In the Firelight by Sibylla Matilde

Author:Sibylla Matilde [Matilde, Sibylla]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Amazon: B00HEX4NSQ
Published: 2013-12-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11 ~ The Morning

Rhys awoke to a quiet room, with an occasional thwacking sound coming from outside. Lifting his head, his eyes focused on the fireplace hearth where he’d sat…

…last night…

…where Shea wrapped her lips around his cock and sucked him off.

Fuck. As hot as it was last night, he knew this was bad.

He could still feel her nails cutting into the skin of his back. He could taste her soft, sweet skin. He could hear her breathy cries.

And, just like that, he was hard as a fucking rock. Again.

And he was a guilty prick. A guilty prick with a job to do. As much as he hated to do it.

Rhys exhaled forcefully, throwing his head back on the couch pillows. His hand brushed up against his stiff arousal, and his eyes drifted closed, wanting to go back to last night with her softness cradling him so deep inside. His fingers grasped his length firmly. He ached to bury himself in her again. She was addictive.

This shit shouldn’t bother him. He’d played this role a thousand times, it seemed. He’d never felt the angst until now. She just seemed so… real. So genuine. She gave and she didn’t want anything back from him.

Or did she? The unwanted thought rattled through his consciousness. She knew he was here to do a study, and the study had the power to exploit her little town. To ruin everything she loved about it. And, for someone who didn’t want anything to last, she sure did go all out the night before. She hadn’t been very hesitant at all. She’d been fearless and wild.

Fuck me, Rhys…

Taste me…

Maybe she was playing him, too.

Rhys sat up, tucking the blanket around his waist, then reached for his pants where they lay by the couch. As he pulled his clothes back on, he glanced around the small cabin. In the space between the living area and kitchen was a computer desk. Papers were strewn across it, and her laptop sat open.

He could hear the repetitive thwacking sound continuing outside, occasionally a muffled crack, the sound of someone chopping wood, his sleep-clouded brain began to realize. Just to be sure she wasn’t in the house, he called out.

“Shea?”

Nothing, and he said it a little louder.

“Shea?”

Still nothing. Rhys crossed over to the desk, feeling as though he was slinking. He brushed aside the guilt, forcing frustration in its place. Her own refusal to discuss any meaning to this, what had happened last night, fueled his grating resolve as he sifted through the papers on the desk. A few bills, nothing really significant.

His hand touched the mouse, and the computer screen lit up displaying her email. Rhys felt a thrill run through him at the sight of a few emails with the subject line of ‘land dispute.’ He clicked one open, scrolling through the long chain. Emails back and forth between Shea and a man by the name of Dennis Frankforter… Attorney at Law in the nearby town of Polson. Emails about a dispute on the title of her land.

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