The Whispers of Silence

|2.|

Lenora Dutch

I stumbled into my bedroom, giggling to myself, shaking on my too-high heels and too much vodka.

A glance in the huge mirror on the wall reminded me of what a mess I was when I had too much to drink. My golden sequined dress was riding up, revealing a hint of my ass under the shiny fabric. My hair was wild, the dark brown locks, a halo around my head, and my green eyes glowed with excitement. At least my makeup was still in place, the perfect smoky cat-eye enhancing my looks, making me appear demure yet sexy. I'd perfected the art of it, making sure I always had someone eager to buy me a drink.

I sank down on my bed and pulled off the murderous black heels that had been torturing me all night. But it was okay—I'd learned to handle the pain, and when I was dancing, it never mattered anyway.

I lay back and I stared at my ceiling, letting myself think about what my life had become, but only for a short while.

The key was never to focus on it for too long. I had to forget, and drinking, dancing and partying, was the only way I could do it. I could never stop. If I stopped twirling, stopped tipping back glass after glass, I risked stopping long enough to think about what I was doing. And that was the last thing I wanted.

I needed to forget about Connor. He was long gone, and there was no bringing him back.

I pushed myself off the bed shakily, and went to the window to let some fresh air in. There's nothing quite like a nice fall breeze to clear your head, and God, I needed some fucking clarity.

I opened the blinds and looked outside, the street below me illuminated by the streetlights. It was gone four a.m., and most of the lights in the apartment building next door were off. I lived in a nice neighborhood of townhouses, about three apartments per floor and three floors total. It was a good place to live, and, of course, I wouldn't have been able to afford it if it hadn't been for my parents' stack of cash in my bank account.

Being a trust-fund baby definitely had its benefits.

My eyes traveled upwards and focused on the only illuminated apartment across the street from me. I could see right into their home, but the minimalistic apartment seemed to be empty, even though it was lit up.

I opened the window wide, enjoying the breeze on my face, slowly bringing me to my senses once again.

A thumping noise interrupted my reverie, and I looked up again, right into the apartment opposite mine. Except now, it wasn't empty anymore.

Now, there was a dark, impossibly tall figure pressing a naked woman against the window, fucking her savagely, mashing her tits against the glass, her mouth opened in an endless gasp as he took her from behind.

My mouth gaped in surprise, and I moved a little to the side, hiding in the darkness and watching the show they were putting on with a smirk on my face.

The woman had small but perky tits. Her skin was dark, almost ebony, a sharp contrast to the pale man standing behind her, towering over her. She was tiny and curvy, and he was fucking enormous.

He was all toned muscle and dark, slicked-back hair. His strong, muscular arm was wrapped around her neck in a choke-hold, strangling the screams right out of her. And his skin was covered in dark, menacing ink, the black color stark against his light skin.

I don't know why, but I kept watching.

I shifted on my feet to get a better view of what was going on before me.

He fucked her like an animal. I could see his hips working, pushing, thrusting inside her from behind, claiming her petite body and making her mouth open in a silent scream. He fucked like a beast, and he looked like a monster.

My fingers shook as I reached for my purse, scrambling to find it on the bed and trying not to look away from the scene in front of me at the same time.

I managed to get my phone out of my handbag, bringing it in front of my face and quickly snapping a picture of them.

Wishing I could see him better, I moved from behind the curtain a little bit closer to the window. My breath made foggy circles on the glass and my hands shook as I put my phone down and reached under the hem of my dress.

The gold sequins felt cold and exciting against my fingertips, and I touched them gently before spreading my own trembling legs apart, slowly outlining the wet, dripping shape of my pussy lips between my thighs.

I was so damn wet. How?

In fact, I was fucking leaking all over my panties, the image across the street making my pussy drool so much I flushed with embarrassment.

But I couldn't help myself. Couldn't resist slipping my fingers under the sodden satin fabric of my panties, outlining my perfectly waxed pussy as I shivered under my own touch. It felt so strange, voyeuristic, to be watching them do this on the other side of the street. And it was horny as hell.

My fingers worked their magic between my legs, slowly teasing my cunt open and finding my clit. I'd let someone kiss me at the club that night, but I didn't bring anyone back with me, which was unusual for me. I liked having someone to go home with. It made me feel wanted.

I remembered his hot, needy lips. He was a nice guy, not one I'd usually go for, which was probably the reason I hadn't brought him back home with me. He had a buzzcut, and his face was clean-shaven too, and I loved the prickly feeling of his features under my fingertips, and the push of his bulge against my tummy. But I didn't let myself have it. I really didn't do nice guys, because I wasn't a very nice girl.

Lips parting in a gasp, I braced myself against the windowsill as I stroked myself towards an orgasm. His hand was squeezing her throat so tightly, she looked like she was out of breath, her chest heaving and her mouth open so wide.

She was crying.

He was fucking her so hard, so savagely, with so little mercy, that the poor girl was crying her eyes out, all the while coming all over his dick.

Fuck!

A moan escaped me, my fingers working in fast, messy circles to get myself off. I came with a desperate cry, my pussy making a creamy mess all over my fingers. I'd always been such an easy comer, ever since I learned how to get off by myself.

My eyes felt strained as I looked back up, and then opened as wide as they possibly could as I stared at them. He was still choking the girl, her eyes closed and her breathing ragged, but his own gaze was firmly fixed on me.

I panicked. Surely he couldn't see me—my room was barely illuminated. But I saw them both so fucking well.

He grinned at me. Two rows of perfectly straight, impossibly white teeth glaring in the darkness of the night. He ran his free hand through his dark, slicked-back hair, and carelessly scratched at the stubble growing on his chin. Then, he reached in front and twisted the girl's neck in a blink, before she could scream.

What.The.Fuck.

He kept staring. I couldn't look away. What did I just see? My heart leapt when he knocked on the window.

One. Twice. Thrice.

When he was sure, he had my attention, he started moving his fingers.

I followed his fingers writing on the window and stared at his words on the glass, written clumsily, some of them fucked up because he'd tried to write their mirror reflection so I could read it.

SNITCH AND YOU'LL BE DEAD BITCH.