Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) (24 page)

“Hop in,” he begs playfully, “I am tired of waiting.”
So impatient. I slink into the pool slowly, letting my body acclimate. He watches me from the opposite side, his body hidden under the water, only his beautiful face bobbing above water line. His eyes are dark, hooded, and hungry. I stop just as the water hits the crests of my breasts, the quickness of my breath given away by the ripples in the water that roll off of me with every shallow intake. I am practically panting. In two fluid strokes we are nose to nose. He plants his feet below him and rises out of the water, hovering above me. He glistens, the dark hair on his chest grasping at drops of water. He runs his hands up my arms and kisses away a drop of water from my temple before he spins around, pulling me to the edge.  Tugging me off my feet, he pulls me so easily through the water and into his lap. We hover on the edge of the pool. Water spills over the side of the infinity edge, seemingly swept into the sea. I feel like I am being swept away. My breasts are crushed against him, pressed to his skin, sticky and hot. I move in his hands, floating and twisting above him, before straddling him. My legs spread wide as I sit astride this slippery wet god. 

My thighs lock around his core and he softly moans his approval against my ear, sending a
shock wave, tearing straight through me. I am on fire. In the pool, dripping wet, I am burning to cinders and ashes. I surrender to the weightlessness of the water, push off the wall and lay back, letting the water and Rhys’ hands guide me. Floating on the surface I sway back and forth, flying high above, peacefully at rest in his hands. Water laps around my head, kissing my temples, washing me clean.

The moon looks down on us, watching me, watching him. I am free. Never have I experienced the freedom to feel and be, like I have with Rhys. In his hands, I am able to let everything fall away. Insecurities melt into the warm Florida air. I am more myself now than I have ever been, or am I just who I think he wants me to be? Does it matter who I am? When I am in his agile hands, I am the girl I want to be, the girl I never knew was hiding deep within. His hands float over my body, silky and soft under the cool water. Pulling my nipple between his fingers gingerly he tugs and twists until they stand at attention before dipping his head and taking one into his mouth. I moan to the heavens, absorbing each gentle flick of his tongue, every soft tug of his teeth. I lift my head and his hungry mouth sends a shiver coursing through me, rippling through the water. 

“Lay back, Sophie, just let me touch you. The moonlight shining on your skin makes you look like an angel,” his voice is low, hushed. His hands and mouth roam freely, teasing and warming my skin. Up and over my floating breasts, across my soft belly, his mouth, leaving a trail of heat and soft kisses behind. I watch the moon begin to sink, my head swimming in his hands. I loosen my legs and float away from him as he teases my belly button with his tongue, dipping in and sucking the water droplets out. He is slow and methodical, covering every inch of me with warm, soft kisses, a gentle swipe of his tongue and knead of his hands. When the first sparks ignite deep in my loins I am caught, between the cool water, his warm mouth and strong hands. I ride the slow wave of his ministrations, back and forth across my skin with his tongue, his fingers barely brushing my flesh. At the precipice of a deep valley, I sit at the edge, waiting for his final push. It comes as his mouth closes over my breast and his fingers slide inside of me, so gently I barely register they are there before my body opens up and I fall, silently over the edge. Slowly, falling into a deep cavern of a whole new pleasure; a calm, quietly-building tsunami. It creeps over my skin, through my blood and crashes quietly in my head. Ripple after ripple emanating from my skin, crossing the water, filling the pool with aftershocks of his quiet assault. Drifting on his fingers, I lay across the water spent from a fiercely silent orgasm that rolled through me without any warning. No frantic build up, no desperate need for release, just a slow, controlled burn.

He puts his hands under my neck and pulls me into his chest. The skin to skin contact is warm and soothing. I nuzzle into his neck, licking away the water from behind his ear. This is a new state of sated, a new state of being. Everything is
gone, nothing can touch me right now, except for him. If the entire world evaporated around us it would not matter. 

“That was….” Whispering in his ear I cannot find the words to finish my thought. There are no words for what that was.

“I know,” he says, tugging on my hair. “Come, I want to get you upstairs.” Planting a kiss at the base of my throat, he pulls me to the steps and out of the water. I stand boldly in the slowly rising sun, empowered by our carnal escapades. Feeling emboldened, brazen even. The thought that someone could have witnessed such an intense exchange, been a secret party to my pleasure sets a fire in me that I was not expecting. Just as I fully embrace the bold, sexual being I feel like, Rhys steps to my side, covering me quickly with my robe.  

“That’s enough,” he scolds.

“I thought you said a little exposure could be exhilarating?” I tease him with his own words.

“Y
es, well. Some things should be just for me, like the pretty pink flush that colors your skin after
I
make you come. I don’t like to share.” He pulls his robe around his shoulders and then ties mine tightly at my waist, cinching the sash, pulling me close. Wrapped in his arms, standing in the dark, watching the stars fade away, I could get lost. I fear I may already be lost. He says these things, takes my breath away, and works my body like an expert. How does he know me so well, it’s as if he has a road map to my body? The only copy in existence, he knows things I could never have guessed. He does things I would never know I needed. And he comes by it so casually.

We sleep through the morning after so many midnight interruptions. He tries to rouse me for a shower, but I am unable to lift my limbs, my body firmly planted in his bed. 

“I have to check some emails. Take your time, Beautiful,” he says with a kiss to my forehead. “I will be downstairs.”

I lie among his scent and blankets for who knows how long before I can muster the strength and energy to rouse myself. Wrapping myself in the top sheet, I slide into the master bathroom and spy a new creature in the wall size mirror. A creature who has inched her way towards my surface with every encounter, now Rhys has invited her into the light. My eyes are bright, skin clear, hair mussed. But the smile that pulls unbidden at my lips is
new, and welcome. I cannot tamp down the way he makes me feel. But I should learn to control it, remember that it is temporary. The thought rips a tiny hole in my heart, a slow trickle of pain seeps into my blood stream. It is all temporary. That is why it is so good. No pressure to continue, no wondering,
where is this going
. It is going nowhere. I would be remiss to forget that. One more day. 

                                               ***  

I slide around the corner, skating on the slick marble floors giddy from our early morning swim, when I come face to face with an ice queen. Yet another interruption. Statuesque in a Chanel suit and pearls, cold and hard as granite, she assaults me with her glare and wrinkles her nose in disgust, fingering the lapel of her jacket in judgment of my Old Navy shorts and tank.               

“Nadja was too generous,” she muses to herself, a look of amusement and familiar disgust paints her delicate features. Poking at the air, moving two steps closer to me, her stance defensive, but her face is soft and calm, a mask. It must run in the family. “Do not get too comfortable, your days here are numbered, little beggar.” The words are almost melodic, wrapped in a faded French accent. Her eyes alight with a fire that could burn the house down.
              “Mother.” His voice smooth like silk, yet his tone offers no doubt as to his mood. “Sophie is my guest, and I will thank you not to speak to her like that.” 

He saunters out of his office and puts his hands around my waist, possessive and protective, pulling me into him. He nuzzles my neck, taking a deep draught of my freshly cleaned hair before planting a light kiss on my throat and releasing me. 

“I need to speak with my mother, Sophie, why don’t you go open a bottle of wine.” He leans into my ear and whispers, “this won’t take long.” 

His mother is trying to burn me down with her eyes, and Rhys is just rubbing my little triumph in her face. I can’t say that the sight of that woman uncomfortable and defeated was
painful, in fact, it felt good that Rhys would stick up for me. I leave the two of them as Rhys ushers his scowling mother into his office. Her voice searing with anger as she launches into a tirade, “Nadja said you had a house guest. You need to turn out that little pauper.” The last words I hear before he closes the heavy door.  

They emerge less than 20 minutes later, and I hear him show her out. He finds me in the kitchen, reluctantly nursing a glass of wine, and waiting. Sauntering across the marble floor, he glides or floats, my own personal, seductive angel. 

“Let’s go out for dinner.” 

No part of me wants to go out. Everything here is insulated and perfect and I don’t want to be reminded that there is a real world out there just waiting for me to return. Between his mother and Nadja, I would prefer to be locked away in relative safety. Those two women look like they want
to  snack on me with wine and crackers. He strolls around the island, slowly inching towards me. His eyes darken with every measured step. Just a look from him and everything south of my waist begins to beg. I take an involuntary step back against the counter, my throat suddenly dry. I drop my eyes, overcome with shyness. Why? Everything we have done, he has done. Shy is the last thing I should be feeling. But, there it is. He makes me feel like a shy girl, and a bold woman. Confused, that is how this is making me feel.

“I would rather stay in,” I manage. 

Peeking at him through my lashes, careful not to look straight into the sun, I bask in his gaze for a brief moment. Any longer and I begin to lose all sense of purpose. My lust for him is devoid of all virtue. It is hot and irrational, the sight of him makes me burn, his touch rages through me, an uncontrolled inferno. The slightest brush of his finger provokes a tidal wave of need. I ache to be beneath him, to be tamed by his body. I am washed of my doubt when he is inside of me. He has baptized me in sin and sensual delights. I am a convert to his cause. I belong to Rhys, every soft inch of my body that he has explored, every nerve, every drop of warm blood. I am his completely. He wipes my mind clean. His fingers melt into my hips, pulling me to him. He places a finger under my chin and tilts my head, looking straight through me.

“You have become greedy, Beautiful.”  He lifts me so easily and spins on his heel, placing me on the counter, the cool marble a shocking contrast to his warm hands. He kneads my backside, pulling me to the edge, pushing his way between my legs. I wrap them around him, pressing him to me with my heels. “Greed is a punishable sin.” He brushes his lips across my shoulder before taking my face into his hands. He crushes himself to my lips. Hunger pulses between us, charging everything. His hands travel down my arms, leaving my skin hot, puckered with goose bumps. I rest my hands on his chest, his chiseled form a heavenly rest for my palms. His heartbeat is even and controlled, while my heart is trying to leap, with both feet. Every touch is more intense, it becomes more and more difficult to remind myself of the brevity of our association. We know each other so well, yet not at all. Our bodies are quite familiar. But the rest remains an unspoken backdrop. The rest just doesn’t matter when we are here, tangled up in one another.

His lips twist and turn against mine, dancing the rhythm we have come to know so well. I have come to crave the taste of his tongue, the feel of his lips. Need grows heavy in my belly and I fist my hands in his hair, dying to get closer. I feel starved of him, hungry for anything he will give. I bite his bottom lip and a tremor rumbles through his chest before he smiles against my mouth and a small laugh escapes his tender, torn lips. 

“You are beyond greedy, Ms. Noelle, you are positively insatiable. I think I have created a monster. But we need to eat, and a change in scenery could be interesting.”  

Chapter 19 

His hand rests possessively on my knee, his strong thumb tracing mindless circles on the delicate skin inside my thigh as he scrolls through e-mails on his phone. I lean into him and watch the scenery go by the tinted windows of the Town Car. The sky is pink and orange, a wide swath of beautiful watercolor painted across the horizon, sinking into the dark gray waters of the Atlantic. I could very easily get used to this. Thank goodness for the long fingers of reality that reach out for me as we speak. Lest I forget where I come from and what is really mine. The city grows as we inch off of our private island. Traffic becomes heavier as we get deeper into Miami. The city is teeming with pent up energy. People spill onto the streets, bidding goodbye to the day. Patios hum with happy hour crowds, velvet ropes begin to go up. Miami is coming alive. We pull into a secluded drive surrounded by tall palms. A stark white tower rises out of the grove, bathed in sinking sunlight, glowing peach against the cloud streaked sky. 

Rhys’ face is bright with anticipation and it is infectious. He mouths “Italian?” as Charlie pulls to the velvet rope and the entrance to
Cecconi’s. The restaurant is beautiful, lit up with thousands of twinkling lights, white table cloths and candle light. Bold green and white stripes cover the concrete floor. The place is empty save a couple at the bar. They sit close, sharing a secret, gazing only at each other, the heat of their attraction slowly filling the empty space.                “We’ll take the patio,” he whispers, in the nick of time. I don’t want to contend with that sort of love and affection all evening. It would drive me to distraction. Jason, the host, leads us to the Garden Room. It is outdoors and secluded. A single table is set up under the pergola that is dripping with vivid bougainvillea and muted little lights. He pulls out my chair and takes a seat across the table from me. Oh, he is so far away. Jason turns his back and grabs a bottle of wine from an ice lined silver bucket.