“None of that,” he admonishes in the Slate family tongue. He opens the car door and gently tosses me onto the seat, before shutting me in. I hear the clicking of the door locks and the privacy shield goes up, robbing me of my only view of the scene outside. Blood pulses in my head, shock creeping over me. I am worried about Rhys. I am worried for Collin. Rhys is a fighter. That much is clear. What is he doing here? How did all of this happen? My head swims through the sludge of recent events and I am overcome. Alone in the dark, trapped in the back of Rhys’ rented Town Car, I cry. Warm tears softly spill over the edge, leaving tracks down my cheek, while I silently weep. It is purifying and soothing, so I surrender to the deluge. I don’t wipe away the tears or try and hide. I let them fall, gathering at my chin slowly raining salt and sadness upon my bruised and battered knees. I look down to see blood mingling with tears. I wipe the tears to reveal a large gash across my knee, from where Collin threw me to the ground, asshole.
Rhys slides into the back seat and I have no idea how much time has passed. My eyes are dry, but my cheeks are wet. Rivers of tears have stained them with a pale flush, my eyes are glossed over and heavy. And he looks amazing, here, in front of me now. Angry devils dance behind his eyes, they are dark and filled with anger. His body is rigid, having regained his focus and control. Blood covered knuckles flex in his lap, and he closes his eyes. I watch him for a long minute, the hard planes of his face, and the soft curve of his lips. Lips that are set in such a hard line, his jaw is tense and pulsing. I can’t find my tongue, so I just watch and wait. I don’t know how Collin got in my apartment. I don’t know how I got out. I have no idea how Rhys got here, but I am so grateful that he is here. Everything is a tangled mess. The silence is deafening, sending a shiver rattling down my spine. I can’t stave off the tremor that follows and the movement catches his attention and he turns his dark eyes on me. I sink back into the seat, putting more distance between us, unsure of his current state.
He slowly slides off the seat and onto his knees. Kneeling before me, his face is hidden by the darkness, but the glint across his eyes tells me I am safe.
“Are you hurt?” His voice is raw. I just nod in response, afraid of my own voice. His hands flow over my face, down my neck, across my collar and down both arms. He checks with his fingers for signs of hurt or struggle. I am thankful that there are no marks to be seen other than my knee. I fear his reaction. The fury that he fights is stifling. It is all around us, stealing the air. His hands travel down over my hips and stop, resting heavily on my thighs.
“That fucker!” he growls, moving between my legs. Brushing his thumb gently over the slowly bleeding gash, he murmurs incoherent thoughts to himself, laced with profanities and vitriol. His eyes are filled with such intensity, such concern, you could light a thousand torches with the slowly dying fire dancing in his shadows. He is struggling, livid and wired, and my blood fuels him. He leans close, gently blowing on my knee, small drops of blood still rising to the surface. He places his full lips to my broken flesh and flicks the blood away with his tongue. I watch in shock as his mouth closes over my knee and he kisses my flesh, lapping away all traces of blood. All traces of struggle. When he looks up at me, his eyes are full of something else entirely. Lust, anger, reverence and concern all merge into a steamy gaze that cuts me to the quick. Lurching from his knees, he takes my face in his hands, cupping me gently. He kisses me, parting my lips anxiously with his tongue, the metallic ring of my blood echoes from his tongue, filling my mouth, assaulting my senses. And then I melt into him. We are merged in every way, his mouth with mine, his hands on my flesh, my hands in his hair. We are becoming tangled, just as we once were, as we should be. As I want to be. As we need to be.
“What are you doing here?” The slightest crack in my voice betrays me.
“Are you not happy to see me?” he asks. All I can muster is half a smile. “You took something that belongs to me. I came to reclaim it. But I find, even in your state, it looks better on you.” I blush from embarrassment at being caught. “So, you are a kleptomaniac? I would have never guessed.”
“No!” I splutter, “I just wanted something to remember you.”
“Was I at risk of being forgotten?” Rhys is many things, most of which, I can admit are still a mystery to me, but forgettable? No, there is nothing forgettable about Rhys.
“No, I just didn’t count on you not forgetting me the instant I left you.”
“Humph. Well, I didn’t count on any of this, on you.” He shakes his head, trapped in a thought he refuses to share. “I just wanted to see you again.”
“I am so sorry.” I am overcome with regret. Unearned this time, but still sorry none the less.
“About what?” he pleads.
“Everything.” The flood gates burst and I begin to ramble. “I’m sorry for taking your shirt. I am sorry that Collin was here. I am sorry about your hand.”
Rhys stops me with a finger to my lips. “Stop. Surely you have nothing to be sorry for. I am flattered and rather humbled that you would take my shirt. It’s cute. I like the thought of you in my shirt. I like the look of it. I am glad that I got to break my hand on that asshole’s face.” Pausing, he ponders the thought and flexes his hand. “You will never know how good that felt. What was he doing here anyway?” Oh, I could imagine, and have on several occasions. The thought of the sweet crack of my palm across his face calls a devious little grin to my lips. My palm itches for that slap.
“I don’t know, I swear.” I struggle to come up with an explanation. And it dawns on me, the windows, he must have climbed in. They were wide open. How could I not have heard him? The thought scares me and I turn back to Rhys’ waiting face, panic creeping up my throat. “I think he climbed in the window,” I whisper, barely able to say it aloud.
“Well, you can’t stay here tonight. You really shouldn’t stay here at all,” he declares before backing down as my eyes rage. “We can talk about that later,” he relents, taking the seat next to me, pulling me into his side. “Tonight you will stay with me.” I look up into his warm green eyes and have no dispute. I want to stay with him, to wipe the night away. I know he can do that for me, make me forget.
“I just need a few things.”
“Charlie will go back in for you.” He is no mood to negotiate. “What do you need?”
“Um, a pair of jeans, panties and a bra, socks and sneakers, my purse and phone.” “Charlie, did you hear that?” I realize that Charlie had been sitting in the driver’s seat this whole time. Oh, my god, he will be going through my drawers? I look back at Rhys, stunned and panicked at the idea of Charlie going through my delicates.
“Don’t worry, he won’t go through your things.” As if he could read my mind, he rapidly put it as ease, pulling me into his lap as Charlie exits the car.
“So, how did you get here?”
“I am on my way to the west coast. I wanted to see you, so I arranged for a layover.” The glimmer in his eyes and the lip trapped between his teeth tell his joke. “I have an early flight to San Francisco. Come with me.”
“I can’t. I have work.” He pulls me closer and holds me tightly. Charlie returns with a packed duffle, sliding into the driver’s seat. We ride in uneasy silence. Once we get to his hotel, he insists that I have a shower while he makes a few calls. I don’t argue, knowing that I need a moment to myself, to collect my thoughts and wrap my head around all that has happened. I need the scalding hot water to wash away Collin’s angry hand prints. Like invisible chains wrapped around my body, I have to wash them away, be clean of him.
Chapter 25
I am slow and methodical in the shower, careful to scrub every inch of my battered body. Soap runs over the deep gash on my knee and stings, but I welcome the pain. I wash my hair and face and just stand under the water, frozen, unsure of what will come next. The water cleanses me, pounding my flesh with a welcome, hypnotic rhythm that soothes my mind. I am able to shut it all out and surrender to the scalding deluge
. Sinking to the bottom of the large walk-in shower, I sit under the falling water until it runs cool. Despair, shame, relief and self-pity mingle and dance with the water, swirling around the drain. My mind runs wild at everything that has happened in the last hour, Collin’s arrival, my body and mind fooling me so thoroughly, even if just for a moment. And Rhys, he showed up and saved me.
Skipping the fluffy hotel robe for a large white towel, I dry my hair and then my body, wrapping it gingerly around me and step out of the bathroom. I want Rhys to make me forget. I am sure that is why he has brought me here, why he showed up in the first place. His hands can surely wash away everything that the soap missed. He hangs up the phone as I step out of the bathroom, watching me, his eyes wide and filled with worry. Grinning, I drop the towel and stand before him the way he likes, but immediately regret it. His horrified expression makes me wish I could disappear.
“Sophie, no!” He picks up the towel and rapidly wraps it back around me. The sting of his rejection is more vicious than any slap. I shrink out of his arms and back away, humiliated and pushed beyond my limits. I fight back tears and try to hide the hurt. How could I have misread this situation? How could I have been so wrong? He steps closer to me, slowly with his hands in the air, as if to pose no threat. I just stand, frozen to the spot, watching him, but unsure. Resting his hands on my shoulders, a small smile curves his lips and he kisses my temple. I look into his bright green eyes and lose my filter.
“I thought this is what you wanted.” The strangled whisper barely escapes my throat.
“Oh Sophie, it is. It was. But now, I think we shouldn’t.” Great, even after he has his ass beaten, Collin still gets to interfere. He doesn’t want me now because of what has happened, because of what I got him involved in. I am tired of being jerked around, tired of these men telling me what I need, what is good for me. Anger trickles slowly through my veins, mingling with my heated blood and I glare at him. “Sophie,” his voice is quiet, pensive. “Believe me, I want to, but, after what has happened, I think you just need someone to hold you. I just want to hold you.” I thaw a little, letting his words wash over me. Maybe it would feel good, just to feel safe. No pressure. I manage a small smile and he walks me to the bed. “Let’s just be tonight, OK? You can lie in my arms. Just let me hold you.”
Pulling back the comforter, he pats the mattress for me to sit. I slide under the covers, tossing the towel to the floor. I revel in the softness of the sheets on his heavenly bed, and watch him disrobe. He is slow to move, careful not to startle this frightened doe. One by one he unbuttons his dress shirt, then moves to his cuff links. He lays the shirt across the chair next to the bed and undoes his belt. Sitting with his back to me he pulls off his shoes and socks before he stands, pulling off his trousers. They lie on top of his shirt, so methodical and organized. He stands before me in nothing but his boxer briefs, shining like a white knight, the planes of his chest so familiar, the ripple of his ABS calling to me. I want to touch him. I want him to touch me. But I lay still, and watch him slide under the covers. He pulls a pillow into his arms and we lie on our fronts just looking at one another for the longest time. A tense but comfortable silence that he breaks.
“I want to ask you something and I want you to be honest.” Unsure, but wanting the silence to end, I agree. “Has he ever done this before? Put his hands on you?” I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He struggles to keep his expression light, but his eyes are dark. A giant lump rises in my throat and I look away, at the pillow, at my hands, over his shoulder, anywhere other than into his eyes. I do not want to admit it has happened before. That's when he used to get drunk, which became more and more often, he became increasingly more volatile. I don’t want Rhys to know what he used to do to me, the things he used to make me do. I don’t want anyone to know. “I think I have my answer,” he says quietly, reaching out and covering my hand with his. He squeezes my hand and that small, simple touch pushes me over the edge and slow, soft tears fill in my eyes. “Why Sophie? Why didn’t you say something?”
My voice cracks, “He only did it a couple of times.”
“Once is too many,” he insists, not letting go of my hand. “God,” he turns his eyes down. “When I think of how rough I have been with you. The ropes! You said you were scared, but I didn’t listen. Why did you let me do that?” His thought hangs there between us while his pulse picks up and a fire rages in his eyes when they meet mine. “I wish that you could have told me.”
“Rhys, you never hurt me. I like how you are, how we were.” I squeeze his hand in return, pleading with him not to go there. Wishing I could wipe it all away. I don’t want him to be angry or feel pain because of me, because of my mistakes, my weakness. “You don’t understand.”
“Help me understand.”
“When my parents died, he was right there, ready to pick up the pieces. He was all I had. He was there for me when no one else was. I just got caught up, and things got out of hand. I didn’t want to be alone.”
“Oh Sophie,” he sighs, like a heavy weight is being slowly lifted from his chest. “You deserve so much better. I am sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I never said anything to anyone, not even Olivia. I didn’t want people to know. I don’t like what it says about me.” He pulls me into his arms, wrapping his protective wall around me. I tuck my head beneath his chin and listen to his heartbeat, a distraction from the strangling pain in my chest, the pain of the truth being spoken for the first time. I feel safe here.
“It doesn’t say anything about you. It says everything about him. I want to kill him,” he whispers into my hair.
“He isn’t worth your time. Please, let’s not allow him another moment of our thoughts.” Exhaling a deep breath, he smoothes my hair and we lay wrapped around each other. “I just want to be here, with you. This feels good.” His anger and frustration barely held at bay, his arms tighten around me, squeezing me possessively. I press my cheek to his chest, surrounding myself with his heady scent, listening to his slowing heartbeat, until I fall into an exhausted sleep.
I wake to find Rhys half a mile away, on the other side of the bed. Lying peacefully on his back, nestled in amongst the sheets, his arm slung over his head, softly breathing, he is so peaceful, otherworldly. Moments from last night creep into my conscious mind. The smell of Collin, gin-laced sweat and cheap cigars, the feel of his rough hands on me and his hot breath slithering across my skin make me shudder.
Stealthily, Rhys wraps his arm around me and pulls me to him. I twist and curl to fit his mold. He is cradled to me, pressed between my thighs. His warm lips on my neck send shock waves rolling across my skin. I close my eyes and listen. The sound of his lips on my skin, his breath against my ear and the pounding in my chest conspire to overtake me. A slow searing heat inches its way across my body, gaining momentum as he moves his lips across my shoulder. I roll my head, begging him to kiss my neck again. He runs the tip of his tongue up behind my ear and begins a slow torture with peppered kisses across my aching skin as his hips circle slowly. A slight flex of his arm and he pulls me deeper into his curve. Throbbing against my back, his touch is gentle and achingly slow.
“Is this ok?” he whispers. “I never want to hurt you, Sophie.”
“I know you won’t.” The words barely pass my lips before his hips move.
“Close your eyes, feel me,” he gasps into my ear and slowly slides into me. I hold my breath as he pushes himself to the root, filling me exquisitely. I stretch and twist around him, settling perfectly in his lap. His fingers lace with mine and he wraps our arms around me. With my hand in his he runs his fingers across my breasts. He grabs me and twists my nipple ferociously, pinching it tightly until all the blood is gone before ripping his fingers away. As the blood rushes back, the sensation rings in my head, but the silence is erotic and heavy, I bite back a cry as he does it again. His hips circle and twist behind me and his breathing picks up. Tightening his arms around me,
I am immobilized by the cage his arms have made. Securely trapped against him, he bucks and rolls, sending a pulsing fire to every corner of my body. Swimming in the silence, hearing nothing but his increasing breath and strong heart beat is like being underwater. I am weightless, focused so minutely on what he does to me.
He growls in my ear and breaks the spell. Suddenly the room is full of sounds. Skin slapping skin, Rhys’ labored growl as he tries to hold back, and my body screaming for a long overdue crescendo. He wraps his arm beneath my legs and cradles me as he slides deeper. Changing speeds, he sets a brutally slow pace of deep thrusts and slow retreat. A raging inferno threatens to consume me, he burns me from within. I will be a pillar of smoke and ash in his arms as my ears burn and my limbs turn to putty.
“Are you ready?” He thrusts so deeply I feel him in my chest. A slow, but powerful orgasm climbs my body, leaving tremors in its wake as Rhys slams into me. His body echoes in mine, bouncing from every surface, filling every last inch. His arms tighten against my legs and as he wrenches me down, sliding me to the hilt of his massive cock, he explodes. I am merely an extension of his body as moves me with ease. Violently thrusting into me over and over, he fills me up until he has emptied himself of all strength. Letting out a deep, cathartic breath, he loosens his grip on my legs, but doesn’t release me. Pulling me closer to him, he nuzzles into my hair. His breathing evens and his heart slows while he remains within my walls. He throbs throughout my lower body and I relish the feeling of still being connected, still as one. Rolling onto his back, he takes me with him. Astride him with my back to him, he bucks his hips and I feel him harden like steel beneath me.
“Turn around,” he demands in a husky voice. His cock is so big I can easily lift my leg over him and spin around to face him without letting him go. I smile to myself as I spin on his cock, like it’s a carnival ride. A dirty fun ride. And I want to ride again.
Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) Page 23