Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) (18 page)

Basking in the afterglow, lost in my thoughts, I anticipate the first sweet swirl of smoke in my lungs. Sliding up the steps, I try and remember the winding path we took to get to our cabin. I pass the galley and a laundry before I run into a young woman I assume is staff.

“Can I help you find something?” she asks with a slight, indiscernible accent.

“I was hoping to find a cigarette or cigar, and the way up to the deck.”

“I can help you with that, Ms.” She pauses and waits for me to introduce myself. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I am Sophie.” She turns on her heel.

“Ok, Ms. Sophie, follow me.” She winds through the dining area and around the tall bar, pulling out a large humidor. She flips it open to reveal a full box of Cohibas. I take one and she closes the box, handing me a clipper and a lighter before prompting me again to follow her. Up another flight of stairs we emerge onto the deck.   

“Thank you,” I tell her as she disappears down the stairs and below deck with a curt nod. I wonder how many random women she has had to show around the yacht, how many conquests she has watched come and go. The candles on deck flicker and dance as they burn themselves out. I hear the faint sound of boisterous voices coming from the other side of the breakwater. I fumble with the cigar, dropping it to the deck. I bend over to pick it up and Rhys winds his hands around my hips. 

“What are you doing?”

“I wanted some fresh air and a smoke.” He shakes his head, but says nothing. Taking the clipper from my hand, he picks up the cigar. Concentrating too hard on snipping the end, he slowly lights it with long, drawn out puffs, creating a lazy cloud of smoke that wafts above him. 
             

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he asks, puffing heavily on it, covering himself in a cloud of smoke. 

“I didn’t want to disturb you, you looked so peaceful. Why do you keep shaking your head, what have I done wrong?” Watching me intently, he brushes the hair from my face with a sigh.

“I’m sorry, you did nothing wrong,” he teases, tugging the hem of his shirt farther up my thighs. “I just thought…” He turns away, towards the sounds of the party which must have spilled out onto the lawn. Robbing me of the sight of his face, the opportunity to know what he is thinking. We watch as a few remaining party goers flit across the lawn and head for the pool deck, their high pitched squeals of play fill the dark night.

“Hey.” I tug on his shoulder, needing to see his face, wanting him to look at me. Tipping the cigar at me in offer he raises an eyebrow in challenge. I take the long fat cigar, watching his eyes as I run my tongue across my lips and gingerly wrap my mouth around the tip. The tobacco is sweet and smoky. I take three short puffs and blow a wide, meandering smoke ring in his direction. He raises that wicked eyebrow and steps through the ring. 

“Cigars?”

“My dad smoked cigars and drank scotch when he thought I was asleep. I like the smell.”
             

“Ah.” He towers above me as his wet lips take the cigar again, puffing and smacking on the now damp butt. “I like you in my shirt,” he offers casually with a slight grin. “Sounds like the party
is still going,” He steps to the rail of the yacht and gazes against the dark into the large swath of grass that surrounds the house.

“Where did you think I went?” I tease, taking the cigar from his long fingers. A spark ignites between us as our fingers brush. The chemical reaction of our encounter rises to the surface, crackling in the air between us. The warmth of his casual brush spreads through me like liquid, filling me up, drowning me. He lunges forward and takes my face in his free palm. His eyes bore into me and his lips twist into a lopsided grin.

“I thought perhaps you ran, like a frightened little bunny.” His mocking tone and hooded eyes don’t fool me. The playboy has a heart.

“You give yourself too much credit. I am no frightened bunny. Maybe a hungry fox, and it would be a mistake to underestimate the fox, they’re cunning and unpredictable.” 

“You are unpredictable. I will give you that.” He takes a step closer and folds me into his arms, pressing his bare chest against me.  

“That was incredible. But I’m afraid that it is not going to be enough. I am going to have to ask you to stay.” He raises an eyebrow in question. I can hardly wrap my head around what I am hearing. He was annoyingly clear in his intentions, one night. I assumed that was a hard and
fast rule, and that he was a stickler for his own rules. Yet, here we are. Moments after he has shown me what my body can really do and already wants more. His eyes sparkle in the dying candlelight and rising moon. 

“I would like to tie you up,” he whispers after a long silence. Fright climbs my back and hovers in my shoulders. Reflexively, I take a step back, out of his reach. No way, the thought of being tied up turns my blood to ice, the slow trickle cooling my body and bringing me down hard.

“How romantic,” I scoff, trying to sound unaffected. He grabs my arms pulling me back to him. His fingers roll against my skin, flexing and digging into my sensitive flesh. His face is stone, his eyes serious and expectant. He looks quite serious. “You’re joking, right? You said no kink. French vanilla, remember?” I tease, hoping, waiting for him to crack, for a sign that he is teasing. Melissa’s words eek closer to the surface of my conscious mind, ‘
He just wants to tie you down and fuck you.’

“A little restraint isn't kink, and I don’t joke about sex.” He traces lines down my back with feather light strokes of his strong, nimble fingers. “This isn’t romance, this is fun, Beautiful.” His hand skates down my back, cupping the curve of my backside, where he pauses and murmurs to himself, groaning in approval while he squeezes and pulls at my begging flesh. "I don’t believe in romance, it’s so forced and phony.” The thought hangs heavy in the air, seemingly unfinished.  “Most importantly…” he ponders, his lips tracing a scorching line down my throat, peppering gentle kisses across my shoulders before quickly turning me away from him. His powerful arms wind around me, making my cage, his body heaving behind me. He places a hot, wet kiss to the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

“When I want something, I take it.” His lips move across my shoulders before I can protest, a low feral moan rising in his chest. Disarmed by his moan of approval my face breaks into a lip splitting smile. I cannot help it. He has charmed me so easily, and now he wants more. “Mm, there we go, I love that smile, Sophie.” A wolfish grin paints his face. “Now, will you let me have my way?” 

“How can you be so sweet and threatening at the same time?” 

“You are sweet,” he teases, licking his lips salaciously. “I am selfish. Believe me. Just say you will stay, or I
will
tie you up.” If only he knew how deeply that small, innocent threat pulled at the recesses of my weary mind. “Stay.”

“I am booked on a flight tomorrow. I can’t afford to change it.”

“Stay,” he insists.

“How can you break your own rules so easily? Perhaps after a little sleep you may change your mind. I am not interested in becoming an unwanted guest or worse, some pathetic hanger-on.” This knocks him off balance, a noticeable shudder runs down his spine and he stills.
              “I’m not as fickle as all that, Sophie. Do you really think so little of me that I could turn like that?”

“I just don’t want to end up regretting this.”

“Alright, I can respect that.” Clearly exasperated by my bargaining and curiosity his head falls back, and he gazes at the emerging stars. 

“What if I refuse?”

“I will cancel your flight personally, and tie you up so tight that you can’t escape for a month.” There is an edge, a promise in his eyes that sends a chill down my spine. “So what will it be, Beautiful, two days, or a month of bondage?” I cannot help but crack a wide smile at him, completely entranced by his proposition, by the promise of more time, more pleasure, more Rhys. “Good, that’s settled. Now bring that foxy ass back to bed.” And with a casual ease, he puts the whole thing to rest, leading me below deck, my throat cooled by the water, my craving satiated by the shared cigar, and my body ready for another ride.

Chapter 14

My head rests perfectly in the spot made for me under Rhys' arm, my legs wound around his, my arm flung heavily across his sun warmed chest. I can’t help myself from running my fingers down his torso, my fingertips skipping over each ripple of perfectly chiseled muscle. His chest gently rises and falls with each long, sleepy breath. Here he lies, next to me, in a rumpled, torn bed. On a yacht! The thought is intoxicating, that I could affect him in such a base way. He looks peaceful, non-intimidating, and tempting. I reach out to pull at the sheet that teases me, slipping away from his powerful thigh, when he catches me in his grip. His long fingers wound tightly around my wrist, with a quiet force that resonates right down to my toes. A growl rumbles in his chest and he pulls me closer, cradling me against him. He has my hands folded in front of me, firmly in his grip. Caged by his hands and body, I
lay still against his chest and listen as his heart rate forms a hypnotic rhythm. 

“Not ready to wake up, this feels too good. Ten more minutes,” his gravelly whisper rattles in my ear, echoes in my loins and I am of the same mind, yet I know our peace is about to be shattered by the post wedding brunch and Olivia and Matthew’s departure.

“What about brunch? And the crew is probably pacing outside our door. I am sure they need to get the cabin ready for Olivia and Matthew before they leave, right?” He groans and pulls me tighter.

“Alright, alright.”
A feather light kiss to the back of my neck sends a delicious shiver down my spine before he flips me over and kisses me until my head swims. “I’m up.” Taking my breath with him, he hops out of bed and pulls a duffel bag from the wardrobe. “Here.” He tosses me a flowered Lily Pulitzer sundress from my luggage. I look at him in question, but he answers before I can ask. “I had a bag made up for us, I hope that’s ok?”

“So, now you are dressing me?” I tease, as he pulls on a pair of blue Dockers and a crisp white shirt.

“They are your clothes. I just picked one of the half a dozen dresses from your bag. Just get dressed. I have to check with the crew, make sure they are prepared for departure. I will meet you on deck.” He leans in and kisses my forehead before slapping my ass and he is out the door.

                                              *** 

I stand and watch the boat pull away from the dock. One last wave to Olivia and Matthew as Rhys shows the last of the guests out to the drive and a fleet of waiting cars. By the time the last guest is out the door it is almost four in the afternoon. Stillness fills the house for the first time, and it dawns on me, standing in his empty house. We are alone, this is happening. A ripple of anticipation and nerves slithers down my spine. How will we fill the next two days?                “Sophie.” His warm honey voice flows through me, pulling me from my thoughts. He stands right before me, yet I must have been looking right through him, lost in my own debauched head, considering the possibilities. “Are you hungry?” He runs his finger down the length of my arm.

“No.” I shake my head and lock eyes with him. All day long I have wanted to peel those clothes right off of him. He is the picture of casual class and style in his slacks and white dress shirt, deceptively gentlemanly. Yet, beneath lurks a sexual animal of a caliber I have never known.  A slight grin turns his mouth. 

“Are you tired?” he teases. I just shake my head and fight back a smile. What I want is him, spread out naked beneath me, or me beneath him.  “You want to go to bed.” The dark twinkle in his eye says he knows my reply, and was not asking.

“Yes.” Raising an eyebrow, his wicked tongue swipes across his bottom lip and my eyes grow wider.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.” His crooked grin pulls at something deep within me. With his palm on the small of my back, he guides me slowly up the stairs. “After you.”

  “Take that damn dress off.” The edge in his voice is new, and urgent. Something about the way he touches me, the way he speaks to me. I do as he asks without a thought, without hesitation. He knows. He makes me feel like I don’t have to think. I just want to feel, to feel him. I let my dress fall to the floor and step out of it. Rhys steps in front of me, dropping to his knees.

He is the picture of carnal elegance on his knees, I relish the sight. I look down into his eyes to see myself reflected in them. He is waiting for me. I reach out to his shirt I undo the top button, spreading his collar open, running my finger along his collarbone, along the delicate gold chain at his throat. Every part of him is so masculine. Chiseled and hard, like stone. As I move my fingers from button to button, he watches with shallow breaths. I rake my nails across his chest, pushing the shirt open to revel in the beauty of his skin, scattered with dark hair. He runs his hands up the back of my bare legs, searing my skin with the fire in the tips of his fingers. Hooking his thumbs in the delicate lace around my hips, he slides them down my legs, leaving me exposed. All the while he remains cloaked in fine clothes.

I stand before him, alive, aware and aching with anticipation. He kneels before me, his erection straining at the front of his crisp slacks, raking me over with his intense eyes, taking in every nude curve, every soft dimple. I stand before him naked and needy while he remains the picture of gentlemanly class. Yet I know there is nothing gentlemanly about what he is about to do to me. What I want him to do to me.