Chapter 7 Rhiannon, Crisis of Conscience & Lies #3
Slim, gentle hands pushed bread at her, and she felt the tears fall down her cheeks.
She was so hungry and so scared and she hadn’t heard from her mother in days.
And this woman, this angel, was her one tether to sanity.
The one that offered sustenance, but above all, hope.
Sweet, sweet hope that maybe she would live, maybe they would both be free.
Despite the cell holding her in. Despite the bruises covering the soft skin, bruises she wanted to erase. Bruises she wanted to avenge.
The woman extended her hand, laying it through the bars on her shoulder, and the connection bloomed, the emotion and the quiet murmured promise feeding her, sustaining her better than food, holding her fear at bay and awakening something in her, something so gentle she wanted to weep again.
And she wanted to touch, to caress, to hold, to kiss…
Rolling her eyes at herself again was useless. She clearly was under some sort of spell, wound up by her sexless years and the memories of this place tearing her soul. Insanity was plausible if not also entirely probable.
“Have you spoken to Ceridwen, then?”
Prudence’s gaze was open, honest.
“No, but I figured if you didn’t show up here today or tomorrow, Sunday would be my chance to go visit the garden center. I can’t have any more plants, I think I am overdoing it, but seeing her is always a pleasure and she seemed…inclined to answer my questions.”
“Clever girl.”
Did her voice really get that low? Did she mean for her intonation to be that suggestive?
Just two words. Ordinary, regular words, but Rhiannon felt the air suddenly change between them.
They were in the view of the entire Market Square, and yet the intimacy of the moment felt complete, overwhelming in the images it instantly conjured in her mind.
And judging by the way Prudence’s eyelashes fluttered, her mouth parting on a silent O, lips soft, full…
a pink tongue coming out to wet them her chest and neck flushing bright red.
Did this woman know what she was unleashing?
And what in the hell am I even thinking?
Rhiannon watched as the gray in those wondrous eyes darkened, and the fury of her own beating heart sounded like a drum in her ears.
A call to arms, if there ever was one. A call to devour.
A hungry, ravenous call to take. Flashes of blonde hair in her grip, of torn cotton and red marks blooming on silky skin, made her shudder.
She could do it. One step… Just one step and her fingers could caress the edges of that flush, trace it, slip under the simple shirt, watch it pool down at their feet, and discover how low it spread, how it looked on that chest, rising and falling fast, so fast…
Too fast for someone who only seconds ago was so self-contained, so sure.
Rhiannon had the strongest urge to bring her lips to the graceful neck, the flush giving it such a delectable allure, the pulse beating there double time, fluttering like a caught bird—
Well, well, well…
Rhiannon leaned in, just an inch, and inhaled.
The scent did something to her mind. It was instant and she felt addicted.
The words sent her reeling were not enough to describe her back teeth aching with the sweetness of it, with the recognition of it.
She felt drunk on the fresh, warm, ready smell of woman, of…
her. She inhaled again, deeper and closed her eyes, savoring, almost tasting.
Prudence actually moaned. A quiet note, barely there at all, and the biting of the lower lip suggested she didn’t mean it to slip out, didn’t mean to make that sound that almost floored Rhiannon.
Another second and one of them would be on her knees.
And, well…that image did nothing to clear Rhiannon’s head.
It only made her mouth water, the vision of Prudence at her feet, hiking Rhiannon’s skirt up, bowing her head, her hands trembling on Rhiannon’s thighs…
A seagull swooping and stealing the ice cream cone from a tourist’s hand down on the Market Square and the answering, pitiful cry of a disappointed toddler pulled Rhiannon from the reverie.
She blinked, watched her fantasy, which she could almost feel still slowly pulling her thong to the side before devouring her whole, disappear into the thin air.
Prudence’s eyes, still blown wide, as if they were seeing the same images, were beginning to clear.
This was getting out of hand, and fast. And because it was getting out of hand, and because it was doing so very fast, faster than Rhiannon was comfortable with, faster than she could control, judging by her own reactions to this woman, she chose the easy way.
Wasn’t her code of honor dependent on her mood when all was said and done? And her mood was fickle and cruel and currently miffed by her own inability to stop watching the gentle blush creep up that gorgeous long neck without wanting to leave her mark.
Screw responsibility. In the long run, this woman would thank Rhiannon. Prudence didn’t need the burden of the craft. Nor the burden of Rhiannon being the one to introduce it to her.
Decision made, she gave Prudence the most placid smile she could muster.
“I came up to tell you that it’s nothing to worry about. This place is known for some of the crazy stories and fantastical legends. I think people get influenced by that.”
Prudence’s eyes flew open and the ash in them was cold, all fire extinguished.
“And I think this is the very first lie you’ve told me, Rhiannon Crowhart.”
With that, Prudence turned around and walked into her apartment, shutting the door to the balcony with a loud snick of the lock.