Read Online The Other Side of Silence by Celia Ashley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Celia Ashley
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declivity, the arch of every bone,
the curve of every muscle. “You’re still trembling,” he said.
“So are you.”
“Hmm. You’re right.”
Cupping his hands around her
buttocks, he slid from the mattress to one knee on the floor, opening his mouth
across the heated flesh between her legs.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, stretching
for the beam above her head, too far for her to reach, but only just. She
lowered her hands into his hair instead, moving her hips in a rhythm of his
creation, feeling the pulse of her blood and the pressure of his tongue,
slowly, slowly, slowly stroking across her labia, then circling around the
engorged bud of her clitoris.
“Oh my God,” she said again and went
to pull away, but he held her fast, one arm across her hips and the other hand
spread along the inside of her thigh to keep her steady, captive, within the
confines of his mouth as she came. Afterward, he stood up and lifted her
beneath the arms, tossing her onto the bed. He laughed with a sound of mirth
and satisfaction.
“That was nice,” he said. “That was
very nice.”
And then he shed his clothes.
* * *
The candle had burned down to a small
guttering flame in its glass. Shadows danced across the titles on the
bookshelves, revealing an eclectic mixture of volumes, mostly related to
history, and more of them pertaining to the eighteenth century than to anything
else. Sleepily Sunny let her eyes close, soothed by the soft stroke of Roger’s
fingers through her hair.
“There’s a lot I need to tell you,
Sunny,” she heard him say, voice distorted by a muffled yawn, “but not
tonight. There are things you need to know…but not tonight,” he repeated,
sliding his long body further beneath the mounded quilts to curl beside her.
I could tell you things about that
guy…
Hearing again the words in Scott’s
message, Sunny’s eyes opened wide. She turned her gaze to the bare window
where the last of the candlelight reflected in the running, aged glass. In a
moment the wick had snuffed and the room plunged into darkness. Roger’s body curved
warm and solid and comforting against her back. She closed her eyes again.
CHAPTER SIX
If she hadn’t been running so late
from work, Sunny might have noticed sooner that things were not quite right in
her house. There was nothing overt, nothing that seemed to be missing, no
evidence of break-in, just something that felt not quite as it should.
Not bothering to put down her purse,
she strolled around with a critical eye and thought, did I leave that there? Were her shoes where she placed them? Was that book on this corner of
the table? Surely that photograph had been facing the other way…nothing
definitive, nothing alarming, nothing even about which she could accurately
say, “aha!” and understand the reason she felt so spooked.
For several minutes she stood in the
center of the living room, her hands on her hips. She frowned. In the center
of the burgundy throw pillow at the end of her couch was an imprint, as if
someone’s head had rested there. Not Roger’s, even though she’d given him a
key. Roger wouldn’t make himself at home like that, without her being there.
He was too—respectful was the word that came to mind.
Letting her breath out, she went to
the phone and called Scott.
Kathy answered.
Startled, Sunny hesitated for a
fraction of a second before greeting her. “Hello?” Kathy spoke again.
“Hi, Kathy, it’s Sunny,” said Sunny,
sitting in the kitchen chair. She tossed her purse up onto the table. “How
are you?”
Kathy didn’t need to ask Sunny who.
There was never any need to ask Sunny who. One unusual name, one Sunny in
Scott’s life. It had to irk her.
However, she didn’t sound irked.
Quite the contrary. “Hi, Sunny! Are you calling to RSVP to the invitation? I
never did thank you for talking to Scott about all of this.
the curve of every muscle. “You’re still trembling,” he said.
“So are you.”
“Hmm. You’re right.”
Cupping his hands around her
buttocks, he slid from the mattress to one knee on the floor, opening his mouth
across the heated flesh between her legs.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, stretching
for the beam above her head, too far for her to reach, but only just. She
lowered her hands into his hair instead, moving her hips in a rhythm of his
creation, feeling the pulse of her blood and the pressure of his tongue,
slowly, slowly, slowly stroking across her labia, then circling around the
engorged bud of her clitoris.
“Oh my God,” she said again and went
to pull away, but he held her fast, one arm across her hips and the other hand
spread along the inside of her thigh to keep her steady, captive, within the
confines of his mouth as she came. Afterward, he stood up and lifted her
beneath the arms, tossing her onto the bed. He laughed with a sound of mirth
and satisfaction.
“That was nice,” he said. “That was
very nice.”
And then he shed his clothes.
* * *
The candle had burned down to a small
guttering flame in its glass. Shadows danced across the titles on the
bookshelves, revealing an eclectic mixture of volumes, mostly related to
history, and more of them pertaining to the eighteenth century than to anything
else. Sleepily Sunny let her eyes close, soothed by the soft stroke of Roger’s
fingers through her hair.
“There’s a lot I need to tell you,
Sunny,” she heard him say, voice distorted by a muffled yawn, “but not
tonight. There are things you need to know…but not tonight,” he repeated,
sliding his long body further beneath the mounded quilts to curl beside her.
I could tell you things about that
guy…
Hearing again the words in Scott’s
message, Sunny’s eyes opened wide. She turned her gaze to the bare window
where the last of the candlelight reflected in the running, aged glass. In a
moment the wick had snuffed and the room plunged into darkness. Roger’s body curved
warm and solid and comforting against her back. She closed her eyes again.
CHAPTER SIX
If she hadn’t been running so late
from work, Sunny might have noticed sooner that things were not quite right in
her house. There was nothing overt, nothing that seemed to be missing, no
evidence of break-in, just something that felt not quite as it should.
Not bothering to put down her purse,
she strolled around with a critical eye and thought, did I leave that there? Were her shoes where she placed them? Was that book on this corner of
the table? Surely that photograph had been facing the other way…nothing
definitive, nothing alarming, nothing even about which she could accurately
say, “aha!” and understand the reason she felt so spooked.
For several minutes she stood in the
center of the living room, her hands on her hips. She frowned. In the center
of the burgundy throw pillow at the end of her couch was an imprint, as if
someone’s head had rested there. Not Roger’s, even though she’d given him a
key. Roger wouldn’t make himself at home like that, without her being there.
He was too—respectful was the word that came to mind.
Letting her breath out, she went to
the phone and called Scott.
Kathy answered.
Startled, Sunny hesitated for a
fraction of a second before greeting her. “Hello?” Kathy spoke again.
“Hi, Kathy, it’s Sunny,” said Sunny,
sitting in the kitchen chair. She tossed her purse up onto the table. “How
are you?”
Kathy didn’t need to ask Sunny who.
There was never any need to ask Sunny who. One unusual name, one Sunny in
Scott’s life. It had to irk her.
However, she didn’t sound irked.
Quite the contrary. “Hi, Sunny! Are you calling to RSVP to the invitation? I
never did thank you for talking to Scott about all of this.
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