Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) (22 page)

“She just came to rattle my cage,” he says with a violent shake of his head.

“Well, it worked. Who is she to you?”

“Nobody of any consequence.” His glare is hard, dilated and unwavering. It is clear by every atom in his body that he does not want to rehash what just happened. So I am left to work it out on my own, or wait out his frustration. Either way, I know myself well enough to know that I cannot let it go. The way she called him
Daddy
and the way she sized me up. Every fresh memory conspires to make me ill. But I push it back, for his sake and mine. We will revisit. I will never forget the ring in her voice, “
maybe we could use her
.”

“What are we going to do today?” I ask with a sly half grin, hoping that he is thoroughly distracted and willing to talk. He smiles a whole, true crooked smile and it’s clear that the toxic Nadja cloud is lifting, and we will be as we once were.

“Let’s go out. We will go to the beach, do some shopping. Get out of this house for a bit.”     

Chapter 17 

After a long day of lounging on the beach under the hot Florida sun and Rhys’ insistence that we window shop and walk for what felt like hours, I was spent. A deep, heavy sleep pulled me under the moment he slipped from my body and I was trapped in dark dreams. I wake strangled by a familiar fear. Sliding out from beneath his heavy arm I make my way into the large master bathroom, locking the door. Needing a moment to collect my thoughts and examine myself without the weight of his gaze.

“Sophie, are you alright?” Rhys’ soft voice and a faint rap on the door startle me from my self-examination. I unlock the door; the light shocking Rhys’ sleepy eyes. His hand flies to his eyes and he reaches around to flip the light off, leaving the ambient under cabinet lighting to illuminate the small room, and my fallen face. Grateful for the silken pajama pants that he has pulled on. Although I fear the distraction stems not from his body, but from his very presence. He consumes the air around me, trapping me. I drown in his eyes while he leans against the counter. 

“I just needed some water.”

“Come back to bed.” He grabs my hand and leads me back into the bedroom. I climb back among the cloud of pillows and down while he pours me a glass of water. Sliding in behind me he peppers feather light kisses across my shoulders. I reel from the contact. It is hot and heavy and so soft. Continuing his delicate assault on my cool flesh, his hands travel to my breasts and my head rolls back onto his shoulder. He teases me, caressing me gently with his palm, wiping my mind of worry. Now both hands are on me, kneading and squeezing my now rapidly heating breasts. His fingers pull and twist at my nipples, rolling them around and around. “Aahhh.” I moan into his neck and he continues pressing and pulling at my flesh, and then he is gone. His hands have abandoned me, the only proof of him is his rock hard chest against my back, his rhythmic breathing against my spine.

“Something is on your mind, Beautiful.” He laces his fingers with mine, wrapping our arms around me.

“Hmm?” The only thing on my mind is his hands, warm and knowing.
Please, put them back.

“Tell me what is bothering you,” he pleads, placing a kiss at the curve of my neck. The spark he ignites propels me, and I know that this is my chance. To seize the opportunity to reveal the deep insecurity this woman provokes in me. I have to unburden
myself, she has dominated every thought since she sashayed out the door this morning. He wants to know what is on my mind. I will share. Turning in his lap, I catch him by surprise. My eyes are wide and clear, and I mean to be open. 

“Nadja,” I say, looking dead into his eyes, afraid of the light I expected to see at the mention of her. But there was no light that crossed his eyes at the mention of her name, just a deep, dark, shadow. Snorting in indignation, he swipes my hair away from my neck. So adept at distracting me from my course, fingers trace the curve of my spine before they grip my hips, lifting me atop his folded legs. He drops me into his lap and cups my face in his hands. “She is perfect, and a little scary,” I mutter, afraid to look him in the eye, afraid that if I look directly at him, he will see right through me, straight through to the cowering, insecure girl that has
slunk into the corner to pout. 

“Scary… yes.
Perfect….” He laughs a humorless, bitter laugh. “No, she is far from perfect.”  Irritation paints his tone.

“The effect she has on you is…” I am unable to finish the thought. “What happened?” He looks bewildered, bothered by the inquisition. A stony silence fills the moment, stealing my breath. Do I really want to know? 
Too late now. His fingers twist and turn in my hair. Brushing my cheeks rhythmically with his thumbs, he pulls his bottom lip through his teeth. His eyes are dark and pensive, pondering his answer.  

“We were young.” He frowns, lines crinkling across his forehead, the corners of his eyes creasing ever so slightly.

“That’s it?” He is not offering anything.

“That’s it.” His jaw is flexed, his mouth set in a hard line. He has effectively ended the conversation before it even began. I get nothing. “You were very impressive this morning. She is a force and she labors to intimidate most women. To be honest, I thought she might eat you alive. I was waiting for her to unhinge her jaw and have you for breakfast.”

“So you set me up like a piece of bait?” I don’t know what to say to that. Inside, she has played on every insecurity that I harbor, that we all harbor. But I knew how important it would be for me to keep it inside, to hide it from Rhys and from myself. “Was she the one? The one you have been with before you started making rules?”

“Yes, she is the only other one. And she is not happy to now share that title. But, you are my guest, Sophie. She is an unwelcome nuisance.” It does little to quell my curiosity, but still I swell at his declaration. She was unwelcome.

“She pales in comparison to you,” he whispers hotly in my ear before taking my mouth with conviction. After a long silence, I let my mind wander and my curiosity gets the best of me.               

“Tell me about your cross.” He picks up the delicate gold cross and twirls it between his fingers. 

“It is the only thing I have that is real. It keeps me connected.” 

“I don’t imagine you at church.” 

“It’s more about family for me.” He locks me in his sights and doesn’t let me go.                

“Family?
I thought it was just you and your dad.” 

“My father’s family, most of them are back in Ireland. I spent quite a bit of time there when I was young. My aunts practically raised me. I gr
ew up alongside my cousins. We all went to Catholic school, I was an altar boy. I loved everything about it. It is the purest place on earth.” 

“You were an altar boy? Forgive me, but I cannot imagine it.”

“I have been many things, Sophie. I can be anything I need to be. But that is as close to the real thing as I am ever going to get.” He puffs lightly on a newly lit cigar. The smoke swirls in the air, a ghostly tendril reaching high above our heads. The moonlight bounces from the mirrored wall casting dancing shadows around the room. The molten ember of his cigar casts a light across his placid face. It strikes me as I watch him, his revolving demeanor, adaptive behavior. The calm he exudes, like he always knows what to expect, what will come next. Like a magician manipulating his audience, he creates the reaction and controls the room. It is all smoke and mirrors. Nothing is as it seems.

Looking into his clear green eyes, I want to believe that he is safe. I want to trust him. I know I want to make him happy. And I know he was disappointed earlier when we debated the issue of the ropes. I am suddenly overcome with curiosity, fantasy. I want to know what it would be like. I want to surrender to him, I can do this. I move out of his arms and make for the dresser.
             

“What are you up to?” he asks with a perfect devious grin wide on his face. I pull the bottom drawer open and retrieve the folded length of red silk rope that he unceremoniously abandoned just a few hours earlier. It is smooth in my hand, cool and strong. I pull it through my fingers, sending a shiver down my spine. Yes, I want this.
His eyes are wide with excitement. I bite my bottom lip, lower my eyes and walk slowly to the bedside, keeping my eyes cast down. I place the rope across his lap, running my fingers across the tops of his thighs and step back. He takes a deep breath, swings his legs to the floor and pulls me to him, his hands gripping my hips tightly. He tips my head up with his finger and searches my eyes. I am clear, and sure. Confident. And the smile that spreads across his face sets me on fire.

“What do you want, Sophie?” his voice is rough, but quiet. I look down into his face pondering the now familiar question. His lips part and he swipes that bottom lip with his tongue. It ripples through me, I need this.

“I want you to have your way,” I whisper.

“And?” he demands. He will take his pound of flesh now.

“I want you to tie me up.” I look him dead in the eye, watching the fire rise in his blood. Surely I can allow his excitement to eclipse the faint shock of fear that sits in my heart.

“And?”

“I trust you,” I mouth, breathless and excited. That was what he needed to hear. Grasping the hem of my tee shirt, he whisks it off over my head.

“We will start slow.”  He drops the rope on the floor and moves to the dresser and a smaller drawer. He pulls a shorter length of black rope and tosses it to the bed. The weave is open, the feel is soft. It is not nearly as menacing as the long red ropes, but still ignites a spark deep in my belly.

“I do want to push you, Sophie, but slowly.” He weaves the black rope between my wrists, over and under, until they are clasped together in a beautiful, symmetrical chain, he is meticulous, careful. “I will not tie you to the bed. We will save that. For now I will just bind your
hands, and you will get the idea. What it feels like to be bound, to let go.”  Several tight, intricate knots run up the inside of both arms, my hands bound together tightly, blood pulses under the ropes. He moves me to the head of the bed.

“Lie down.” I lay back on the pillows and he raises my hands above my head. “Grab a hold. And do not let go.” I do as I’m told, grasping the cold metal scroll of the headboard. I wrap my fingers tightly, knowing that I will want to let go. My pulse is racing, my mouth is dry and he looks like an excited child. My hands are raised above my head, anchored by rope and will. He pulls me by my feet, so that I am stretched across the bed. Hooking his fingers into my panties he peels them off, slowly, making a meal of it. He winds his hands around the back of both of my ankles and yanks my legs open, a look of awe and hunger on his face.

“Take a deep breath and blow it out,” he commands. I do as I’m told. I pull air deep into my lungs and release it. Rhys pushes my legs up high above my head as the breath rushes from my lungs. My feet are pressed against the headboard on either side of my hands.  I fold in half. His arms stretched over the backs of my legs, holding me flush, his face hovering directly over my waiting sex. I am curled, with my ass in the air, when I feel him. The brush of his lips as he smiles, then his tongue runs like satin all the way across my seam. Like a lollipop, he licks me slowly from top to bottom, and back again, all the while holding my legs above my head. My hands are tied and anchored and my legs are like jelly. I have no choice but to absorb each gentle lick, every urgent flick. I could let go of the headboard, but I don’t want to. 

The sensation of the ropes and Rhys’ mouth all over me are more than I can handle and I shatter like a delicate piece of crystal. Fireworks explode behind my eyes, but I do not let go of the headboard. My hands grip the iron as my body rocks and rolls under Rhys’ wicked
mouth. His tongue rolls around my clit as his fingers pump in and out of me. He curls them into me and begins to stroke a button deep within that spikes my blood and sends me falling over the edge. The orgasm rips through me, shredding my senses, leaving me breathless and twitchy. The energy continues to build, higher and higher until a vicious explosion rings behind my eyes and I scream out for mercy, for more, I don’t know. My body pulses around his fingers as his tongue continues to press and circle my nub. My ears are hot and filled with bright white noise and my hands grip the headboard for dear life. Afraid that if I do let go I will fall. He slowly lets me down, rolling my hips back onto the bed with a cheeky grin as he brings his fingers to his lips and sucks my essence from them. Before I can fully regain myself he shoves his fingers into my mouth.   

“Taste
yourself,” he demands, pressing his fingers to my tongue. I am salty, sweet, musky and surprisingly pleasant. Moaning as I suckle at his fingers, I am shocked at myself, shocked at my wanton, dirty behavior. And more shocked that I love every minute, and want more. He pulls his fingers from my mouth with a pop and flips me over like a rag doll.

“Don’t let go,” he whispers hot against my ear before gasping as he thrusts his hard cock into my dripping pussy. His fingers dig into my hips as he pulls me back onto him. Each thrust deeper than the last. He is like an animal, lost in me, lost in his passion. I buck against him, pushing off and sliding back, slapping my ass against his chest as he growls. I feel him press his chest to my back and the weight on me feels amazing. Sinking his teeth into my shoulder, I arch my back and focus on my grip. His fingers slip from my sweat slicked hips as he rises up and flips me back over.