Page 32 of Dirty Little Secrets
When the wheels touch down, I reach for the jacket she left on the seat. I offer it to her wordlessly.
She rolls her eyes and takes it, sliding her arms into the sleeves like it pains her. But something tightens in my chest as the coat engulfs her frame. She looks like she’s wearing me. My scent. My name. A declaration that she’s mine and not just my secretary.
“I forgot. The pilot,” she mutters.
My lips twitch. She doesn’t know the half of it. If that asshole even glanced at her twice, I’d rip his eyes out. I don’t enjoy violence, but there are ways to end a man without blood. Suffering is an art form. And when it comes to protecting what I want, I have no boundaries.
The smarter move would be to fuck someone else every time to clear my head. Numb the need clawing at my self-control.
I picture the woman from Obsidian—the one I was matched with. I try to imagine her in that same red dress. But it’s no use. Because the dress is on Nori.
And now I can’t stop thinking what she'd look like underneath it. This meeting is going to be more than I bargained for.
18
After the business trip to Las Vegas, I keep checking the Obsidian app.
Being there, surrounded by bright lights, endless bodies in glitter and flesh, and women laughing too loudly with men they barely knew stirred the anticipation. It gave me a hunger I thought I buried. All I could think about was fucking my boss’s brains out.
I could blame it on my past and the need to use him in order to forget. On the abuse. On the wiring of a girl who was taught that pain is the code to love. But lately, the blame shifts. It’s because of him. My forbidden fruit.
Xaiden.
Every time I look at him, it feels like that apple is brushing against my lips, daring me to take a bite. And maybe I would, if I didn’t know better. Men like him aren’t seduced by bodies. They’re immune. Controlled by their wants. Invincible to everyone.
I’m sprawled on the bed in Kristina’s spare room. It’s Sunday night. I’m bored. Kristina’s on a date, and I’m alone with my own twisted thoughts.
Like it can hear them, the Obsidian app lights up with an alert.
You have been matched.Location: Anonymous Room. Click accept.
My heart spikes. I stare at the screen. No names. No faces. No conversation. Just sex.
I press accept.
Then I get up, fast. My coat is tight around me, hiding the lingerie underneath—blood red lace and silk. By the time I reach the club, the bouncers recognize me from the other night and wave me in.
I ignore the screens, the sounds of people in the throes of pleasure. My focus on the app guiding me to the room wondering who’s on the other side.
A biometric scan clears me. The door hisses open. The room is dim. There’s a queen-sized bed. A single chair. And a man in it. Chained by the wrists.
Black silk boxers paint is cock and upper thighs. His muscles are carved to perfection. Tattoos crawl up his torso, and my heart sputters when it stops at a giant X on his neck. More ink flows over his arms and thighs and I swear my mouth dries up like the fucking desert when I reach his face. He’s blindfold but that’s not all.
Xaiden Drazen is X.
My fucking boss. My blood bubbles in my veins from excitement. My breath catches but my brain screams to run. Memories blurring the sight in front of me.
“You want to make me happy, right?” Brent’s voice like a switchblade on my neck. My back against a pool table in the clubhouse, the ashtray beside me holding his cigarette. The smoke curling like a noose in the air.
I nod, too afraid to say no dressed in nothing but a leather thong and crop top. I hate drugs but inside the club, it wasnormal to be offered and expected to indulge. It was his way to show the others you were part of it. A way for Brent to get me to do whatever he wanted. Fuck me however he wanted without a protest from my lips.
“Then be a good girl and take it.” He hands me the small pill, holding a cup of Whiskey. Don’t make me ask twice.”
“Are you going to stand there,” he says, voice like gravel and silk, “or fuck me?”
I step closer pulling me back to the present.He doesn’t know it’s me. Not like this. Not as RED.
My fingers tremble as I wave a hand in front of his face to make sure he can’t see. Nothing. He can’t see me. He can only feel. Only imagine who.
