Shout (The Voice Trilogy Book 3) by Bodhaine Noelle

Author:Bodhaine, Noelle [Bodhaine, Noelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-10-27T07:00:00+00:00

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.

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