Yours In Silence

Chapter 4: Midnight Voices

Elara got home just after six, the winter sky already black outside her bedroom window. Vanessa was out at a holiday book-club dinner, leaving the house blissfully empty. Elara took the longest shower of her life, shaving carefully, lotioning every inch of skin until it felt like silk, then slipped into bed wearing nothing but the ivory lace panties from the clinic and a thin camisole.

She kept her phone on the pillow beside her, volume turned all the way up.

At 11:47 p.m., it finally buzzed.

Unknown number.

She knew who it was before she even answered.

“Hello?” Her voice came out breathy, eager.

Julian’s low rumble filled her ear. “Are you alone?”

“Yes. Mom’s out until late.”

A pause. She heard the soft creak of leather—him settling into a chair, maybe—and then the faint clink of ice in a glass. “Good. Lock your door anyway.”

She scrambled out of bed, turned the lock, and crawled back under the covers. “Done.”

“Tell me what you’re wearing.”

Her pulse skittered. “The same panties from earlier. And a white camisole. Nothing else.”

A rough exhale. “Christ. I’ve been hard since you left the office. Thought about you the entire drive home.”

Elara squeezed her thighs together, already aching. “What did you think about?”

“How wet you were on my fingers. How tight you felt. The way you came apart looking right at me.” His voice dropped lower. “I want more of that. I want all of you.”

She whimpered softly. “I’m yours.”

“Not yet,” he said, almost regretful. “But tonight… tonight we get closer.”

“Tell me what to do.”

“Start slow. Slide your hand under your camisole. Cup one of your breasts for me.”

Elara obeyed instantly, palm gliding over warm skin until she cradled the soft weight of her breast. Her n****e was already peaked, sensitive. She brushed her thumb across it and gasped.

“Like that?” she whispered.

“Pinch it,” he ordered. “Not gentle. Show me how you like it when you’re alone thinking of me.”

She rolled the hard bud between thumb and forefinger, tugging just hard enough to send a sharp spark straight to her c**t. A moan slipped out.

“Good girl,” he praised, voice thick. “Now the other one. Use your nails a little.”

She switched hands, scraping lightly, the sting making her hips roll. “Julian…”

“Keep going. Slide your other hand down your stomach. Slowly. Tease yourself over the lace first.”

Her fingers trailed over her ribs, her navel, until they reached the damp fabric between her legs. She traced the outline of her lips through the lace, pressing lightly, feeling how swollen she already was.

“I’m so wet,” she confessed. “The lace is soaked.”

“Fuck.” A low groan from him. She heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper, then the rustle of fabric. “I’ve got my c**k out, Elara. Stroking it thinking about your pretty little pussy.”

Her breath hitched. “Tell me what it looks like.”

“Thick. Hard for you. Pre-c*m leaking from the tip because I can still taste you on my tongue.” His voice was rougher now, breath uneven. “Rub your c**t through the panties. Small circles.”

She did, hips lifting off the mattress. The friction of wet lace against sensitive flesh was maddening—almost enough, but not quite.

“Julian, please…”

“Please what?”

“I need more. I need inside.”

“Not yet. Slide the panties to the side. I want you bare for me.”

She hooked a finger under the lace and pulled it aside, cool air kissing her slick folds. Two fingers glided easily through her wetness, spreading it up to her c**t.

“I’m touching myself,” she whispered. “Two fingers circling my c**t. It’s so swollen.”

“Dip lower. One finger inside. Just the tip at first.”

She pressed her middle finger into her entrance, gasping at how easily it slid in despite her tightness. She pumped shallowly, imagining it was him.

“Add another,” he commanded. “Stretch yourself the way I did earlier.”

She worked a second finger in beside the first, scissoring gently. The fullness made her moan louder.

“Quiet,” he warned, though his own breathing was ragged. “We don’t want to wake anyone.”

The reminder that this was secret, forbidden, only made her wetter.

“f**k yourself slow,” he said. “In and out. Curl your fingers—find that spot that makes your legs shake.”

She did, angling until—there. Her back arched, a soft cry escaping before she bit her lip.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Right there. Keep hitting it. Use your thumb on your clit.”

The dual sensation built fast. She could hear the wet sounds of her fingers moving, could hear his hand working his c**k—faster now, slick with pre-c*m.

“I wish I could see you,” he said. “Spread open on your bed, fingers buried in that virgin p***y, n*****s hard under that thin camisole. You’re so beautiful when you let go.”

“Julian… I’m close.”

“Not yet. Slow down. Edge for me.”

She whimpered in frustration but obeyed, easing her pace to barely there strokes that kept her teetering.

“Good girl. Listen to me.” His voice was commanding now, controlled even as his breathing betrayed how close he was. “Imagine my mouth on you. My tongue licking you clean, then pushing inside. Imagine my c**k rubbing against your c**t, coating itself in your wetness, but not taking you yet.”

Her thighs trembled.

“Now speed up. Hard. Fast. Come for me, Elara. Let me hear you fall apart.”

She plunged her fingers deep, thumb grinding her c**t, and shattered. The orgasm hit harder than the one in his office—long, rolling waves that had her muffling cries into her pillow, p***y clenching rhythmically around her fingers.

On the other end, Julian’s low, guttural groan told her he’d followed. She heard the hitch in his breath, the soft curse as he came.

Silence stretched afterward, filled only with their slowing breaths.

“Elara,” he finally said, voice softer. “Are you okay?”

She laughed weakly. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again. Not after that.”

He chuckled, low and fond. “Me neither.”

They stayed on the line for another twenty minutes—quiet murmurs, gentle teasing, no mention of the massive line they’d just crossed. He told her to clean up with warm water, to drink some water, to sleep naked so she’d dream of him.

When they finally hung up, it was nearly 1:30 a.m.

Elara fell asleep with her phone clutched to her chest and the taste of his name on her lips.

Across town, Julian poured himself a second whiskey, staring out at the dark. Sophia had texted twice—some nonsense about getting coffee to “talk things over.” He deleted the messages without replying.

His mind was full of Elara’s moans, the slick sounds of her pleasure, the way she’d obeyed every command.

He knew the next time he saw her in person, restraint would be paper-thin.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to repair it.