Page 39 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream (Dark Hearts #3)

A solid thickness presses into my stomach.

I should be withering in embarrassment but it only makes me ravenous.

I inch my hips forward so I can feel all of him—his entire beautiful being.

He hisses a breath in through his teeth then leans into my neck and continues to French kiss from my earlobe to the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. My gasp ricochets around the doorway.

He licks his way back up my neck and smothers my mouth again, a thick hand pushing up through my hair, wrapping it into a curled fist. A moan floats from my lips to his, and the place between my thighs throbs painfully.

Then he pulls back sharply and grips my hand. “Home.”

“But… we only just got he?—”

“Home,” he repeats with more urgency.

My heart pounds against the wall of my chest. Is this it?

Is he going to take my virginity? As much as I know it will hurt, I need something .

The walls of my vagina are pulsing to the point of uncomfortable.

I could settle for his fingers but the depth of the ache tells me my body needs something larger, thicker, deeper.

The thought of it makes my panties feel wet.

I scurry along beside him, barely holding it together.

I don’t even feel the chilly night air as he pulls me along the sidewalk to the waiting car.

He pushes me urgently into the back seat, then leans his body between me and the front of the car, and goes back to kissing me with a mindlessness bordering on crazy.

As the car pulls out into the road, his hand slides underneath my dress and pushes slowly but ruthlessly up the inside of my thigh. He doesn’t falter, even as he grazes my scars.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs dryly into my mouth.

When his fingertips reach my panties, he stops, then slowly dips a finger into my heat. I feel it slip easily through my arousal.

He growls . “Is this for me? ”

I nod, too embarrassed and too overblown with lust to answer.

A long, satisfied moan leaks from his lips.

I squirm on the seat of the car, needing his finger to move, to do something. He lowers back to my mouth, curling his tongue against mine while he gently rims my opening. Then he presses the pad of his thumb against my clit and I practically leap into his hand.

He groans into my open mouth then pulls away, leaving his thumb thankfully where I need it.

“I’m so sorry,” he rasps, and my heart pounds harder. “I’ve neglected you.”

“No you haven’t.” There’s a desperate edge to my tone before I grip the back of his head and pull his lips back. My hips roll into his hand.

“God, look at you, my angel. Such a needy little thing.”

His words make my head spin and I moan into his mouth. His thumb rubs me lightly but I need more and he isn’t giving it to me.

“Please,” I moan.

He licks across my tongue then makes out with the edge of my lips. “Shhh,” he says, in an attempt, I think, to slow me down.

I’m right on that edge and I need to tip over it because otherwise, I don’t know what to do with this urge. If it keeps building, I’m going to combust.

“Home,” he says softly, before sucking at my earlobe and planting wet kisses from my temple to the corner of my eye and back to my lips .

I’m incoherent with lust.

His fingers continue to tease me like the villain they belong to, and no matter how hard I try to press into them, they never give me what I need.

I’m this close to hating them.

The car slows and Andreas withdraws his hand.

It is replaced by a sudden rush of cold air.

The door opens and Andreas climbs out, pulling me with him.

When I don’t keep up with his enormous strides up the steps to the front door, he turns around and scoops me up into his arms like I weigh nothing. And believe me, I don’t weigh nothing.

I’ve no idea how he manages it but he holds me in one arm while he uses the other to unlock the door, then he carries me inside and kicks it shut. I admire the smooth and easy way he moves with a curvy woman in his arms. His jaw doesn’t tense; only his arms solidify to hold me up.

Without setting me down he bends his head and drifts his gaze to mine.

I let out a breath, needing his lips again.

He gives them to me while walking us toward the foot of the stairs.

Instead of carrying me up them, he extends his free arm and swipes it across the table in the center of the entrance hall.

The giant vase filled with roses and lilies crashes to the floor and smashes into a Jackson Pollock of bone china, thorned stalks and blood-colored petals.

Then he sets me down on the edge of the table and detaches his mouth. Pressing a hand to my chest, he pushes me backward until my spine is lying on the beautiful oak surface. He shoves my dress up to my hips then bends both of my knees, placing my high-heeled feet on the table edge.

Then he steps back and drags his dark eyes over me. I shiver at the look on his face. Veins throb at his temple, his jawbone juts out as he grinds his teeth, and his brow has dipped so low his cheekbones are nothing but shadows.

Then his knees smack against the hardwood floor and his large, hot hands wrap around my ankles.

My breaths come out short and shallow and every sense is attuned to what he’s doing or is about to do next. Cool air glides across my wet panties, drawing my attention back to my need. I need his touch again.

In answer to my prayer, his lips stroke my left ankle and I moan, nudging my body down the table toward him.

His tongue darts out and he licks his way long and slow up to my kneecap.

His fingers chase the wet trail, pinching and stroking the skin on my calf, setting my nerves ablaze.

He switches feet and does the same to my right, all the while kneading and caressing both of my lower legs.

Then he shifts back to my left and works his way up my thigh.

I can’t stop myself from tensing up as his mouth approaches my scars.

He’s closer now and he isn’t stopping. I suck in a deep breath and hold it, my fingers curling round the edge of the table. When he reaches the first scar, a small squeak works its way out of my throat and he lifts his head to look at me .

“You don’t need to tense, my angel. You’re beautiful …”

My heart pumps, searching for the breath I’m still holding in my lungs.

Hot, moist lips come down onto my scars and he hums gently into the traumatized skin. I slowly release the breath but not the table. I can’t get past the hideous mess I’ve made of my legs and the weak ness it reveals.

His kisses soften me until I find myself panting again. He’s been making out with my thighs for just a few minutes and I’m desperate again for a release.

I reach my hands down and find his head. It bobs up and down as he licks and kisses my scars with such devotion it makes my head spin. I apply pressure to the back of his head and feel a debauched growl roll across his shoulders.

Suddenly, he’s lifting my bottom off the table and peeling my panties down my legs. I shake with anticipation. Then my legs are wrapped around his thick, muscular neck and he fastens his mouth to my clit.

I nearly come off the table. I’ve never been kissed down there before and…

shit. My toes curl and my head swims. The scratch of his cheek stubble along the inside of my thighs makes me feel so naughty and dirty.

I grip his head and pull him closer. His tongue dips downward and he leaves my clit to lick my arousal and explore the entrance to my body.

His tongue doesn’t dip very far inside at all, but it’s enough to drive me insane with want.

I choke out a deranged sob, needing more.

The sounds of wet sucking and panted breaths fill the entrance hall, making me feel even more crazed.

The knuckles gripping his hair turn white and I roll my hips needing him deeper.

I ping my eyes open and look up at the huge crystal chandelier hanging from two floors above me.

I must look like a sacrificial lamb on a platter in the center of a banquet table.

More incoherent sounds come out of my mouth as his tongue circles me deeper and deeper, making me writhe. I tug him again and he moves his lips higher, latching them onto my clit. And he sucks .

My whole world retreats into the background as a forceful climax slams into me. My back arches off the table and his hands press deep into my thighs as he feasts. I’m an unraveling roll of thread, chasing his lips like a cat after its next kill.

My awareness goes dark and only the sound of a hand wiping across a mouth and the soft squeak of calf leather on the hardwood floor anchor me to the present. Then air whooshes beneath my back as I’m lifted, boneless, and carried over crunching porcelain up the stairs.

I drift in and out of sleep as my husband undresses me and tucks my pliable limbs into the freshly made crisp cotton sheets. The last sound I hear is the click of the bathroom door as it closes, and the soft sigh of darkness over Massachusetts.