Page 5 of Whispers of Ruin

I consider for a second scream for Julian.Oh no. He will call the police and keep me hidden in my apartment forever.

I stare at the memo again, trying to make sense of it. The words feel like a warning, but for what? My mind flashes back to last night—the man in the shadows, his presence invading my head and body long after he had disappeared.

Could it be him?

I grab my phone, take a photo of the sketch and the note before tucking everything back into the box. My fingers hover over the screen, debating whether to call someone—Zoey, my best friend and coworker maybe? Instead, I set it down.

Whoever sent this knows me, knows where I work, where I live. They wanted me to see it, to feel it. And as much as I hate to admit it, it’s working.

I quickly grab a clean paper towel, pressing it to my palm to stop the bleeding. My hand trembles as I feel the burn of the cut, the skin still warm where the blade has sliced through it.

I run to the bathroom, pull open the medicine cabinet, and grab a big plaster. My fingers fumble with the small adhesive strip, and I curse under my breath as I press it to the cut.

The coolness of the bandage against my skin is a slight relief, still as I examine it in the mirror, something startles me. The sight of that fresh cut, the blood that has stained the white paper, suddenly feels like more than just an accident.

It is a reminder that someone wanted to get close enough to hurt me.

I stare at my hand, the weight of that reflection settling in my heart. A weird feeling pulses in me—I cannot quite explain what. It is almost as if I’m… grateful for it.

Someone wanted to make me feel something, to make me real, regardless of whether it was in the form of pain, which I do not normally enjoy.

It is twisted, I know. As I stand there, looking at my new mark, part of me feels a deranged sense of satisfaction. For a second, I feel noticed, alive, excited, and maybe even… loved. It feels like a window opening in my brain, revealing a still-dark room filled with echoes and possibilities of new experiences.

I realize there is a slight tension brewing in my lower body, a vibration that subtly shakes my inner thighs, an irresistible pull that stirs my desire to understand, to feel more. I study at my reflection in the cabinet mirror intently, trying to find some clue about what the hell is going on with me.

Without warning, the searing sensation of my injured hand sliding into the blue-laced panties completely takes me off guard. I maintain eye contact, surprised, as if that reaction might somehow release me from any guilt. I silently laugh.

The shame of complete arousal as my fingers penetrate my pussy, the blood creating a perfect lubricant. It’s soft and velvety, almost like sinking into a thick cloud. While I move my hand with a gentle, smooth resistance, my insides slightly quiver as I go deeper.

The instant I proceed to a quicker, rhythmic pace, the mysterious, black-hooded stranger consumes my mind once more. I grab my breast, my nails piercing my chest, imagining it is gloved and big. My eyes roll and a stifled moan slips from my muttering lips.

“You good out there?” asks Julian from the bedroom next door.

Holy crap.

I completely forgot he existed—that he was just beyond the wall, blissfully unaware of what was happening here. How could I do this to him?

He has been patient for months now while I stand here, masturbating with my fucking blood when I could have saved this rare instant of excitement for the man I am trying to build a life with.

I raise my head and profoundly examine my face with disgust in the mirror, taking in every detailed reaction, showing how eager I am to come. I know fully well that what I am doing is not right, yet I am so desperate for any escape, and for one brief, selfish moment, the sharp guilt is a reprieve from the dullness of everything else.

My hands still tremble as I go through the motions, a quiet voice in the back of my mind screaming for me to stop.

There will be no turning back.

Instead of listening to the voice of reason, clearly conscious of the precedent this could create, I carry on fantasizing about that enigmatic outsider who has nothing to do with my current situation.

What do I know about this guy? I almost crashed into him at the street corner.

Here go the wedding bells, am I right?

Damn, I am such an idiot. Getting caught up over some passing figure like a teenager with Edward Cullen. For all Iknow, he didn’t even notice me. Just a brush of shoulders, a fleeting second in the city's madness.

The only thing I reckon is his smell. A scent so intoxicating, a complex blend of raw masculinity and subtle sophistication. It carried hints of cedarwood, smoky leather with a faint trace of something darker—remembering the embers of a smoldering fire. The aroma wrapped itself around me, warm and compelling, making it impossible to contain my orgasm any longer.

At last, a soothing feeling, comforting as the scarlet liquid mixed with my arousal floods onto my wrist, soft enough to feel like a luxurious embrace.

It is so delightfully wrong, as though the devil himself were attempting to worm his way into my soul, showing me just how every forbidden desire deserves to be explored.

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