to fish his phone out of his pocket.

  He hunches over it, his face bathed in blue light.

  “Just a second,” he says tightly.

  “What’s the matter?”

  A few long seconds later, he stuffs the phone back into his pocket and pushes this new door open without meeting my eyes. “Dealer drama.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cleo

  He steps into the room, and I follow, so close I can feel his body heat. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I let it out. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I’m relieved to find this room looks much like a stock room—and it’s empty, save us.

  Floor-to-ceiling plywood shelves line all four walls, and another row of shelving splits the room in half. The shelves are stacked with large, blue plastic bins. Two cement aisles running long ways down the room are dotted with tables and weird-looking iron machines. For chopping up the crop and weighing it and stuff?

  I look at Kellan, who’s still clutching his phone.

  “This is the stock room. Pretty straightforward,” he says, without looking up.

  When it seems he isn’t going to say more, I turn away from him, drifting slowly down the aisle.

  He seemed so solicitous before we got here, but since we walked into the house, he’s been acting “off.” So maybe his mood took a turn. So what? What’s bothering me? I try to think, but all I can come up with is the gnawing feeling that I don’t really know what he wants. Yes, he wants to get rid of the competition—if I could even be called that. Yes, he seems to want my body. Those things, I understand. But I’m still not sure why he wants me to live with him. Why he wanted it enough to offer to pay me so exorbitantly. His reticence about the dealer drama underscores what truly bothers me about Kellan: his secrets.

  The double life he’s living is... really double. He’s Chattahoochee College’s golden boy, but he runs dealers and was able to lift a gun off me. Why is he paying me to live with him? He said it was so we could learn to work together, then later acted like it was more for sex. But is it really? Why pay me so much? Why, why, why? What am I missing here?

  I fold my arms and inhale deeply. Exhale slowly. I imagine I can feel his eyes burning my back. I stand there another moment, trying to decide if I should mention my concerns and ultimately deciding not to. I do need to stay with him for at least a night or two, after all. Until I can see if Milasy will cool down about the brick. And so I have a little time to try to figure Kellan out.

  After that, if I still feel like there’s too much I don’t know, I’ll figure out a new solution to my homelessness. If there’s any way I can feel okay—or even good—about this weird thing between him and me, I’ll stay. Because I’d really like that money, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’d like to find out more about him, too.

  “Cleo.” He touches my shoulder. “You’re jumpy.” His fingers squeeze as his blue eyes search the waters of my own. “Tell me why.”

  I bite my lip. Because you make me feel unsteady. Because I don’t know if I can trust you. Because I want to find out all your secrets. I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Do you hide weed in teddy bears?”

  He gives a raspy laugh. His lips twitch, like he wants to smile—but by now I know he won’t. “Is that what’s bothering you, Cleo?”

  Sensation tingles under his hand, trickling hotly through my torso like the first wave of anesthesia. I take a small step back and try to pin down my racing thoughts.

  Ah, hell. “What’s bothering me is... I don’t know why you trusted me with this. Enough to bring me here.” It’s not all that’s bothering me, but it’s something tangible I can lob at him.

  He tilts his head, not blinking as he looks at me.

  I press my lips together, mirroring him. “I guess I just don’t understand. Why get this involved with me at all? Don’t get me wrong,” I add, “I’ll deal your stuff, but I don’t see why you need me to know so much about your business. Or to live with you. Like, why you want me to.”

  He blinks, owlish and unreadable.

  “You’re paying me so much...” I exhale. “It can’t just be for sex. I guess I just... feel weird about it. I don’t get it.”

  I let my breath out.

  “I don’t either,” he says, low. “I don’t think I should, but I’m going to anyway. Do you know why?” He lifts his brows.

  I shake my head.

  “I don’t either. If I dismissed you now, and you never stayed at my house, would you keep this place a secret, Cleo?”

  “Of course,” I nod. “I don’t want to get you busted.”

  “Why?” His voice is sharp.

  I glare at him, because he’s dodging my questions, leading me down bunny trails. I can feel it. “Why wouldn’t I tell? Because I’m not an asshole. Are you?”

  “I’m not that kind of asshole. Come here, Cleo. Let me show you something.” He walks to a thick steel door beside the place where the wall seems to fold or lift
up to accommodate a hook up to an 18-wheeler. He pushes the door open.

  I can see the pines sprawl out behind him as I step closer.

  “See that?” His left hand touches down on my back as his right points at the woods. I notice two lines of red dirt snaking through the pine straw: tire tracks. I nod. “It leads back to some hunting land off Highway 231. That’s a big truck. Dump truck. You know what’s in the truck?”

  I shake my head.

  “Fertilizer. Real black market shit, just what we need to grow our stuff. Comes up all the way from South America. Dude who brings it—he works for some bad guys.” His eyes meet mine. “Do you know why I told you?”

  “No.”

  “I’m telling you, Cleo, because I choose to trust you. If you really want in, I’ll tell you more. But I need to know that first. I don’t think you know that yet. That’s why I brought you here. I want you to see it—so you can know what you’re maybe getting into if you decide to do more than just deal my stuff.”

  “More than deal?”

  He nods. “You’ll make your mind up and if you want in, then we’ll talk some more. I think we could work together. Really work together.”

  My stomach flutters. I want to ask what that means, but I’m too nervous. “Will there be an initiation?” I ask. I’m mostly teasing, trying to shift the tone of things a little—but he must not hear the light tone in my voice.

  His eyes harden and his voice yawns down an octave. “Do you want to be hazed?”

  I press my lips together. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No,” I whisper.

  “Don’t tell me that.”

  “Okay...” My voice trembles. “I take it back.”

  He drops his head down like he’s going to kiss my mouth, but he diverts his lips to my jaw. He kisses me so tenderly my stomach flutters. His mouth crawls, warm and moist, beneath my chin—and then he bites my neck. It’s sharp and sudden, predatory. His teeth tear at my throat until my heart is pounding and I want to pull away. And then the pain is gone. His warm, soft mouth strokes me; his tongue soothes my stinging skin.

  And when my legs begin to tremble, when I’m clinging to his shoulders, drunk from his strange ravishment, his teeth pierce me so hard I gasp.

  “Cleo.”

  My own name thrums in my ears like an exaltation as he nips my neck. He drags it out. He makes it hurt. I clutch his shirt and lock my jaw to keep from crying out. I moan. He’s going to hurt me!

  And then his silken mouth, his graceful tongue.

  He moves so fast, his hair tickles my chin. He moves like he’s hungry: harsh, thorough—and yet the whole thing is so gentle, I’m moaning with bliss. He trails down my throat and over my collarbone: nipping and then licking, marking with his teeth and following with his tongue and lips, biting and then soothing, punishing and stroking.

  He sucks my tender throat between his teeth, and a moan spills from my lips.

  In between my legs, I’m throbbing.

  I wrap my hands around the back of his head, clutching him to me as I moan again. I’ve lost my mind... I press my hips against his thighs, gulping back air and exhaling in a low sigh. One of my hands trails down his nape and grips his shoulder as his mouth continues its assault on my throat.

  “Kellan...”

  He moves away. At first I think I’ve wrecked this, but he doesn’t step back. Instead he tilts his forehead against mine, gives me a heavy-lidded smile, and plants a soft kiss on my lips.

  When he lifts his mouth off mine, I press my lips against the base of his throat, pausing for a moment because at first, I’m sure that he will pull away.

  He doesn’t move.

  I can hardly breathe. As I gaze at his smooth, tanned skin, I find his throat is marred by a small, horizontal scar. It’s thin and pale, and looks like someone drew a dash over his jugular with a beige Sharpie. I roll my tongue over it and feel him shudder. Yessss.

  His hands wrap around my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, then grasping my skull. I’ve never been a skilled lover, but this is different. My hunger leads me. I see his smooth throat as a canvas and I want to mark it. I kiss him softly at first, then so hard I hope it aches.

  I’m rewarded by a hard catch of his breath, followed by a muttered, “fuck.” He clutches my head tighter and presses his erection against my hip. I wait for him to move, to grind against me—in fact, I hold my breath for it—but he doesn’t. He just juts against me, his throat still under my mouth, his chest frozen against mine. And then, after an exquisite second, he grabs my arms from around his neck and pulls them up over my head.

  “What a little slut you are,” he growls. Clamping his hand around my wrists, he pushes me toward a row of shelves. With my arms bound and my upper back against one of the Tupperware containers, I’m helpless—and panting so hard I feel almost panicked.

  I can feel my face burn as he looks down on me.

  “You like this, don’t you?” His fingers tighten around my wrists. His head drops down. He kisses my mouth slow and hard, then bites the corner of my lips. “You like fucking around with me, don’t you, Cleo baby?” He murmurs it against my cheek. “You were waiting for this. You’re already wet for me.” It’s true, of course. I feel him hard against my lower belly, and I grit my teeth.

  He takes my chin in his fingers, revealing my face. There’s no point in answering. I know he can see it in my eyes. I can see my lust reflected back at me in his.

  His face is so intense, I almost expect him to pull my leggings down and take me as I lean against the shelves.

  Instead, his strong fingers release my wrists, and he drops down to his knees. He puts my shawl out of the way and claims my pussy with his wide mouth.

  “Ohmygod!”

  He closes his jaw just slightly, mouthing at me, and then I feel his voice vibrate. “You smell like sex, Cleo.”

  It takes everything I have to keep from rocking into his face. My legs quiver. My voice shakes so hard I can barely speak. “I haven’t had a shower.”

  “You don’t need one.”

  His mouth shifts against me, and there is his tongue. I know it by its lovely pressure; the feel of it is big and hot and damp. He settles it warmly over me—and then his lips are back, clamping on my throbbing sex as he blows into the fabric. I can feel the hot moisture against my skin.

  “You want my mouth on your pussy. You want to feel my tongue between that slit, right where you’re wet and throbbing, don’t you, Cleo?”

  Yes!

  He puffs on me again, and I can feel the damp heat seep between my lips. I can’t help it—I thrust myself at him.

  “Cleo...” The pressure of his mouth is gone. I want to scream as he wraps an arm around my ass and looks down at my feet. “You’re on your toes. So hungry...” His eyes find mine. His grin is arrogant; unhampered. “I bet you want my cock. It’s okay.” His fingers, pressed into the back of my thigh, loosen their grip. Begin to stroke. “There’s no harm in wanting a big cock in your pussy. I think a good, plump pussy deserves a thick cock. I bet you do too...”

  He rubs his lips against me through the fabric. I grip his shoulder.

  “Say my name,” he purrs.

  “Kellan.”

  “What do you want, Cleo?” As he looks up at me, he blows another long, hot breath through my leggings.

  I moan. “Please!”

  He pushes his tongue against me. Moves away. “Please what, Cleo? Please who?”

  “Take off my leggings!”

  His fingers pluck at the elastic. “And?”

  Eat me out. I can’t say it. “Put your mouth...”

  He lowers his mouth to my pussy and hovers there, just breathing. “Put it where?” he rumbles.

  “There! Please...” I’m swaying, almost falling over.

  “You want me to eat your pussy? Say it, Cleo. I want to hear you say, ‘Kellan, I need you to eat my pussy.’”

  His mouth gathers over me again, and he puffs one br
eath after another into the fabric, like he’s doing CPR on my cunt. One time... two times... three. I’m so wet, I could die. His eyes flick up to mine, stern and expectant. I dig my nails into his shoulders.

  When the fabric over me is soaked and sweat is beaded on my pussy, and the slickness in my slit is dripping like the icing off a cake, he stops and gazes up at me. “Last chance, Cleo. Tell me what you need, or I’ll assume I’m doing this all wrong.”

  I grab his hair and yank hard. “Eat me out, Kellan. Eat my fucking pussy. Just do it right now!”

  He laughs, pressing his mouth against me so I feel every vibration. Pleasure slices through me. I can feel it pulse deep in me, like I’ve magicked his cock right where I need it. Then he leans away, grins like a predator, and grabs my leggings at the seam that runs from the waist down to my crotch. With a quick jerk, he rips them open.

  I can feel his warm, smooth forehead stroke down my lower belly, the bridge of his nose over my mound... Then his tongue parts my damp folds, delves inside, and—

  “OH FUCK!”

  That is all it takes.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cleo

  I repossess myself slowly, as if I’m waking from a long sleep. I flinch at first blink—at the stock room, with its glaring light and stark aesthetic. But I’m more shocked at where my face is: nestled in the crook of Kellan’s chest and bicep. I blink a few times at the plaid of his shirt before my awareness shifts to the rest of my body. The first thing I feel is the hardness of his chest and thighs against me. The second: a cool sensation between my legs. It’s as if—

  Kellan ripped my leggings open.

  Kellan. Ripped. My. Leggings. Open.

  I lift my head off him. I want some distance, but his face is right in front of me. I’m about to take a big step back when his hands, tucked around my lower back, drift up my shoulders.

  “Cleo?” He smiles at me. It’s a small smile, but it’s real. Instead of falling off his face the way they seem to do so often, it kind of sticks there. “Hi.”