Make Me Shine (Six Silent Sins #1)

by Colt, Elodie

  While one of his hands slips underneath my shirt to dance up my spine, the other pops open the first button underneath my chin. My heart beats faster, and I try to cover up the rush of excitement, touching his face and tracing the hard lines of his jaw.

  My fingers graze upwards and then come upon a slight dent on the bridge of his nose. “Is that a scar?”

  “Yes.”

  Another button pops open.

  “What happened?” I press to keep him talking.

  “Something very heroic.”

  His fingers undo the next button in between my breasts.

  “Yeah?” I whisper, my voice all breathy.

  “Yeah,” he says. My shirt loosens as he unfastens the button right underneath my bra. “I smacked into the pole of a stop sign, nose first.”

  I blink, and then I crack up, my loud, throaty laugh filling the room. “For real?”

  Ross snickers, going on to open the button at my navel. “For real. I was sixteen, in my defense.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “A sexy girl walking down the street distracted me,” he says with a shrug and unclasps the last button. “But right now, you are distracting me.”

  Before I know what’s happening, he yanks me closer and seals his lips over mine. My eyes slide shut, my arms curling around his neck as our tongues touch.

  Keeping our lips locked, he stands up, snakes my legs around his hips, and plops me onto the bed, my back sliding on silk. I can hear some rustling as he discards his shirt, my body begging to feel the ridges of his torso molding to my soft curves.

  He doesn’t ask if I want this. He doesn’t ask if I’m ready for this. I’ve sealed the deal when I clicked ‘Accept.’

  And that deal still stands.

  Rock-hard like my nipples.

  Gently, he nestles a knee between my legs and eases down on me, one hand cradling my head while the other skims over my body. I try not to think about how small my tits are in comparison to the thousand pairs he’s probably groped already, but if the way he nuzzles them is anything to go by, he has no complaints.

  “You’re beautiful, Devon,” he mumbles, nibbling my throat until a massive shiver runs down my spine.

  I sound as scattered as I feel when I ask, “How would you know?”

  His thumb traces a path over the arch of my eyebrow and across my eyelids as if trying to paint a picture in his head by outlining the contours of my face.

  “I just do,” he says in a voice like melting honey as he grazes his cheek over mine.

  After a minute of planting feather-light touches all over my body, he bestows another kiss on me, one that is so slow and passionate, it leaves me breathless—something that doesn’t escape his notice.

  “Breathe,” he commands with a knowing smile, but as soon as my lips part to suck in air, his tongue delves into my mouth, stealing my breath once more.

  The ache in between my thighs starts to pulsate, and I wriggle my legs out from under his to prop them up. Flexing my hips, I grind them slowly against his hard length, making him groan into my mouth.

  Skin. I need more skin.

  Pushing at his solid chest, I signal him to give me space, and he sits back on his knees, allowing me to do the same. I slip on the silky sheets as I peel off my flannel shirt, glad that he can’t see how one sleeve knots around my wrist, and it takes me three yanks to get free.

  His large hand settles on my waist, and I place my palms on his stomach to trace each ridge with due diligence.

  Fuck me. Ross is sex on a stick. A shame I can’t see how his abs clench at my touch. Or what his nipples look like. Or what that damn mouth looks like that undoes me every time it collides with mine.

  A soft click to my left catches my attention. My head snaps to the source, and I go rigid. Ross had opened the lid of a round box next to the bed, one marked with a glowing red ‘C’ surrounded by a glowing red heart. It doesn’t take a genius to know what’s inside.

  Ross seems to sense my response and freezes, waiting for me to do something.

  I scoot a few inches closer, my chest grazing his so he can feel it when I unclasp my bra and slide it off my shoulders. Foil crunches as he grabs a condom from the box while I discard one piece of my underwear.

  Leisurely, I outline the tight lacing of his muscles, gliding lower to the part that sticks out so hard, it could penetrate steel.

  “See, cookie pants have their benefits.” Curling a finger underneath the waistband, I give it a slight snap. He’s not wearing any boxers underneath.

  The sound he utters is something between a scoff and a groan. “Guess I need to wear bigger ones next time.”

  “Or,” I go on in a seductive slur, sliding my palm down his hard-on, “you just wear nothing at all.”

  The hiss escaping him urges me on, and I wrap my fingers around his cock, using my forearm to push the waistband of his pants down his ass. I haven’t had a dick in my hand for ages, and I eagerly tighten my fist, feeling a thick vein pumping in my palm.

  Suddenly, his hand is on my hip, and he pulls me closer, making sure his tip slides along my slit. The sensation intensifies when he pulls down my yoga shorts—slowly, as if he wants to memorize the curve of my butt.

  “If there’s anyone getting naked first,” he hums into my ear, “it’s you.”

  To emphasize his statement, he yanks down my panties, and I find myself sprawled out on my back a second later, my hair all over my face. I raise a hand to brush it away, but suddenly, a finger pushes into me, and my hips buck at the invasion.

  There’s no friction. I’m so wet already, his finger may as well be gliding through oil. I feel the cunning grin on his face as he brushes his lips over my earlobe.

  “We don’t have much time left,” he reminds me, “but I want to make you come tonight, Devon.”

  Oh, my God. One more word and I’m going to orgasm right now!

  I nearly whimper as he slides his finger out to pick up the condom, but then a snort wheezes through my nose.

  “The condom wrappers are glowing, too. Pretty.”

  “Do you like them?” he asks in a playful tone. “I can make you a pair of earrings.”

  I giggle as he rips it open, and then crack up again as he pulls out the condom with a glowing pink tip that’s apparently meant to ensure you use it the right way.

  Well, safety first, right?

  “Only if I can make you a pair of earrings with the condoms. Danglers are the latest trend, I’ve heard,” I add, and Ross barks out a loud laugh, one that vibrates right through me.

  After our little joking session, we grow silent as he rolls the rubber down his dick, and I realize that the glowing condoms are a really smart idea. You can’t see anything in here, but you can see the most important body part in all its glory. Hilarious but also brilliant.

  Three fingers capture my chin, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to stoke my desire. Thank God, he doesn’t make me wait long and drives into me, burying himself to the hilt.

  Fuck, I’ve missed this.

  For a moment, he doesn’t move. Why the hell isn’t he moving?

  “You’re good?” he asks, uncertain.

  I give an impatient huff. “Please, move.”

  With a relieved chuckle, he grants me my wish, and my eyes shut as I give in to the sensations.

  He’s cautious at first, easing in and out with calculated movements. His thumb rests on my lower lip to feel my labored breaths, to feel my teeth biting into it, using my reactions as guidance. He’s eager to make the experience a memorable one for me, latching his mouth onto my skin and putting my desire before his.

  I don’t moan. I don’t scream. I just let the waves of pleasure crash into me from all sides and ride them out in silence.

  The alarm on our bracelets goes off, telling us that we’ve got only twenty minutes left, and Ross takes it as a sign to speed things up, using one finger to rub my clit in sync with his thrusts.

  “Come for me, Devon.�
�

  His command cracks its way into my soul. My mouth pops open as I spin out of control, my hands clawing at his shoulder blades. He increases his movements, plunging in with more ferocity and shoving his thumb in between my lips.

  As soon as I free-fall into the pits of an orgasm, I bite down to muffle my cry. My teeth cut into his finger so hard, I fear I might draw blood, but he doesn’t seem to care, gripping my chin in return and making me bite down even harder.

  It barely registers as he grunts into my neck, sinking into me with one last, masterful stroke.

  We catch our breaths for a minute before he lifts his head. I can feel his eyes on me even if there’s only darkness.

  “You’re not a screamer,” he remarks, amusement with an undertone of disappointment layering his voice.

  “Neither are you.”

  Chuckling, he gives me a peck on the nose before he pulls out.

  No, I’m not a screamer. Never was. I’m the press-your-eyes-shut-clench-your-teeth-and-look-stupid type. No one wants to hear my throaty grunts and garbled chokes.

  “Here,” he says.

  Our hands touch when he offers me my shirt, and the moment I feel the rings on his fingers yet again, a horrible thought drops a dead weight into my stomach.

  “Ross.”

  He stills when he senses my sudden anxiety. “Yeah?”

  I take his hand in mine, sweeping my thumb over the rings on his middle and fourth finger. Shit, why haven’t I thought of this before?

  “Are you married?” I blurt.

  He cocks his head.

  “I mean, I know it’s not my right to ask,” I mumble, “but I need to know if…”

  “If?” he presses when I struggle with words, scooting closer and giving me his full attention.

  “I need to know if I’m ruining a marriage here,” I say with a harsh exhale.

  A moment of awkward silence fills the room as he scrutinizes me before he raises up a hand to sweep a finger over my cheek.

  “You know, I’m as new to this as you are, but I guess most wouldn’t care, right? After all, Silent Sins is a playfield for those with all the dirty, little secrets.”

  My features set to stone. Dirty, little secrets… He’s evading my question. Shit. Shit. Shit!

  I jerk my head to the side, away from his touch, and jump to my feet.

  “I’m not married,” he mutters, clearly annoyed by my attitude, and he snaps off his condom while I try to figure out how to unknot my shirt because I can’t see anything.

  Ha, there’s one sleeve! Now, for the other one…

  “Yeah, right,” I grumble in response to his unconvincing tone.

  “I’m not married,” he repeats in a firmer voice.

  “You’re just saying that so you can fuck me—”

  Something jerks me back, and I drop back down on the bed, my arms stuck somewhere in between the sleeves. Grabbing the bunch of fabric, Ross yanks it up, pinning my hands above my head and trapping me with his sinful body.

  “It’s the truth,” he hisses over my lips. “There’s no woman waiting for me at home. Not a wife, not a sister, not a fuck-bunny.”

  I cringe at his harsh words, my teeth drilling into my lip. It’s the first time he has raised his voice, and I swallow down a lump of shock and shame.

  “Tell me you believe me,” he urges in a softer tone, and suddenly, both of his hands are on my face.

  “I believe you,” I whisper, sensing that I’ve struck a chord somehow. “Sorry…”

  He deflates on top of me, his chest falling with the air he exhales. The alarm on our bracelets reminds us that we’ve got five minutes left.

  “Good,” he says. “So, are you still in?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Not good enough.” He shakes his head, and a strand of his hair falls onto my forehead. “Yes or no?”

  His vigorous words leave me utterly defenseless, conditioning only one response from me.

  “Yes.”

  Yes, we’ll meet again.

  Yes, we’ll do dirty things again.

  Yes, we’ll play hide-and-seek again.

  Until he grows tired of me and finds himself a woman, one who’s waiting for him at home.

  Until he finds himself a better match…

  The perfect match.

  There are three things that I deem important in my life: my sister, my dragonflies, and my Honda 600 Hornet—all sexy in sleek black and with golden rims.

  Now, you might be asking why a girl like me, someone who loves closed spaces and thick walls, would take a bike over a car.

  I had an old Kia Rio back in Belgorod with one of these corny plush wheel covers so my fingers wouldn’t fall off at minus fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. It was my first car.

  And my last.

  Eighteen months ago

  Fat snowflakes whip my cheeks and immediately freeze on my eyelashes. The ground is so slippery, I skid and stagger like a first-time ice-skater, hastening awkwardly toward my car.

  After blowing warm air into my fists, I fumble for my key and hurry to unlock the door, but the stupid thing doesn’t want to fit inside.

  “No. No, no, no.”

  The lock must be frozen again, and of course, I left my fucking deicer at home! Frantically, I rattle the handle, and to my surprise, the door snaps open. Damn, I must have forgotten to lock it.

  With a relieved grunt, I tuck myself inside and slam the door shut, locking out the hellish weather. I’m just about to start the engine when a voice from behind me sends a chill down my spine.

  “You weren’t at the pharmacy today.”

  I freeze, the blood draining from my face in one whoosh. Oh, my God. Luka is in my car.

  Luka broke into my fucking car!

  An uncontrollable shudder sweeps through my body, and my stomach hardens. I whirl around to see him slouching in the back seat, but I can sense the dangers lurking underneath his laid-back composure.

  “What are you doing in my car?” I demand in a high-pitched voice.

  He smacks his lips, the motion only enhancing his hollow cheeks and pointed chin.

  “You always come to the pharmacy on Thursdays,” he goes on in a placid tone, but the words are sharper than icicles, and his crazed eyes tell me that I’m in trouble.

  He pins me with an evil stare as he cracks his knuckles, the sound chilling me to the bone.

  Think, Elenka. Think.

  Luka is in your car. You can either jump out and run home, taking the four miles per foot and likely freezing to death, or you can go for de-escalation, try to reason with him, and get him the hell out of here.

  “I… I went to the pharmacy down at Narodnyy Bul’var,” I stutter at last. My gaze darts to his hand buried in his pocket and panic grips me. Shit, does he have a weapon?

  The dimple in his chin starts to twitch as he processes my answer, his eyes narrowing into slits.

  “Why? I always give you a good price for the pills your Mom needs.”

  Yeah, but you give me the creeps and won’t leave me alone!

  “I was nearby,” I blurt the first thing that comes to my mind.

  “Don’t lie to me, Elenka,” he growls.

  My eyes bounce between his face and his hand still hidden in his pocket.

  He leans forward, and I recoil, my back pressing against the ice-cold side window.

  “You’re avoiding me,” he says, tilting his head as if trying to figure me out. “Why are you avoiding me, Elenka? I thought we were… friends, you and I.”

  I wring my gloved hands, thinking about anything to get out of this precarious situation.

  “Luka,” I start, trying to sound calm and composed, “Mom is worse today. She needs her medication. I need to go home.”

  “We’re still friends,” he carries on with an edge to his voice, his eyes burning into mine. “Aren’t we?”

  I frantically bob my head, knowing I have to keep up the act. “Of course.”

  His eyes ping-pong between
mine as he checks my face for lies, and I wait for his reaction with bated breath. The hand in his pocket starts to move, and my heart drops into my stomach as he pulls it out. It’s not a weapon.

  It’s a pill package.

  He presses it into my hands, and I remain stock-still as he leans in to rest his forehead against mine.

  “One day, you will see that we’re destined to be together,” he whispers, and I force myself to stay calm instead of screaming my lungs out and recoiling from his repelling touch.

  Please, leave. Please, leave!

  Finally, he pushes the passenger seat forward, opens the door, and slides out into the night, leaving me shivering in agony.

  Now

  That was just the beginning of months of torture, and while he didn’t break into my car again—no, he broke into my fucking bedroom—the mere thought of him lurking in the back seat freaked me out to the point I left my car untouched for months. I couldn’t afford a bike, at least not one that would have survived the harsh winters in Belgorod, so I took the bus from then on, armed with a pepper spray whenever I left the house.

  After I moved here, I used the money I inherited from Mom to buy the Hornet. Actually, I always wanted a bike, but there was this guy in our neighborhood who had a tragic biking accident that bound him to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. It was right about the time when Mom got worse, and I thought, who would look after her if I ended up depending on care, too?

  Prospect Park Lake is deserted today. Fat, gray clouds form a dark canvas above. The trees sway in the biting October wind, and dead leaves flutter across the ground. I was hoping to spot one or two dragonflies, but like most insects, the adults are already hibernating while the nymphs stay in the water to emerge in spring.

  Rolling up my sleeve, I look down at my dragonfly tattoo. Crawly showed up in my dreams last night. He was as big as my forearm, fluttering outside the window and trying to find a way inside my bedroom. His barbed claws scratched against the glass until the window clicked open. As soon as he slipped inside, the claws extended into arms, and the wings retracted until he’d transformed into a man. I blinked, trying to make out his features, but the more I strained my eyes, the more his form blurred as if he couldn’t find substance as long as I was looking.