The Whispers of Silence

|8.|

Lenora Dutch

I was fucking furious. So damn angry, part of me was tempted to shut the curtains once and for all, but another, more desperate part of me, wouldn't let me do it.

I watched him fucking the girl, his cock stretching her asshole until the echoes of her screams tormented my mind, even though I couldn't even hear her. She was desperate, helpless against the hurricane that was X.  

And that phone call... After he cut the call I felt tears of frustration welling in my eyes, threatening to fall any second. I felt just like she did. Desperate to be touched and helpless from my mind and hearts pull to opposite directions. I knew this was wrong. So wrong, but it felt so right, and that begs my sanity to be questioned. Was I really willing to take this risk? With a could-be-criminal at that?

My next move decided the answer to that for me.

I swallowed my pride, walked to the living room, and after only a short second, opened the French doors leading onto my balcony.

So far, all of the games we'd played had been in the safety of my own home. But out here, with the black iron fence holding me captive, the fresh air felt as chilling as the street below me, that and the knowledge that anyone could look up to see my naked form desperately playing with myself.

But X didn't even glance at me. The view was even better from out here, their bodies so close I felt like I could practically smell the sweat on their skin.

I leaned back against the glass door, my palms resting on the window and my ass touching my hands.

And I just watched, because for once in my life, I wanted to fucking follow every rule. Anything, everything, just for a chance of having him touch me, fuck me.

I saw their mouths opening and my mind filled with the dialogue I wasn't hearing.

And then he started twisting her hair around his fist, rougher and rougher. I could see her panicking as he leaned down next to her, gently caressing her jaw, and then he was pointing towards the window. Towards me.

She looked right at me, carefully listening to every word X was saying, without any questions.

She stared at me and it scared me how vulnerable she looked. Not because she felt weak, but because she held more power in the whole situation than I ever had. I was still just the girl on the other side of the glass. I was jealous. Painfully, fucking awfully jealous of the pretty little blonde whose ruined makeup was flowing freely down her cheeks.

X reached for her, roughly wiping her face and smearing her makeup further.

"Please," I muttered to myself, blushing when the words left my lips.

X took the girl's throat in his rough, big fingers, and whispered in her ear. 

She kept looking at me, big, sad eyes. I couldn't pity her. All I felt was red hot, blinding fucking rage, because she was getting what was mine, what I deserved, what I'd been working for.

He was mine. And in that moment, with the freezing air kissing my shivering body, I felt like I would never have him. So, I decided then and there to do everything I possibly could, to make sure X was mine.

I'd always been competitive. But seeing that girl being fucked by him, being brought to her knees by his fucking dick, made me more determined than ever. X was fucking mine.

And then he was gone. The blinds came down and all I could see was darkness.

The air was so cold on the balcony, I felt my teeth chattering, but I didn't give a shit anymore. I was so ready to touch myself again, my fingers trembled when my phone started ringing in my hand.