Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) (27 page)

“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 reflects 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.  

The eruptions roll through me, one meeting up to the other until they become one long note of heavenly white noise. I vaguely hear the slide of Rhys’ zipper before he turns me around and spears me on his waiting erection. The fullness is shocking and perfect. He lets out a low deep breath as he pushes me down to the root. His head rolls back, and he reclines in the dark leather chair, tilting his hips. He rests his hands upon my
hips, they are heavy, holding me in place. I watch his eyes change, they are hungry and ferocious. He rocks his hips against me before violently thrusting his cock deep. I bite back a scream as he settles into a torturous rhythm of deep thrusts and retreat. Each time he pulls me farther and farther off of his cock until it just rests against my swollen, sensitive folds. Then he dips back in and pulls me down. 

“God, you feel so good, Sophie.” The repetition is hypnotic and I find myself doing the work for him, raising myself up, teasing his head with my slick sex and then swallowing him whole. I feel a tremor flow through him and he stills me. Wrapping his arms around my core, he pulls me to his chest, an embrace rife with emotion. My chest opens and my heart threatens to leap and run willingly into his arms. He slowly rocks into me and begins to make slow love to me with his face buried in my neck. 

The change in the mood of his passion is palpable. There is suddenly something so desperate, so final about the way his hands clutch me, his fingers tearing into me, holding on for dear life. My center clenches as the next ripple of relief rolls through me.

“This doesn’t have to be goodbye.” His lips tremble against my throat. The words wash over me and I know I am lost. He picks up the pace as my muscles begin to tighten around him, milking him, pulling him deeper. His pace is frantic. He quickens, before emptying himself into me in long, drawn out thrusts. He collapses against my chest and I take his head against my breasts. I try to calm my breathing as he rests his head on my heart. My center clenches and throbs, the residual rhythm of his confession ringing in my ear, echoing in my loins. I hold him close to my heart for a long, painful moment before he slips from me and zips himself back up. 
             

He picks me up and places me back in his chair before disappearing into his private washroom. Returning with a damp cloth, he drops to his knees in front of me and pushes my legs apart. The action is so intimate, so personal. His dark eyes cloud over as he gently cleans me up before resting his head, heavy in my lap. I stroke his silky hair and wait for him to speak, confused by his reaction and the sudden change in his demeanor. I don’t want to think too hard on it for fear that I may convince myself that something bigger is happening. I need to remember exactly where I stand. I glance at his computer screen and see that my time is up.

“I have to go,” I whisper, gently running my fingers up the back of his neck.

“Would you like me to accompany you to the airport?” he laments while drawing tiny circles on my thigh. 

“Rhys.” He looks up into my face and I see the turmoil in his eyes. Struggle hiding behind his beautiful features. His face is engrained in my mind. I know I can see that crooked smile whenever I like, but I would love to see it now. Instead, he is serious and stone faced.