Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
RHYS
I walk off, hoping she’ll follow.
We spent most of the day out there. Not to find the body—we found that easily enough. But we had to fill Brent in on the truth.
Beau is still a little worried, which is uncharacteristic. Especially because I was the one who stabbed the fucker. He’s an accessory, at best.
When I turn around, Morgan is not following like I hoped she would. Instead, she’s standing there, hip popped out to the side, arms folded, and her eyebrow arched up in question.
“Let’s go.”
“Ah, no.” God, I’m not in the mood for this.
We have the muster starting tomorrow. The cops are on their way out, so there’s going to be questioning. And now her attitude.
As I walk over to her, she watches me. The closer I get the more narrow her eyes become. Without warning, I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder. She beats on my back, but I ignore it.
Davis mumbled something, but it’s Beau’s response that pisses me off, “Caught them making out earlier.”
Obviously the ‘don’t talk about it’ chat went in one ear and out the other.
I place her down once we get to the front of my place and out of eyesight.
There’s a patch of grass under the large gumtree we can work under.
Brent gave me a pair of old boxing gloves not long after she got here, but with her injured arm I didn't want to push it.
But the stitches are out as of the two days ago.
I throw the gloves at her and tell her to put them on.
She looks at them in her hands, then back up at me. “I know how to fight, Rhys.”
“Clearly not. Put. Them. On.”
She puts the gloves on while eyeing me. She’s clearly picked up on my mood, which isn’t hard to do, I’m not being subtle about it. “What the fuck crawled up your ass today?”
A number of things. But the biggest thing is her. She’s fucking with my head.
“Fine, ignore me,” she doesn’t fight the smirk, “I’ll have fun kicking your ass.”
“Bring it, Princess.” I throw my bare hands up.
I just want to gauge how she goes. What sort of strength she has. What sort of combinations she knows and how she punches.
She throws her right hand out wide, followed by her left, then she kicks. I deflect the punches as they come. And when she kicks, I grab her ankle, just holding it, causing her to become unbalanced. Just as she’s about to fall, I let go. She manages to right herself before she falls .
“Come on, thought you said you were going to kick my ass?”
Her eyes narrow, and she attacks again. Same combination, but I don’t catch her foot. I let it connect. She smiles, thinking she won because she made contact.
“Your right hand is going out too wide. Closer to your body.” I show her what I mean by tucking my arm in by my own body. “Protect your body with your arms. Keep your fists by your face.”
She silently watches and then takes the stance. Did she just listen, and not argue? Looking over her stance, I move her feet so her dominant one is behind her.
“Better. Okay, now come at me.” I gesture with my hands in a come here motion.
We go over a few combinations, but she’s growing more and more frustrated. So naturally, I goad her a little.
Holding my hands out wide “Come on, Princess, I won’t stop any of your hits.”
She charges me causing me to fall backwards landing on my ass. She’s on top of me. “I hate you.” She cocks her fist back, and just as she’s about to bring it down I flip us, pinning her hands above her head, my knees either side of her hips.
“I know.”
She’s panting beneath me. Panic flashes in her eyes.
Come on Morgan, beat it. Don’t let it consume you.
As if hearing my thoughts she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in. Once, twice. Three times. And when her eyelids flutter open showing off her bright blue eyes, she tells me, “I know how to fight. I used to fight back.”
“Why did you stop? ”
“He said he liked it when I did. So, I stopped giving him that.” I watch as tears prick her eyes.
“Morgan.”
She doesn’t respond, just shoves at my chest.
I get up and offer her my hand, too quickly, because she flinches. She hasn’t flinched with me for almost a week, maybe a little longer. Maybe this was too much.
“Sorry.” I reoffer my hand, slower this time.
She takes it but says nothing. She looks at me, just when I think she might say something, she shakes her head, turns on her heels, and walks off. Esky is quick on her heels. Damn dingo. Letting her go, I decide a shower before the cops arrive might be wise.
I strip as I enter the house, leaving the clothes where they land. I’ll pick them up later. Entering the bathroom, I turn on the water and step under. We might live on the coast of nowhere, but damn do we have good water pressure.
I start to scrub my body, getting the dirt and sweat off. Doing my best to ignore that my cock is half hard. It’s been that way since I pinned Morgan down. I try to remind myself that it’s Morgan, but when I finish washing myself, my cock hasn’t deflated in the slightest, only gotten harder.
Fuck it. It’s just a wank.
I spit into my hand and wrap my fingers around my dick, squeezing slightly while I stroke. My cock grows firmer in my grasp. I repeat the action again, groaning when I’m completely erect. I place my forearm on the wall of the shower and let my forehead rest on it.
Closing my eyes, I play out a sexual encounter. Keeping the person in my head faceless. But she has full breasts and round hips perfect for me to hold on to while I fuck her from behind .
She seductively sways her hips side to side, as I line up at her entrance. I grab a fist of her plump flesh as push the velvet head of my cock into her tight cunt.
“Fuck.” I drag the word out as I imagine myself filling her, stretching her with my cock.
The water pelts my back as my hand works my length, chasing my release. The images fly through my mind. My hips thrusting in and out of her clinging body.
My hand tightens on my cock. Squeezing the tip. Forcing precum to bead at the head. I open my eyes. Watching the head of my cock swell. I fuck my hand quicker. My hips moving in time with my hand.
Fuck.
The base of my spine tinges, my balls drawing up, I’m so close. I teeter on the edge, my faceless woman turns to face me, and who is looking back at me?
Morgan.
And that’s all it takes to throw me over the edge. “Fuck, Morgan. Yes. Fuck.”
Ropes of cum land on the tiled shower wall.
When I come down from the high of my release, I realise what I did, and with whose name was my lips. In my head or not, that can’t happen again.
“It means nothing.” I try telling myself. She’s been the only woman I’ve had interaction with for the last, what, three weeks?
She was the last woman I kissed.
I should change that. I need to change that.
As if conjured by my thoughts, she’s at the door, “Hey Rhys, you done? The cops are here.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” I call back.
Once I rinse the wall of my cum, I get out and dry myself. While walking to my room, I pass Morgan who is running her eyes over my body. For whatever reason I puff up.
Best friend’s sister, dickhead.
I’m almost dressed when I button up my jeans, her words come rushing back “You done?”
Did she mean, the shower or me wanking? I don’t have time to ponder because Beau is calling out for me, “Oi Rhys, ya cunt, hurry up.”
There are two police officers up at the homestead talking to Brent.
They all look in my direction when they hear me approach.
A coroner is dealing with Trent’s body. We wrapped it as much as we could.
But the sharks and the Pilbara sun, that thing is…
well, it’s a sight. The coroner doesn’t flinch though.
“Mr. Donovan, we have a couple of questions.” The stocky male officer states.
“Sure.”
I follow him and he jumps straight into it.
Asking their open-ended questions, seeing if I can talk myself into what happened.
I do my best to be vague and answer in half truths.
As much as it seems like it was an accident, it wasn’t.
Or at least that's how a jury would see it. So half-truths. Yes, we went fishing. No, we didn’t push him, I'm sure my stabbing him didn’t help; no point dwelling on it though.
No, I have no idea why he attacked us; probably because he was convinced, we were going to kill him.
I give them just enough to not get myself cuffed.
They wrap up the questions, stating they have everything they need and that they’ll be in touch. I’m caught somewhere between relief and anxious. Everything was done in self-defence, kind of .
Brent, who isn’t very happy with me, but also understands why the guy had to go, approaches me. “You’re fucking lucky that you’re bruised and Davis is wounded, or I don’t think you would have gotten away with that.”
“We didn’t kill him, he fell in.” I wave my hand out in the direction of the coastline we pulled his body from, choosing not to add in the stabbing part.
“Did you stab him though, with intent to kill him?” Yeah, he has me there. “Exactly.”
His tone has me questioning, “You’re happy we’re hurt?”
“Yes.” And with that he walks away.
Yeah, he’s mad. To be fair I’m mad too, but for different reasons.
Him, because I dragged the station through something messy, and potentially put Molly in harm’s way.
Me, because I killed for Morgan, and she hasn’t acknowledged it.
I know Davis, loose lipped because he’s drugged up to the eyeballs on pain meds, has told her.
Not to mention she isn’t dumb, she would have worked it out. So, where’s the ‘thanks Rhys’?