Page 44 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream (Dark Hearts #3)

But that’s another thing. Another unexpected revelation.

I don’t miss it. Not like I thought I would.

I’m certainly not thinking about it right now.

I’m thinking about orphaned and abandoned children growing up on the streets, entering a life of crime because there’s no encouragement or opportunity to do anything else.

I look over his shoulder to the Washington Monument and let my brows knit together. “I don’t know.”

I sense his shoulders lift. “You don’t know? I thought it was your dream.”

“So did I,” I murmur. “But I’m not sure anymore.”

His hand slides down to my arm and he pulls me into his chest .

It’s something I’ve thought about a lot in the last few weeks. The yearning I thought would linger has left. It’s almost as though it had been fabricated from the start.

Some reflection, with the help of Dr. Nowak, has suggested I grasped onto the idea of hospitality because it was my key to getting away from the life I feared—the life I thought I hated because it took away my mama. But I’m beginning to realize it’s not so much the life I hate, it’s the Marchesi’s.

Andreas’ voice vibrates above me. “I’m sorry I did that to you. It’s just…”

My ear is pressed to his chest, half of me listening to his pounding heart, but my senses reach out to hear the rest of this sentence.

“It’s just, what?”

Several beats pass before he replies. “I needed you.”

My pulse thumps.

“All of you. Every inch of you.”

My arms wrap around him, holding him tightly.

“And I don’t just mean your body; I needed your mind, your focus, your support, your heart. All of it.”

I lift my head, then press a kiss to his chest. It’s quite possible he already has it.

He releases my body and holds my face between his hands then kisses me with a depth that lifts me off my feet.

It’s raw, unguarded and all-encompassing, his movements on the edge of rough.

The presence of people walking past, the noise of the traffic all recedes into nothing as the entirety of my awareness is tunneled into the feeling of this dangerous yet vulnerable man’s lips on mine.

And I fall just a little bit harder.

We return to the hotel just as night begins to fall. The temperature has dropped but I’m sizzling beneath my clothes. My attraction to my husband and my yearning for all of him has only intensified with the understanding of his truth. In fact, it is fast becoming an obsession.

While he steps outside the suite to make a call, I lock myself in the bathroom and change into the sauciest lingerie I was able to find. I bought it online because there is no way I could have purchased this set with Viola and two of my husband’s men in tow.

The bra is barely half-cup, my nipples peeking over the top of the scantest, prettiest pink lace.

The straps are woven vines made of silk thread, the cups meticulously finished with tiny picots.

The briefs are exactly that, the edges delicately scalloped and shaped to make my curvy legs look a little longer.

When I loosen my hair so that it falls about my shoulders, the reflection staring back at me in the mirror looks downright scandalous.

I hear the door to the hotel suite close and my heartrate sweeps up with nerves. When I open the bathroom door, he’s standing at the doorway to the bedroom, still wearing his coat .

For a minute we stare at each other. My bare feet tremble in the carpet. His jaw grinds slowly as his gaze assaults my entire body.

“On the bed.”

The way he snarls out the words makes me giddy with nerves. Have I just pushed him too far? I knew this lingerie set could ignite something, but blistering hot fury was not one of those somethings.

I walk quickly to the bed and crawl across it to the middle, then I hug my arms around myself, suddenly afraid of what I’ve triggered.

I can’t look away as he whips off his coat and strides deliberately across the room as though he’s about to slit someone’s throat.

He climbs on to the comforter next to me, shoves my hands away from my legs then wraps one arm around my middle, dragging me to the head of the bed.

He does it with such ease I question whether it’s actually happening.

His back slams against the headboard and he whisks me over his thighs, seating me on his lap, facing him, then he reaches his hands up and palms my breasts with an insane look in his eyes.

His voice grits like waves over sand. “I don’t know what you are made of, but it’s fucking addictive.”

Then he tucks a thick finger over the edge of my bra and pulls it down until my breast pops out buoyantly. With a deep moan he leans forward and sucks the nipple into his hot mouth.

The relief is out of this world. I clutch at his hair and gasp his name, drawing another moan from his throat. He continues to palm my other breast while he consumes the one in his mouth, gorging on it like a starving, unhinged animal.

My pussy throbs, needing some kind of release. Without thinking, I push my own hand into my panties and rub myself, breathing out a long sigh.

He releases my breast with a slick pop and stares at the space between my thighs. I stop moving my hand, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Don’t stop,” he rasps. “I want to watch.”

My heart flies up into my throat, but a need to see more of that look on his face overrides my embarrassment and I push my fingers back through my folds.

His cock grows fast beneath me, lifting me a little higher, tilting my pelvis and giving him a better view.

“Pick one,” he grunts.

Shit. I forgot about my scars.

“This one,” I breathe. I lightly tap one of the few remaining scars on my upper thigh, then return my fingers to my clit. My coordination is challenged but he doesn’t seem to care, and it feels so good I don’t care either.

“Make yourself come,” he drawls, his words slurring with lust. “I want to see you drip onto your fingers.”

Oh fuck. He may not speak many words, but when he does, they hit me hard.

“You’re so wet, baby. Rub it into your clit. I want to see.”

I do as he instructs. I’m addicted to that look on his face, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing .

“Will this one count?” I ask breathlessly.

He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “Oh yeah.”

Thank God. I’m not sure how much longer I can wait until he gives me all of him. The thought fills me with nerves of the very best kind.

“You are so engorged. Look at you.”

I glance down and almost pass out at the sight. My hand is coated in my arousal, my opening red and swollen.

“Keep looking at yourself,” he orders. “Press your fingertips to your clit, like this.”

He maneuvers my fingers and makes them stroke tight circles over the nub.

“Watch yourself, baby. Watch yourself come.”

Oh. Lord. His words make me feel light-headed. Or maybe that’s the blood rushing at breakneck speed to the cluster of nerve-endings beneath my fingers.

“Harder, baby. This is so fucking hot. You’ve got this.”

I’m writhing on his thighs and he isn’t even touching me. It’s me. I’m making myself feel like this and he’s watching it all.

“Make love to that fucking beautiful clit for me.”

A blinding heat slams into my lower spine and I cry out.

My fingers falter with the intensity of my orgasm.

I feel his hands ram up beneath my arms and I’m lifted into the air.

He attaches his mouth to my pussy and sets off a new, hard, extreme set of convulsions through my blood, shattering my insides.

I grip his hair and sob as he licks and sucks ferociously, drawing climax after climax from my core.

When I literally cannot come anymore he lowers me to his chest and strokes my back until all my tears are spent.

“Sera?” he whispers, his throat hoarse.

I keep my face buried in his chest. “Mm-hm.”

“That was fucking incredible.”

I feel too weak to respond, too weak to lift my head even.

“Let’s get you tucked in.”

He pulls back the bedsheets and pops me under the comforter as though I’m as light as a feather.

“I’ll be right back.”

I find strength from somewhere and sit up. “Where are you going?”

I know exactly where he’s going. He’s going to the bathroom, like he always does after he’s made me come. I want to know why.

He stands at the side of the bed, his shirt partially ripped, his pants creased but fully intact. His lip curls up in one corner. “To the bathroom. For a little privacy.”

“Are you going to jerk off?” I don’t think I’ve ever said those words before and they make me feel dirty. Dirty and hot. I stare at him, my insides twisting in disbelief. How can I still feel hot?

He shoves his hands in his pockets which only makes the enormous bulge in his pants more prominent. “Of course I am, baby. I won’t be able to walk until I get rid of this hard on. ”

“Don’t go,” I whisper. “I want to watch you too.”

His brow knits. “You want to watch me jerk off?”

I nod eagerly.

Keeping his eyes on me, he pulls his hands out of his pockets, unzips his slacks and steps out of them. When his boxers join them on the floor I cast my gaze timidly to his cock, then swallow hard. It stands upright, the skin taut, a dark pink hue.

He climbs back onto the bed and leans back against the pillows. Then he points to a spot further down the bed which I shift to. Then I sit on my knees and wait.

His gaze locks onto mine as he wraps a hand around his cock, but I can’t help but look down to watch the movement of his strokes. They’re tight and firm and unrelenting, like he’s punishing himself for getting turned on.

His chest rises and falls, the pace of his breaths quickening. His gaze still doesn’t move from my face.

“Keep watching my cock like that and I will come in seconds.”

I do. When a glistening pearl appears on the tip, something innate pushes me forward onto my hands and knees, over his tensed thighs, and before he can stop me, I dart my tongue over it, swiping the liquid into my mouth.

The saltiness startles me, but not as much as the white-hot rage barely concealed beneath his fixed jaw.

His free hand connects with my breast bone, holding me at arm’s length and he continues to stroke himself, harder and more forcefully than before.

I lower onto his thighs and watch intensely, glued to the way his cock thickens, widens, lengthens.

His nostrils flare, his breaths shorten, and a low growl rises up from his chest. Then his balls tighten and white semen shoots out of the crown onto his stomach. He stills, squeezing his hand tight around his length, his eyes glazing over as he watches me watching him come.

His chest heaves with gasped breaths that almost match mine. That was the hottest thing I think I’ve ever seen. I extend my arm, and before his reflexes can kick in, I’ve scooped up a fingerful of his semen and I’m sucking it off the tip. The saltiness makes my taste buds burst and my mouth water.

Venom spews from his eyes as I struggle to compute why he’s fighting me. Then I drop my gaze for a second. He’s still hard. Even harder than before if that’s possible.

“Go to the bathroom and lock yourself inside,” he says in a voice so deep and otherworldly I half wonder if someone else is in the room.

“Wh—?”

“GO!” he roars.

I scramble backward off the bed and run to the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind me.

I stand facing the handle, trembling with confusion.

I hear him move about the room, the occasional slam of a door confirming he’s still inside the suite.

Despite the fact there’s a part of my husband that terrifies me, I am so saturated with lust for this man, he could kill me with a climax and I would die happy.