Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) (26 page)

I wind my hand around the back of her neck and tug her hair, exposing her soft, white throat. I suckle and nip at her flesh as her walls begin to clamp and quiver around me. I still, stop her writhing, my hands heavy on her hips. Buried deep within her, I hold her, our eyes locked. I kiss her soft, sweet lips. Lifting her from my cock, she hovers with her folds resting at my tip, her lips parted against mine. I pull her down hard, thrusting into her at the same time and we collide, waves rippling through my belly. The force is savage and heavenly. She rebounds off and sets her own pace. Cum boils in my balls as she writhes against me, her juices matting in my curls, her clit hard and on display, sweet little cunt strangling me, sucking me deeper. I slide her off again and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, until white from the pressure. Her eyes bulge and beg for another. I thrust again, hard, slamming into her, my cock so deep I’d swear it was in her belly. She explodes around me in a flurry of pulsing muscles, a silent scream at her “O” shaped mouth. She rides me hard, her hands clamped to my shoulders, fingers digging into my flesh. Hair thrashing about her face, whipped into a fit. Her back pressed against the brick, I thrust into her again and again, each time claiming more of her for myself. Burying her face in my neck, she licks my throat up to my ear. The sensation rings in my balls and the force of the eruption rips a growl from deep in my chest. 

“Your cock feels so good.” Her breathy, staccato whisper pushes me over and I empty myself into her as she rides her orgasm, her pussy crushes me with long, hard spasms. Crushing me in a death grip, her legs pulse around my waist, her arms languidly draped over my shoulders, she hangs on me like a limp rag doll. 

“Mmm.” The smell of her hair is intoxicating, the scent of gardenias swirl around us in the heavy, rain filled air. I have to force myself to stop. I want to take her again, but not here. Out in the rain, exposed and on display. The thought makes me smile. She let me, not only that, but she dropped to her knees, right here on the pier. 

“Never a dull moment,” I mutter as my cock slides from her, still standing at half mast, ready to go again. I nudge her with my nose and kiss the corner of her mouth. Her eyes are closed but she smiles, like a child pretending to sleep. “Let’s get out of here.” I pull her legs from my waist and lower her to the ground, careful to support her. She is shaking and slightly off balance. I pat myself on the back for that and roll her skirt down to cover her up, running my hands about her supple, heated skin. Her cheeks are littered with dust and pebbles, no doubt from where her skin met the brick wall.  

“Sophie,” I whisper into her hair. It smells amazing, like rain and gardenias, and now us. Her skin glistens from the rain, or sweat, hard to tell which. She nuzzles against my neck and mutters under her breath before dragging her head back, her tired eyes meeting mine.

“We should get out of the rain.” I zip up and straighten her dress while she watches me, her eyes so appreciative and warm. I take her hand in mine, reminded of how much smaller, more delicate she is, although she would never admit to being delicate. Her short, slender fingers lace with mine, I bring her hand to my mouth, placing a feather light kiss against the back of her hand. 
             

“That was amazing.” I stop and look down i
nto her soft, satisfied eyes. “You are amazing.”

She smiles a perfect little smile. The kind that raises her apple cheeks and crinkles her eyes, my favorite smile. She buries herself under my arm, and we walk to the car in languid silence. A week ago I didn’t know her, now I can’t get enough. And tomorrow I will let her go. A nagging voice in the back of my mind tells me it isn’t going to be as easy as all that.  

Chapter 20

I lay, rocked and exhausted in Rhys’ strong arms, feeling his heart beat against my ear. I could lay this way for hours, basking in the slowly fading buzz of what he does to me, time and time again. Every time pushing me higher, farther, teasing me and testing me. My limits have been shattered by this man. I cannot believe that we had sex outside. I have never been so afraid and exhilarated. The thought of getting caught made me feel so naughty, and hot. His hunger for me is shocking and lovely. I am drained and renewed, all at once. He is quiet and his pulse is slow, controlled. Deep in thought, his soft fingers float over my skin, twist in my hair.

“She left.” The silence broken, I turn in his arms to see the hard planes of his face shadowed.

“Who?” I ask, wondering what one sided conversation he has just let escape his mind.              

“My mother, when I was five.” His face twists into a sad scowl, but he is opening up.

“Oh.” I wait, not wanting to push, but intrigued by his unprovoked confession. 

“Just like that.”
He shakes his head, his eyes unfocused, lost. “She wanted more, whatever that means. Who does that?” I don’t know what to say, what to think. I want to hug him fiercely, prod for more information. I want to cry for his loss. I want to slap his ice queen of a mother. But I wait. Wait for him to finish, guiding me. To tell me what he needs. Filling his chest with a deep breath, I ride the wave of his expanding lungs and watch his warm eyes dull. “She broke his heart.”

“And yours, I would imagine.” 

“I have never forgiven her. His eyes were so hollow. Even as I boy I could see him breaking in front of me. For years his eyes were hollow. I will never forget that, never forget what he looked like, what it felt like to watch him live completely broken.”

“I am so sorry, Rhys. I had no idea.” I cannot imagine a mother doing such a horrific thing, laying such a burden on such a young child; leaving your own child, willingly. What kind of person, indeed.  “At least you have a relationship now.” Even though the thought of her now, standing at the bottom of the stairs provokes an entirely different response in my blood than it did this morning. 

“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.