by Colt, Elodie
His reply comes immediately.
Rosswell: Knowing you, you are so full of secrets, it would take me an eternity to unravel them all
Shaking my head, I snort. Oh, if he only knew…
Devonport: True.
Devonport: Okay, you first.
Drumming my fingers on my knee, I wait for his message. I can practically see him rubbing a hand over his stubble as he ponders over what to reveal.
Rosswell: Next week is my birthday week.
I laugh.
Devonport: Really? And what would you like for your birthday week?
His reply comes straight off the bat, and the three letters on my screen make my throat go dry.
Rosswell: You.
No smileys. No heart emojis. Just a statement, but one that produces buzzing dragonflies in my belly.
Rosswell: Naked.
Rosswell: Screaming.
Rosswell: Coming.
Jesus Christ. That man has the power to turn me on like no other, and I haven’t even seen his face yet.
Squirming, I adjust my pants, fighting the urge to let my hand crawl underneath them to rub the spot he flicked last time with the efficiency of a sex-machine.
Rosswell: Did I make you hot?
Scratching a spot on my head, I try to think of something to evade the question.
Devonport: Is this the secret you want me to share?
Rosswell: No.
Rosswell: And it’s not a secret when I know the answer. I can practically sense your panties getting damp.
Well, definitely damp enough that I should consider changing them, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Devonport: Just like you’re probably sporting a hard-on right now. Hope no one sees it growing inside your suit pants
Rosswell: I’m firmly seated at my desk, but if I don’t stop thinking about how hard you came on top of me, then I might drill a hole into the tabletop.
I throw my head back, laughing, and it’s only when another message pops in that I refocus on our chat.
Rosswell: Your secret. Come on.
I cast a glance out the window, racking my brain about what I could reveal, but he beats me to it.
Rosswell: Did you meet with one of your matches?
His question makes me grimace, and I close my eyes to shake off the tormenting image of him kissing another.
Get it together, Ella. You knew what you were getting yourself into. Deal with it!
It doesn’t take me long to type my reply, but I need a full minute to finally hit the send button.
Devonport: No, I didn’t.
Ross doesn’t respond for a while, and I drag a hand down my face, knowing he won’t drop the subject so quickly.
Rosswell: Why didn’t you say so last time?
Devonport: Because I’m not good at this shit…
Rosswell: What shit?
Devonport: This whole be-yourself but try-not-to-be-yourself-too-much shit.
Great. Now, I wanted to compose a text that sounded lighthearted, but all I accomplished was sounding pathetic.
Rosswell: Then just be yourself.
Yeah, easier said than done.
Devonport: Are you yourself all the time when we are in The Room?
Rosswell: No, but that’s your fault.
I blink, frowning.
Devonport: How so?
Rosswell: Because as soon as you’re close, I lose my mind
Huh, lucky him. I don’t need him to be close to lose my mind because the mere thought of him screwing my brains out renders me useless.
A ping sound from my computer reminds me that I’ve still got a life outside Silent Sins, and I shuffle over to my desk to see there are a bunch of emails I need to answer.
Devonport: Gotta go now.
Rosswell: And what am I going to do until you finally send me an invitation?
I smile in surprise. He’s eager. Almost desperate. Good to know I’m not the only one.
Devonport: I don’t know… Try on my Halloween costume and dance in front of a mirror?
Rosswell: Sorry, it’s ruined. Jerked off on it three times.
I nearly choke and put my fist into my mouth, biting down on my knuckles.
Devonport: Shit, Ross… You’re going to be my undoing.
Rosswell: That was my plan all along
~~~
Why did I voluntarily go to the mall four weeks before Christmas again? Me, of all people?
Ah, yes, to look for a present for my sex-buddy whose daily salary might very well be comparable to what I earn in one month.
Someone bumps into me with enough force to make me stumble, and I jab the guy with my elbow, hitting his ribs with a hard punch.
“Hey, watch out, asshole!” I yell.
The guy shoots me a bugged-eyed look, clearly shocked by my outburst, but the crowd pushes him in the other direction, and soon, he’s out of sight.
I growl in irritation as I continue to barrel my way through the crowds of sweaty people and smelly kids, the air thick with the scent of gingerbread, kettle corn, and hot apple cider. You’d think half of the state migrated here only to buy useless stuff like ugly-as-hell hats and corny Christmas decorations. What most would classify as every shopper’s paradise is my own personal hell, and it’s all I can do to take deep, calming breaths and suppress the unnerving feeling of claustrophobia. Magical atmosphere, my ass…
“This is stupid,” I mutter to myself when I pass the countless stalls showcasing crafts, toys, clothing, and souvenirs.
I mean, I can’t show up with a hand-blown glass houseware or a snow globe. What the hell do you even get someone who’s rich? Someone who can buy himself everything he wants? Someone you don’t even know?
As I sidestep a woman with a huge wad of cotton candy on a stick in her hands, my gaze falls on a stall displaying all kinds of cheap bracelets and necklaces. The man running it—a chubby, small guy with Asian features, dark skin, and a mop of black hair—looks as pissed as me, watching the people passing by while blowing air into his gloved hands.
Actually, there’s one thing I do know about Ross, and that’s his passion for jewelry. He told me he works in the industry, and the gold pendant around his neck must mean a lot to him if he has been wearing it since he was a kid.
Stepping closer to the stall, I survey the section with endless rows of pendants and charms.
“Can I help you with anything?” the guy asks in a thick accent. He plasters a friendly smile on his face, one that I know he only reserves for his potential customers, and seeing as no one so much as glances at his pieces, I’m one of a few.
“Uhm, not sure… I’m looking for a pendant.”
Wrong thing to say, I realize when the dude starts to talk my ear off, babbling about how pretty all the cheesy hearts are, and that he’s got all kinds of animal charms in stock.
One particular pendant catches my attention, and I have no idea why. It’s no bigger than my thumbnail, silver-colored with a black engraving that’s basically the letter ‘L’ standing upside down with the shorter line ending in a curved flourish.
I point to the object in question. “What does that mean?”
“It’s the Hebrew writing for the number six.”
I blink, unable to speak for a moment. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m Israeli.”
What the fuck? From all the stuff I could have found, it’s a pendant with the number six in Hebrew.
‘…from one of his business trips to Jerusalem,’ Ross told me, and I know for a fact that Hebrew is the spoken and written language there.
“How much?” I ask the guy.
“Seven dollars.”
I bite my lip before I counter, “Six.”
Fate wants to prank me today, so I’m all game.
“There you are! I already thought I lost you,” a woma
n a few feet to my right exclaims, and I swivel my head in her direction.
My heart stops.
The guy encasing her in his arms has two rings on his fingers, and black suit pants peek out from under his winter coat.
Ross!
My expression crumples, but when I manage to tear my gaze away from his hand and up to his face, I see a buzz-cut. I choke out in relief.
“Ma’am?”
I jerk my attention back to the Asian guy who wiggles a tiny plastic bag in front of my face.
“Uh, yeah, sorry…”
With a pensive smile, I rummage through my purse to hand him the money, and then take the bag. My gaze travels back to the couple now lost in a passionate kiss. A wedding band with a twinkling diamond flashes on the woman’s finger. How much is it worth, I wonder? Ross would probably know.
And then something totally ludicrous happens as my brain suddenly conjures an image of Ross putting a ring onto my finger, just as he drops to his knees in front of me to—
“Stop it!” I chastise myself, loud enough to attract attention, but I just send the people a glower and cut a path toward the exit.
Back home, I make myself comfortable on the couch before I pull out the pendant and examine it from every angle. Is it overkill? No, it’s just cheap stuff. Not even worth the six bucks I paid.
Rolling my head onto the back of the couch, I relish in the silence and the peace of my personal space. No matter how much effort it cost me to go to a crowded place today, it somehow feels like a victory. Am I finally starting to battle my demons? Am I finally ready to fight for my freedom?
I glance down at my phone. I could waste the next ten minutes fighting with myself, thinking about all the reasons why I should or shouldn’t send Ross an invitation. Or I could just shut down my brain for once and do what I want.
‘Oh, I think you are exactly that kind of girl.’
So, not giving my overactive mind a chance for second guesses, I snatch my phone and send Ross an invitation for our fourth date along with a string of birthday cake emojis.
Unbelievable how much my life has changed over the last few weeks. How my priorities have changed. How my thoughts have changed.
Before, I only cared about my dragonflies and how many window sensors I have to install to make my apartment burglarproof.
Now, I sometimes even forget to change my passwords or to pack my pepper spray when I leave the house because my thoughts are on him and how his hands felt on my body. Suddenly, everything circles around things like The Room or an invitation or a match. Even the darkness encompassing me when I go to bed feels different. I always feared something lurked in the shadows. Now, a wave of disappointment washes over me whenever Ross’ voice doesn’t break the silence.
I like it. All of it. But…
What will happen when Silent Sins is over?
‘You’re going to pay for this next time.’
Next time is tonight, and I can’t stop asking myself—did he make a joke or a threat? Knowing Ross, it was an underlying promise, and the thought excites and agitates me at the same time.
The pendant bounces against my breastbone as I walk down the secret passageway, and I can’t help but notice how I take each step with confidence. The first time I crossed that hallway, I was a bundle of nerves, every fiber in body screaming at me to pivot on my heels and run, but now, there’s no sign of the once self-conscious Ella who nearly shit her pants at the mere thought of a blind date.
I’m practically bouncing with excitement as I go through the security check, and then make myself presentable in the changing room before it’s finally time to cut the lights and step into my cozy bubble.
My eyes try to adjust to the darkness as my gaze bounces over the space and lands on Ross’ silhouette at the opposite side of the room. My breath lodges in my throat, but this time, he doesn’t tell me to breathe.
“Take off your clothes.”
His demanding voice flows around the room like a wave of dark power, and every hair on my body stiffens.
“Maybe I’m already naked,” I dare to whisper.
“You’re not,” he gruffs out before he repeats in a deeper tone, “Take off your clothes.”
I’m only wearing an oversized shirt, so it doesn’t take me long to pull it over my head and let it drop to the floor.
“Come here.”
His deep, purring order creates a throbbing need in my lower parts, and I erase the distance between us with slow, calculated steps. By the time I halt a foot in front of him, my skin is so sensitive to the touch he hasn’t granted me yet, my entire body breaks out in goosebumps.
His hand with the glowing bracelet rises up to cup my chin, and my lips part in response, waiting for his kiss. Instead, his other hand shoots straight for the place in between my thighs, and I nearly sag against his chest as he drives in a finger, his grip on my face keeping me from slumping to the ground.
I can feel the wetness sticking on his finger as he slides it out. He lifts it to his mouth and sucks it all off with a loud smacking noise, leaving me horrified.
“So wet for me,” he whispers over my cheek.
There’s a rustling noise as he unwraps something from his wrist, and I gasp when he slides a soft, silky fabric over my collarbone.
“It’s time to tell me a secret, Devon.”
“I, uhm…”
I totally forget what I wanted to say when he moves the silky strip over my breast, circling my nipple.
“Yes?” he presses, gliding the fabric over the sensitive skin of my belly.
It takes me a second to deliver my response. “The tattoo on my forearm… It’s an image of one of my dragonflies.”
He doesn’t say anything but moves the soft strip over said body part, wafting it over my wrist and up my arm. I want to feel if he’s naked, too, so I lift my hands to touch him, but he pins them behind my back and swings the fabric over my wrists.
“What are you doing?” I panic as he tightens the silk, restricting my movements. Dirty talk or sex toys are one thing, but getting cuffed by a stranger takes things to a whole new level.
He yanks me into him, his bare torso now flush with my chest and his hard length pressing into my belly. “Do you trust me?”
His question takes me off guard. Is Ross still a stranger? I’d recognize his voice from a mile away. His scent is branded into my mind to the point I can smell him in my dreams. I’ve shared more secrets with him than with my sister. And his cock has been inside me more times than anyone else’s.
“Say yes,” he urges when I take too long to answer.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Inhaling deeply, he places a tender kiss onto my temple.
“Thank you.” His tone is sincere as if my trust is a precious gift, and the thought eases some of my tension.
He pulls me over to the table and positions himself behind me. His hand on my back tells me to bend over, and I lower my upper body, lying down on the furry surface. Biting my lip, I twist my wrists to test how much I can stretch the material. He left enough room so I can reach the emergency button, should the need arise. But as it stands, the only thing rising is the raw, sexual tension buzzing through my veins.
His two strong hands make themselves comfortable on my butt, and he nudges my legs apart before he pushes into me, the sudden invasion arching my back. I want to prop myself up on my elbows to adjust the angle, but my arms are useless in their shackled position, and the only thing I can do is bury my face into the fur and let him ravish me.
Warmth engulfs me as he lowers himself down on top of me, his fingers stroking my hair away from my face.
“Are you good?” he whispers into my ear.
“Yes.”
He starts to move, slow but deep, my walls quivering around him with each precise stroke.
“What about now? Still good?” His voice is strained now.
So is mine when I breathe, “Yes.”
He increases his tempo a bit, the thrusts be
coming more powerful. “Still good?”
“Better,” I pant as his hand wiggles its way underneath my stomach and down to my clit.
“What about now?”
The F-word slips over my lips as I chase my orgasm, but Ross ceases his movements when I remain silent.
“Answer me,” he instructs, his soft words contradicting his dominant actions.
“Yes, it feels so fucking good,” I hiss. “Please, just let me come.”
“Will you scream for me?”
Hell, I’m going to scream my lungs out if the orgasm will be as good as I expect it to be.
“Yes. God, yes,” I whine and bury my face inside the fur, but Ross has other plans.
Clamping a hand around my throat, he jerks up my head. It will be impossible to muffle my voice in that position, which was probably his intention. As soon as he’s got me where he wants me, his right hand starts to go crazy, rubbing my clit and demolishing me at the same time so ferociously, I fist my hands, my nails digging into my skin as a flood of pleasure hits me with the force of an avalanche.
“Oh, my God!”
I scream so loud, the sound is foreign to my ears, but Ross seems to like it because he whispers praises and curses into my ear until he comes so hard, he bites into my neck and nearly sucks me dry.
While I try to catch my breath, he snaps off his condom and loosens the knot around my wrists, my hands dropping down by my sides. He chuckles when he sees how he rendered me immobile.
“You were amazing, Devon,” he croons into my ear as he plucks me up, and then hoists me up into his arms to lower me down onto the bed.
“I didn’t do anything,” I mumble in a hoarse voice.
Lying down next to me, he props his head onto his hand.
“You gave me your body and your trust,” he says in a near wistful tone that tweaks my heart.
“Hey, you still owe me a secret.”
He chuckles. “Right. Okay, let’s see… I have a scar on my left ass cheek.”
“Did you smack into a stop sign with your butt?” I ask with a grin, and he laughs.
“No. When we were kids, my brother shot me with an arrow.”
“What?”
“We were bow-hunting, and my brother got angry because I was way better at it, so he shot an arrow at me that hit me straight in the ass.”
