“No, it isn’t what it looks like. She is a master of spin, my mother. She saunters in and out of my life when it suits her. I have just gotten used to it, that’s all. Once I started making a name for myself, that is when she started coming around. She loves having me on her arm, something to show off, to brag about. As if she has anything to do with who I am, or what I have accomplished.” The resonance in his voice is icy, a low simmering anger sitting just below the surface.
“You don’t think her leaving like that has anything to do with who you are?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry I brought it up. I just…..”
“I am glad you told me.” I finish his heavy thought. It’s clear she has a greater effect than even he can admit to. Of course her leaving has everything to do with who he is. But I won’t be the one to tell him that. I just feel privileged that he has finally opened up about something, one small piece of the puzzle that is Rhys. And he revealed it to me. He shakes his head, as if to shake her out, closing his eyes with a deep breath. Wrapping a tendril of my hair around his finger his eyes warm and a grin pulls at his soft mouth.
“How do you do your hair like that?” he muses softly, twisting a rogue curl between his fingers, changing the subject.
“Rain, extreme humidity and a little brick dust,” I tease.
“Well, I like it.” He pulls me closer, burying his nose in my hair. Cupping my head, he tips my chin to look me in the eye. I could lose myself in him so easily, his skillful hands, wicked mouth. He makes me want to do things I thought I would never do. He said no romance, no emotion, and I agreed, and meant it. Why is it so hard to stay in the lines? We both caved so quickly, to the pull, the electricity between us. I know he feels it, too. We said the words, but we didn’t mean them. No emotion, no romance. He didn’t mean it.
“You wouldn’t rather it be longer, maybe blonde?”
“God, No! This hair. You. Are so fucking sexy. You have no idea. The way it whips around your face when you lose control. It’s mesmerizing, addictive. It just makes me want to tip you over to watch it sway while I fuck you senseless, again,” he growls against my ear. “It makes me want to lose control with you.” His words grip me with force in the most dark and deep recesses of my body. To be wanted, appreciated in such a carnal, raw way is new. It makes me feel wild, sensual. Alive.
“You make me lose control. I have never felt that way before, never.” He does something to my body that I think only he was meant to do. He knows it, reads it like a map. “This is all rather new to me.” We are so familiar, so intimate. More intimate than I have ever been, or ever expected to be. By this time there are parts of me that he is more familiar with than I am. He has made sure of it, given me so much attention I have never had. Loved me, or fucked me in ways I never dreamt of. And yet we are almost perfect strangers. And will be strangers again after tomorrow. I will be wiped away, never to be seen again.
Dark thoughts attempt to swallow my ecstasy, knowing that I will not see him again, unless by some happy accident. It’s not as if he has to worry about ever running into me. We don’t exactly run in the same circles. I roll around and press my lips to his chest, running my fingers across the light scattering of dark hair that makes him look so masculine, I love it. I run my hands up his chest and he shudders, before squeezing me, pressing his hips to mine. Up his throat, I scratch at the stubble that grows from days of neglect. I love the stubble, the vibrations rattle down my arms, sending a shiver down my spine. Placing my hands on his face, I look into those eyes and I am his, at least for tonight.
“Why is that?”
“What?” He props himself up on an elbow, ready to talk now that the focus is no longer on him.
“Well, you had a boyfriend. That much we know. And you were no virgin. So how is it that any of this can be new to you?”
My cheeks are on fire. Did I just burst into flames? Embarrassment roars through me and I want to hide. I don’t want to have this conversation with him. I don’t want to share my sexual history with anyone, much less Rhys. He is experienced, knows what he likes and wants, and clearly is used to being with women who are the same. I am not in his league, and now he wants to expose me. I roll onto my back and fling my arm over my eyes. Not wanting to look him in the eye when I confess. I take a deep breath and let it spread through me, willing my heart rate to slow, and keep a steady pace while I bare myself to Rhys.
“My ex was selfish.” I peek at him to catch a sly grin rise on his lips. “He was my first and I learned from him. He never wanted me to move. He always acted like anything but missionary was kinky and sick.” Rhys’ face is impassive, his silence urges me to fill the quiet. “He was cold and mean. He never…” I pause at the thought. I don’t know why, but I can hardly muster the words in my head, much less let them pass my lips.
“He never what, licked your pretty little pussy?” I choke on his words. They are hot, sexy and so dirty. He on the other hand, seems to take pleasure in such talk. I would be lying to say it wasn’t growing on me.
“Yes, he never did that. Always said it was gross. So, naturally I thought I was gross.” I peek out from under my arm to find Rhys staring right at me. He lifts my arm from my face, and rises onto his forearm, commanding my attention. Looking into his eyes, I cannot be embarrassed. He strips me bare, rakes me over and appreciates every inch of me. Over and over Rhys has showed me that He was wrong.
“I am happy for it. His loss is my gain,” Rhys says, intensity shining in his eyes. “I like that I am the only man to do that to you. I licked it, it’s mine. You are a beautiful woman, Sophie. He sounds like an idiot.” I roll onto my side, pull him to me and kiss him with all the force I can muster. Dirtier words have never sounded so pretty. I nip at his bottom lip until his tongue darts out to swipe and dance with mine. I am hungry, suddenly wild with lust. We are both starving, devouring one another’s flesh with fervor, kissing and biting, consuming. I cannot get close enough to him, he is crushed against me and it is not close enough. I am here now. Right here, right now. And I need him like air. I will suffocate if he doesn’t love me right now, my body dying for his brand of breath, his life force. He alone can make me feel more alive than I ever knew and I want it now more than anything, to connect with him in the most intense way, the most heavenly, devious way. A masochistic addict hopelessly hooked on Rhys. Like a moth to a flame, I know I will get burned, but I just need a little more heat, a little more light. One more hit.
***
I wander through the dark house alone. It is too big and empty, the life from the wedding an ephemeral memory, leaving behind two lonely hearts and a big empty house. Sitting at the beautiful baby grand piano in the solarium, I mindlessly tap the keys. I have prepared myself for the end, this affair with Rhys. I go back to the “real world” and he goes back to his world, the simple, clean end of an affair. Sorrow seeps from my fingertips as they float across the ivory keys. I turn my full attention to the piano and let both hands quietly lament, sorrowful strokes soothing my anxious heart. I close my eyes and surrender to my hands. The piano cries softly, but my fingers are heavy. Every note is one step closer to the end, I slow the tempo, wanting to drag it out, to make it last. But the end is inevitable, and my fingers glide across the keys as whispered sadness falls away and the only sound in the room is my ragged breath and a slowly breaking heart. I take my hands off the keys and run my fingers across my lips, provoking memories. Fresh memories of Rhys’ warm mouth, his needy kisses, and the immediate absence of the way he makes me feel, happy, horny, frustrated, angry, and safe. Wanted. He makes me feel wanted in a way I never thought possible. When he kisses me it is hot with need, urgent and singular, like he has never kissed anyone that way before or since. I want to believe that is true, that this is just as new for him. The heat and familiarity, our bodies connected, like long lost souls, reunited. I turn from the piano to see him standing silently in the doorway, hiding in the shadows.
“Do you always linger in the dark?�
� I tease as he steps towards me wearing nothing but a smile. Though his smile is dazzling it couldn’t possibly detract from the beautiful form before me, bathed in moonlight. His broad shoulders accentuating the narrow waist and powerful legs that do this girl’s body good. He clears his throat in protest as my eyes wander to the prize, already at half-mast and rising.
“Up here please, I am not an object to be ogled.” His face is young and carefree, but his eyes are hungry as he stalks slowly towards me. “That sounded morose. Are you sad, Beautiful?” Careful not to reveal to him the deep ache that is crushing me at the thought of leaving, I smile.
“Just a little tired. It has been a long few days.”
“Not long enough. I did not like waking up without you.” He pulls me from the piano bench and hauls me into a deep, wet kiss. His lips soft and knowing against mine, perfect. He tugs at my backside, pulling me closer, humming in delight before he swats me playfully and pulls my hand.
“I am famished. Let’s get a snack,” he says, pulling me into the large kitchen.
“I don’t know that I can concentrate on food with you looking like that.” I wave my hand about his striking form and hard cock. “It is very distracting.” I open the French doors to the oversized fridge and start searching for goodies as Rhys sidles up behind me. I turn around to catch him pulling at the hem of my shirt, the shirt I pulled from his drawer.
“Perhaps if we were on equal footing, it wouldn’t be so distracting.” He pulls the shirt over my head, leaving me heaving in the dull light of the refrigerator, wearing nothing but a pair of lacy boy shorts. I cover myself coyly, leaning into the cold air of the refrigerator. My nipples tighten as the cool air wafts around me.
“No, that doesn’t help at all. Now I’m distracted.” He grabs me around the waist and sets me on the counter, his eyes hungry. “Lay back, Beautiful. I know what I‘m hungry for.” He places his hand on my belly and slowly pushes me down onto the cool marble counter. I lay back and watch the stars in my eyes as he slides my panties to the side, teasing and pleasing me in ways I will never forget. Long fingers stroke my rapidly pulsing slit and his tongue rolls in circles around my clit, waking her up, igniting a deep sensitivity. His fingers slide in and out of me, a luscious deep stroking, while he blows ribbons of hot air over my pink folds. His mouth closes over me and I am lost. All that exists is his heavenly tongue and the soft light of the open refrigerator.
Chapter 21
Sunlight fills the room, but I wake with a shadow hanging over me. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I nestle into the pile of white down in the center of the bed, breathing in the essence of the last two days, the smell of Rhys and sex. Mind blowing, life affirming, all-knowing sex. And now I go. After the most perfect seventy two hours of my sexual life, I must return to my reality. Three hours until my flight.
I carefully pack my bag, pulling on the linen dress I wore the first day he brought me here, lingering in his room. I don’t want to leave anything, but I don’t want to leave empty handed. I pull open one of his dresser drawers and pull out a freshly laundered tee. Worn heather green, with St. Andrews Rugby emblazoned across the chest. I bring it to my nose and devour the scent, fresh laundry, salty Miami air and Rhys. I toss the shirt into my bag and head to the bathroom, where I brush my teeth and hair before packing up my toiletries. In the mirror there is a new woman staring back at me, strong, sexual and confident, a quick study under Rhys’ careful guidance. He showed me things about my body I could never have imagined, did things to me that I would never dreamed of. Things I liked, things I needed. He burned me to my core every chance he got, branded my sex like a cowboy. He has left an indelible mark upon my womanhood. I take his favorite bottle of cologne from the medicine cabinet and spray it into my bag before zipping it up.
Endings are inevitable by nature. Every moment we are hurtling towards an ending, nothing in this life is meant to last. This was not meant to last. We both know that. So why does it feel so sad? I would not delude myself into thinking that something could come of this. I have no desire for the fairy tale or the “red bottoms.” I have seen enough of life to know how this would end, messy, with me, shattered, a desperate hanger-on, begging for scraps of his attention. No. It is best to cut the rope and go. The rope, my body quivers at the thought. I could easily melt into a sad puddle right where I stand. He has so thoroughly rocked me. Go with your dignity. Go while you are still wanted.
I drop my bags by the front door and watch Charlie fuss over the black Town Car in the driveway. He looks up and waves before returning to his obsessive polishing. I head into Rhys’ office and find him tapping frantically on his keyboard, scowling at the screen. He is immersed in his work. He has neglected everything but me for the last three days, and now he must dig himself out. His beard is a little fuller, his curls a little longer, looping over his collar. I am sure that he is generally far more polished than he has been the last few days, locked up in this fabulous Mediterranean style den of iniquity. He has a dapper navy waistcoat on over his crisp white shirt. The cuffs hang open across his forearms, revealing his heavy, large faced Omega, reminding me of my limited time. A navy and green striped bow tie and a silk pocket square complete his working man’s attire. The sight of him bowls me over. Every old fashioned, gentlemanly inch is perfect. Everything about the way he looks screams business and class. Something about that bow tie makes me weak, and horny as hell. My eyes dart about the room, coming to rest on a conspicuously empty spot on the shelf high above Rhys’ desk. The picture of Nadja has been replaced by a scuffed, dingy white rugby ball. The whole scene converges on my senses and I am already damp, and needy. I am sorry to see him so busy, but not sorry to be the cause of his distraction. I walk around the back of his chair, careful not to disturb his train of thought. Running my hands over his fine linen shirt, down his chest, under his waistcoat, I rest my chin upon his shoulder and watch him type, a spreadsheet teeming with addresses and dollar signs.
I turn my attention to his neck, something I have come to know very well. I kiss his throat, then his jaw. There it is that smell, the scent of heaven that will linger in my nostrils for the rest of my days. His skin is soft and clean, his beard is soft, begging me to bury my fingertips in it. I scratch his face while I kiss him, pulling my fingers against the rugged hairs on his jaw. Dropping his fingers from the keys he turns his chair and pulls me into his lap. I fold easily into the space that was made for me, and look into his face. I am lost. Burying my hands in his silky hair, I pull him to me with the ferocity of a starving animal, and kiss him until everything falls away. Our lips tangle and dance before he takes my face in his powerful hands and guides me in the way he likes. He consumes my mouth with such passion. A lump in my throat forms, but I push through, kissing him harder. My lips are crushed to his, needy I nip at his bottom lip. I grind my backside into the fine fabric of his trousers, relishing the evidence of what I do to him. Wanting to pour everything I have into this kiss. To leave an indelible mark before we say goodbye. His length grows and twitches against his fly. I make him as crazy as he makes me. We are both panting, starving for breath when we finally come up for air. He holds my face in his hands, searching for something.
“That felt like Goodbye.” He brushes the hair from my face, the pad of his thumb soft against my cheek, then forceful as he pulls at my bottom lip. I smile as well as I can, when Charlie steps around the door just as I open my mouth. He clears his throat to call Rhys’ attention. We spin around in his heavy leather chair. Rhys lifts me easily and adjusts me in his lap, pressing his hardening member between my thighs. He gently rocks forward, pressing his suit, casually, as if I’m not sitting on a raging hard on. He continues to make tiny circles with his hips, torturing me silently while he talks with Charlie.
“Your mother summoned you,” he grins, his freckled cheeks aflame. Their private joke, not lost on me. In one encounter I could see that she is a woman not to be crossed. “Drinks at the Ritz before dinner.” Rhys just nods and r
eflects Charlie’s crooked grin. “I have loaded your bags, Sophie. The car is ready to go when you are. Although traffic on the causeway is heavy so we shouldn’t wait much longer.”
“Thank you, Charlie.” I smile widely at him. I like him. He is sweet, and loyal. He shares Rhys’ crooked grin and wicked sense.
“We will be out shortly. Please close the door behind you,” Rhys commands, and turns our back to a retreating Charlie.
“You have already packed your bags? Are you so eager to leave?” He asks, rolling his hips before he bucks me in his lap. Everything deep in me clenches and I shudder from the close contact. “I want you to stay.” He pulls the fabric of my dress up and makes circles on my skin, kneading my backside, pulling me apart. He pulls my panties to the side and slides a finger across my cleft. I am sticky and wet for him already, just like he likes me. “I don’t think you really want to go.” Slowly his finger runs up and down my heated slit until he presses his way in and finds my throbbing clit. She practically calls out to him, ‘Here I am! Please hurry!’ He presses and circles slowly, watching me come undone.
I open my mouth to answer, but only a low moan escapes.
“There’s my girl,” he purrs in my ear. “You don’t really want to go. You want to stay and play.” He plunges his finger into me and I gasp in pleasure. He adds a second finger and slowly circles my opening, stretching me. Pumping slowly at first, in and out, then faster and harder until I am resting in his palm, he grinds against me while he invades my body.
“I don’t want you to forget me. What we have done, where I have been.” His words are heavy, becoming a tidal wave that washes over me and I come, violently into his hand. My body shakes and I stifle a scream by biting into the arm he has wrapped around my shoulders. The feeling is so intense I feel like I am falling. Rhys continues his onslaught, until I cannot take another moment. I pull up from his lap, trying to escape his fingers, but he just holds me down and flicks my clit so hard that I come again. And it’s like a train that I cannot stop, my body is stuck on repeat.
Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) Page 20
