Shout (The Voice Trilogy Book 3) (9 page)

              “You glow when you’re so happy. I’m so glad I could bring you here; that I could see all of this with you by my side, Sophie. I love you and I want you happy just like this.” He kisses my temple and holds me in a warm embrace and for that moment I am happy.

CH. 12

              Driving back towards the farm his mood starts to plummet and mine is pulled down in tandem. Surrounded by all this beauty and all I can feel is his unexplained melancholy and the need to alleviate whatever it is that is pulling him down.                Colleen is bustling around the kitchen when we return and I opt to stay and help her prep for supper while Rhys takes a nap, and I hope sleep will lighten his mood. After about an hour and two dozen peeled potatoes, I head to our room but find Rhys nowhere. I explore the floor and find him in a small corner room that’s darker and cooler than the rest. He lies on a little metal framed double bed, flat on his back, his arms flung over his head. His mouth is slack, eyes still closed, his chest rises slightly with each shallow breath.

              Panels of gauze are flung over the curtain rods in front of the arched windows and I’m suddenly inspired. I pull a swath of gauze from the rod and step up next to the bed. His eyes flutter and I seize an opportunity. I climb over him and straddle his hips, knowing he is still too weak to really fight back and too sleepy to be quick. We are going to solve this mood, whatever it takes. He looks up at me with those deep green eyes, his long dark lashes fluttering, trying to bat the sleep away as he narrows his gaze to my low slung shirt. His eyes rise for a split second as my breasts swing free beneath the clingy white cotton. I lean forward, brushing across his face before I grab his hands and quickly pull them above his head. Before he can catch his breath and see past my breasts, I snake the gauze around one wrist and wind it around the flimsy metal bed frame and close it with a knot around his other wrist. He jerks against the restraint and growls at me as I climb off of his chest and stand next to the tiny bed. It creaks and groans under his weight. The paint is chipping off the corner showing layer after layer of color that hides a rusty, hollow steel frame. I stand and watch as a slow smile spreads across his face and his crooked grin nearly lights my body on fire. He raises an eyebrow at me, begging for an explanation.

              “You have been very grumpy and I am tired of it. I want you to snap out of it.”

              “And you thought this would help?” The timbre of his voice flows through me like honey slow and viscous, thick with sinful sugar and raw, unfiltered lust. I unsnap my jeans and work them over my hips, watching his eyes flare. Slowly I slide the rough denim down my legs until they drop at my feet. I slide off my panties and ball the small patch of pink silk into my hand. A lazy breeze licks across my exposed skin, sending a shiver running across my shoulders and I pull my shirt down over my hips careful not to expose myself to him. Climbing over him, he tugs at the scarf as a show of protest, but it’s clear his heart is not in it. He is happily along for the ride so I better commit. I slide up on his chest and sit just inches from his face. His mouth falls open, releasing a deep gasp, the faint pulse of his heart and the rumble from his breathing echoes deep in my belly. I tuck my feet behind me and rest my knees on either side of his head, pressed against his ears. I can do this.

              His tongue slowly rolls across his lips up and over the curve of his mouth. I can feel it all over, but I resist the urge to melt into a puddle right on his chest. I lean back and pull the shirt up around my hips, exposing my brazenly bald, smooth as silk, freshly shaved pussy to his ravenous gaze.

              “Oh my God, what have you done? Come closer,” he whispers. I shake my head and smile as he lifts his head, stretching to reach my pulsing center. His tongue darts from between his lips, straining to make contact with my bare flesh. Watching him hungry and unable to satiate himself is strangely satisfying. His eyes grow wide as I slide my hand down my stomach and brush across the top of the smooth skin. Like the petal of a rose, the flesh is like velvet. I brush my fingers across my slit and sink into the pooling slickness overflowing from my lips. I rock my hips back, spreading myself across his flesh as he moans in delight.

              “Come closer,” his whisper is more urgent this time. “Let me taste you,” I nod in response and continue to pet my pussy, watching him go crazy. The bare skin warms under my touch as blood rises to the surface, casting a pretty pink flush under my puffy flesh. My fingertip rolls across my clit and I jump. “Come closer,” he demands, craning his neck, tugging at his restraints. Frustration and lust flare in his eyes. “Come closer, Sophie!” he growls, bucking his hips, trying to force me onto his face. As I work my pussy with one hand, I close my other fist around the balled up panties and quickly shove them into his open mouth.

              “Shhhh,” I tease. His eyes bulge in shock and then flash in delight. “The time for talking is over.” Lowering his head to the pillow in resignation, he takes a deep breath and sighs. Looking down on him I am shocked at my own boldness, and more than a little turned on by my own power. This powerful, sexual man, tied to a tiny child’s bed with my panties shoved into his mouth at my mercy. The power is intoxicating. He tugs against his restraints again, pulling me from my self-discovery.

              “I will let you taste me, Mr. Slate, if you are a good boy and do as I say. Can you do that?” I find it hard to keep a straight face, but bite back the grin and wait for a sign from him. He narrows his eyes at me, his dark brows dipping over his smoky eyes. I smile sweetly as he nods and takes a deep breath beneath me. I swipe my fingers across my begging clit again and cannot fight back the little moans that accompany the circles I make over my slick sex. His nose flares and his hungry eyes devour the sight as I dip my middle finger between the folds and into the heat. Slowly I slide my finger into my pussy and then out, just resting against my entrance, glistening with the pulse of my desire. I pull my finger from my body and rest it across his lips that remain wrapped around my silk panties. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose, taking me all in.

              I slip away from him and slide down his body, leaving a trail of warm wet kisses down one side of his stunning, chiseled torso and up the other. His skin is paler than usual; the horrid bruises are quickly fading, leaving behind a slight green cast. The angry scar across his hip has softened but not faded, raised to the touch, a forever reminder of the accident. I place a soft kiss at the center of the scar, running my tongue along the ridge.               He flinches beneath me and shifts. I slide to the side and move between his legs. Grasping the waistband of his pants I pull them from his body, tossing them to the floor. He raises his head as I sink between his legs and our eyes meet. I run my hands up his powerful thighs and draw circles with my thumbs. His eyes are begging; begging for me to suck him, dying for me to take him into my mouth and lick him like a lollipop. And I plan on doing just that. I tease him mercilessly, running my tongue up the delicate flesh of his thigh, circling around the base of his growing cock and gliding back down the other side. Over and over I labor to hypnotize him with the repetition until he moans so beautifully and drops his head to the pillow. 

              As a reward I lick over the slit of his cock, teasing the tip before I sink my hungry lips over his steely length. Like velvet against my tongue, the skin of his dick is soft and sweet. I sink over him until he is pressed to the back of my throat, and then slowly slide off of him, blowing a stream of cool air over his tight wet skin. An echoing shiver slithers up his body as I take him back into my mouth and begin to bob slowly. Pushing him to the back of my throat over and over, I run my tongue along the smooth skin of his shaft and cup his balls, rolling them around in my hand. He groans and I pump faster, sucking his flesh, pulling him deeper into my mouth until he twitches and seizes his legs around me.

He is struggling for control, trying to stop the great white wave that threatens to overcome him, but I want it. I suck him back into my mouth with a great slurp and sink down to the root. My tongue slides across the base of his pulsing cock and I tickle the delicate skin of his balls. With two great pumps with my ferocious mouth and a gentle tug on his tight sack, he has no choice but to empty himself. Violently he thrusts his hips upward, plunging his angry cock down my throat as he erupts into a white hot pulse, coating my throat.

              I look up at him, still licking his lust from my lips and he just nods, ecstasy clouding his eyes. I crawl up his body, tasting every inch as I go, his warm skin heaven to my swollen lips. He moans and the sound sends my heart racing. I rest my knees on each side of his head and look down into his face. A slow grin spreads across those lips and I lower myself onto his warm, waiting mouth. He starts slowly, running his velvet tongue the length of my pussy, back and forth until I’m lulled and comfortable and I forget myself, forget everything and just start riding his face. There is nothing else but tongue, teeth and lips; my heat and throbbing little clit that trembles with excitement each time his tongue rolls around the center of the universe. I reach down and cradle his head, pulling him into me. His tongue plunges into me over and over, the hypnotic rhythm building and pushing me upwards.

              I’m reminded of his restraints when he tugs and the whole bed moves as he struggles against the ties. He is rabid and wild, fucking me with his face as he pulls at the gauze and I reach down and free him. His hands grip my thighs, his fingertips digging delightfully into my skin as he grinds his face against me, devouring me gladly. My hips undulate of their own accord and I ride hard until the wave crests and all the blood drains from my extremities and shoots straight to my pulsing clit that’s perched on the edge of an abyss.

He sucks that writhing bundle of nerves between his glistening lips and I fall, throwing my head back. I pray for salvation as he pulls me against him, but he does not relent. He licks and nips and suckles at my core until he has had his fill and I am exhausted, barely able to hold my head up when he finally loosens his grip on my thighs. I am limp and boneless, still catching my breath as I slide down his body and rest my head on his chest. He whispers and coos in my ear, but I hardly hear a thing, more aware of his warm breath and the strong beat of his heart.

              “You really taught me a lesson, Sophie.” I lazily turn my head to see his dimpled grin.

              “No more work,” I barely mumble.

              “No more work,” he relents, kissing the top of my head. We must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know I’m shivering and curling against him in the dark, waking to the sound of the family gathered around the fire in the courtyard.

CH. 13

              In no time at all I fall into the easy rhythm of Rhys’ family life. Morning in the yard with Brigid and Colleen, afternoons tooling around the countryside, watching Rhys reconnect and network for the future of his family. Back and forth from the still the boys come and go, most, but not all; Michael and Colleen have their own agendas all together, but in true Slate family fashion, are equally important investments that Rhys nurtures and encourages.

              After almost a week, he finally seems at ease as if the rest of the world has just fallen away and left us to this small piece of heaven.

              We spend a Saturday evening at a pub in Tulla with his cousins and they are rowdy. It seems half the village is packed into the small stone pub. A group of fiddle players sits in the corner, keeping the crowd entertained. Children dance while their parents eat and visit. Beer flows and conversation sparkles as it seems there are no strangers in the building. The sense of community is comforting and contagious. The music picks up as the crowd thins out and the families take their early leave. I couldn’t count how many more rounds the boys made it through before they gave in and called it a night, but when the bartender rang the bell there was no choice.

“Ye don’t have to go home, but ye can’t stay here!” When we finally spill out of the pub and onto the cobbled streets, Rhys is grinning ear to ear, Michael is trying to pick a fight with someone who seems all too familiar with his patterns, and William is sidling up to one of the few remaining girls, working all too hard for nothing in return. I admire the window dressings of the small shops on the street while the boys begin to sing and holler until I hear Colleen and the distinct rumble of that old pickup truck pounding its way across the cobblestones.

             
HONK!
She lays on the horn and gives them all a startle.

              “Aye, hop in you rowdy lot before I leave ye here on the street and ye can walk back!” They start to file towards the truck with Rhys moving for the passenger door.

              “Oh no, ladies in the front, you sods can air out in the back. Come along, Sophie!” she yells to me as Rhys shoots her a look before flashing a grin to me and rolling into the back with the others. I hop in the cab and we head out of town and back into the country. I wonder how many of these drives Colleen has done, how much of this Rhys misses when he is not here.             

              When we finally pull into the drive, the men are more sedate and file off in the direction of their respective rooms. I follow Rhys into the kitchen and watch him pour himself a glass of water.              

              “I may have drank a bit much,” he says with a grin and a slight sway.

              “You think?” I wrap my arms around his waist and kiss his neck.

              “It’s that damn William, always having to best me, always having to push. I can’t let him win. Never could.”             

              “No, I imagine that would be the end of the world,” I tease as his hands skate down my sides.

              “I’m starting to feel like myself again, Sophie,” his lips graze my collar bone and send a spark down my body. “Now, I’d like to feel you.” He cups my ass in his hands and pulls me into him, pressing his body to mine.

              “I believe you have a handful right now,” I tease and kiss his neck, moving towards his ear. “Take me upstairs,” I whisper.

              “Gladly.” He drops his glass in the sink and grabs my hand, pulling me behind him, up the stairs and along the darkened corridor.

              It is frantic and hot. He is drunk and mad with lust and I relish every drop of his ferocious attentions. He sinks his teeth into my flesh and groans with such delight it sends me reeling. I buck against him wildly, fingers tangling in his hair, holding on while he tears into me. Flipping me over he slaps my ass so hard his hand print is sure to remain. We can’t get close enough; our bodies are slick with sweat, skin clinging and sticky from the heat. I could drink every last drop of him, and the thirst would remain unquenchable.

              The sun assaults my eyes only moments before the damn rooster does, crowing to the morning, calling us all to wake. I roll over to find Rhys gone and I stretch across the narrow bed, allowing my body to come awake on its own. The sun is warm on my skin, but the air that hovers around me is chilled and sets my body at attention. I climb out of bed and pull on a pair of pants before heading downstairs.

              What I come upon is not what I was expecting. The morning bustle is dialed up. There are piles of potatoes covering the counter top and Colleen stands with her hip against the counter, tea in hand, watching as Michael and Charlie carry in two huge packages of something wrapped in butcher paper slung over each of their shoulders. In a rehearsed move, they both sling their package to the table with a heavy thud and peel the paper back. Brigid moves in to inspect what they have brought.

              “Very nice boys and fine butchering, Michael. This should turn out beautifully, put her out on the spit and mind the coals. I’ll be going to dress now. The rest of ye should do the same.” She turns to me and pats my cheek, “I hope ye brought something for church.” Breezing by with a jovial air, she calls behind her as she ascends the steps, “Our Lord waits for no man remember.”

              Colleen watches me as I move closer to the table to peek at what the boys have brought. I look up to see her grinning ear to ear.

              “Lamb,” she says with a wink, placing her teacup next to the sink and wiping her hands on her apron. “It’s Feasting Day, Sophie, The Feast of Our Lady.”

              She moves around the table inspecting Michael’s work. Rhys walks in followed by William, Patrick and Finn. In each of their hands dangle lifeless chickens, relieved of their feathers. Rhys drops the chickens on the butcher block and comes for me, hands outstretched, covered in dirt, and blood, and tiny feathers. I back away and his eyes light up.

              He lunges for me and I turn to run almost knocking Patrick down. This gives me a head start and I take the steps two at a time while Rhys gets around Finn and is close on my heels. He’s got a definite spring in his step and mischief on his face. I rush into our room and he shuts the door behind me, shoulders crouching, as he rounds me like a lion tamer.

              “Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” he winks. “I’ve got feathers and I’m not afraid to use them.”

              I back slowly into the bathroom and start the shower for him, hoping for a show. When he catches me watching, he hams it up by turning his back, throwing a seductively, silly look over his shoulder.             

              “You like what you see?” he purrs theatrically and I burst out laughing as he drops his shorts, quickly squelching my amusement and catching my attention for more carnal reasons.

              “You’re very spirited this morning,” I tease as he pops the button on my jeans and pulls them down around my ankles.

              “Step,” he commands. I step out of them and he kicks them to the side, quickly disposing of my panties. Pulling my shirt over my head, he stands, backing me into the tiny stone shower. The warm water washes over my face as we come to stand beneath the shower head, eye to eye, all humor gone. He swiftly lathers his body and mine in thick suds before dropping the soap to the stone floor. He kisses me, water mingling with our tongues, washing over us, trickling into my mouth.

              “We don’t have much time,” he pulls away, taking my breath with him, sinking to his knees before me. “We have to go to church.” Grabbing my leg, he hitches it over his shoulder, sinking his teeth into my thigh. Rivers of suds flow down his powerful back and I am mesmerized by the landscape of his body.             

              “Church?” I gasp as his fingers slip into my eager pussy.             

              “The Feast of Our Lady,” he mouths, licking my excitement from his fingers, “and now to feast on
my
lady.” He buries his face in my wanting flesh, parting my lips with his strong fingers, opening me up. The warm water and his tongue dance over my clit and I close my eyes resting my head against the stone. He pulls my clit into his mouth, claiming my slick pussy with his fingers. He slides his fingers to the knuckles and pumps his hands furiously, knocking loose an indescribable force. My cunt erupts and I start to scream. I have no control, my body flapping against the stone, unable to battle wave after violent wave that racks my body. He stands and swiftly replaces his fingers with his cock. Hooking his arms under my legs, he pulls me from my toes and presses me against the wall. He holds me open and pillages my body with animalistic thrusts that take my breath away.             

              Water drips from his brow, his wild eyes are fixed on me, determined, as he pounds me into the stone. At this point I’m merely an instrument that he plays expertly, holding me aloft as he slides his raging cock in and out of my greedy body. He speeds up, closing his eyes, his neck stretched to the ceiling. I watch the water run in rivulets down his neck and take one on my tongue. Licking his warm, pulsing flesh from the base of his neck, I pull his ear between my teeth before his shoulders tense and his movements slow, becoming deliberate and measured. His eyes are alight with determination, but wild, a growing orgasm clouding his focus. He bends his knees and we dip before he thrusts into me, filling every empty space with his heat before he erupts. I shortly follow him on a rolling pulse that radiates from our meeting point and spreads like a wave of wild fire.

              “Hmmm,” he hums in my ear as he sets my feet to the ground, contentment rich in his gaze. He dips and kisses me gently as my senses are still creeping back and he turns me around. I press my face to the cool stone as he washes my hair, taking me closer to heaven than I’ve ever been. Love pours from his fingers as he rinses my hair and slowly turns me to face him.               

Between the cloud of lust that still hangs between us and the warm water sliding down my body, I’m floating and hardly conscious of anything, but Rhys. Caressing me with his strong hands, pushes the remaining suds from my body and rinses me clean before turning the water on him. He turns and I wash his back, taking special care with my favorite spots. He tips his head to the ceiling with a grunt and a wicked grin.

              “No more time for that, Beautiful,” he hums, “the family is waiting.” He kisses me and turns the water off. Cold air assaults us both immediately and he grabs for a towel, wrapping it around my shoulders, before grabbing the other and wrapping it about his waist.

              We dress quickly and he explains The Feast of Our Lady and what the day has in store. First, we will all attend church as a family and then most of the parish will be coming to the farm for a feast. I am excited about the prospect of a proper Irish feast, but nervous about going to church with his family to a traditional Irish Catholic Church. When I used to go with Lola, I never paid much attention. Catholic was my culture, but not my religion.

              I blow my hair dry, leaving it loose before pulling out the only church appropriate stitch of clothing I brought; the simple black jersey dress that Liv insisted on packing.
Thank you, Olivia.
I watch Rhys button his crisp, white shirt that Brigid surely ironed for him. He slips a tartan waistcoat over his shoulders and drops a gold watch in the pocket. I button his vest for him and kiss him swiftly on the neck before slipping into a pair of flats. He sweeps me into his arms and kisses me senseless before pulling me down the stairs.

              The kitchen is deserted, but the courtyard is raucous when we step out into the morning sun. The boys are standing around shouting orders at Charlie, who is stacking wood for the fire all by himself. They all wear the same vest and I can’t help but grin at the way they all look like a band of merry ruffians, bonded by blood and tradition and tartan. Colleen and Brigid stand in the shade of the willow, watching, tea length dresses perfectly pressed, lace shawls around their shoulders. Rhys joins in the zealous supervision and I join the ladies in the shade.

              “You look lovely, Sophie,” Brigid looks me up and down in approval, “but, something is missing. I have a gift for you, dear. Come with me.” I follow Brigid into the house and through the kitchen. She pulls a small wooden box from a closet and lays it open on the table. Inside lays delicate white lace that looks handmade and very old; the pattern is intricate and beautiful. She picks it up and unfolds it. It’s larger than I thought, the size of a shawl, just like the shawl that she and Colleen are wearing, yet, hers is black.

              “This was my mother’s, Rhys’ grandmother’s. It has been passed down for many generations. We all have a stitch in it and now I would like you to have it.” I take a step back in disbelief.

              “I can’t accept this, Brigid, it’s a family heirloom, besides, I wouldn’t even know what to do with it,” I respond, still not sure even what the lace is for.

              “Well,” she begins, forcibly turning me around and swiping my hair off my shoulders, “you are going to wear it to church this morning, to begin with. This is a chapel veil. It is our job to maintain tradition, Sophie; to pass down our way of life, to honor those that have come before us who built the foundations that we continue to build upon. Your Rhys is a builder. He makes a good name for this family and makes us all proud. I am proud of him for loving you, Sophie. You belong around our table, you belong here. This is our way.” She drapes the veil over my head and straightens it over my hair, making sure it spills over my shoulders. The moment she sets it upon my head, I feel the weight of the lace, heavy with the past. “The veil shows you are humble, my dear, it shows your reverence for the Lord and your thankfulness for this life and I’ll be proud for you to have it.” She pinches my cheeks and pats my face with a tear in her eye. Before it can fall she turns away and calls for me to follow.