Page 46 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream (Dark Hearts #3)

S erafina

We fall through the door into the hotel suite, hands grabbing at each other like feral animals.

That dinner stoked something inside me that’s been hidden my whole life.

Watching my husband drag a bitter signature from that woman’s hands while feeling me up under my dress, and hearing his twisted threats muttered beneath shadowy breaths made me flustered, proud and power-hungry.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so strongly for someone in my life.

I wanted to get on my knees for him in that room, toast his victory with his cock in my mouth.

Not that he’ll give it to me. He won’t give it to me in any shape or form until I’ve loved every one of my scars. And I still have six more to go.

He tears the dress off my body while I grope at his shirt, yanking it until buttons pop across the room. With our mouths locked in a passionate frenzy we somehow make it to the bedroom. He falls back onto the mattress while I crawl over him like a wildcat, eager to devour my kill.

“Pick one,” he orders.

I have one ready. I’ve had it ready since we left the dinner.

“Here,” I whimper, resting a finger on one of the few scars I have left.

He issues a rough demand into my mouth. “Now take out my cock.”

What?

Oh shit . I’ve never handled one before and I’m not even sure how to “take it out.”

He senses my pause and pulls back, staring at me with red-rimmed and wild eyes.

When he dips his gaze, I swallow. My fingers shake as I fumble with his belt buckle.

He doesn’t offer me any help at all, and if anything, I feel his cock stretch even wider beneath his pants.

With the belt loose, I start on the button.

It pops free with a feverish sigh. The zipper slides down easily, freeing the tension around his cock.

Black cotton boxers sit taut beneath the slacks. There’s no zipper, no buttons, just a fold with some skin straining beneath.

I inhale shakily and reach out to move the fabric. As my fingers brush the tight flesh, Andreas sucks in a harsh breath and his chest heaves .

“Do it,” he barks.

I swallow again but nothing is going to wet my dry throat.

I push my fingers into the tight gap and my heads spins at the realization I’m touching his cock.

Really touching it. It’s not what I expected.

The skin is soft but the thickness inside is surprisingly hard.

The girth is so wide I can hardly wrap my hand around it, and when I try to slide it out, it takes an age for it to pull free.

When it stands erect, I gulp. My husband wasn’t lying when he said he could tear my insides.

While I have literally nothing to compare it to, something assures me Andreas is more heavily endowed than the average man.

I lift my gaze and see that he’s watching me closely, his eyes black with desire. My finger is back resting on my scar.

Without dipping his focus, he sits up, drifts a hand purposefully to my panties and tugs them to one side, then pulls me forward until his cock is pressing against my pubic bone.

We are skin on skin—his cock between my legs.

I believed him when he said he wasn’t going to break me in until I was ready.

Looking at the size of him, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. But Lord help me, I want to be.

He transfers his other hand to my hip and coaxes me into a slow, deliberate movement, drawing my bottom up a few inches then sliding it back down.

The cluster of nerve-endings at my clit rubs slowly up and down his dick.

I gasp at the sensation. My clit on his dick.

Me on him. Skin to skin. It feels so amazing I can’t utter a word.

His eyes burrow into mine, watching the effect every movement has on me. A dirty smile pulls at his lips, then it’s quickly chased by a fallen smirk when I lift myself and rub my clit over his tight crown.

“Fuck, Sera. I knew this would feel good, but not this fucking good. If you keep this up baby, I’m going to paint your chest.”

His words pull more arousal from my opening, making it easier to slide up and down his thick length.

“God, Andreas …” I let my eyelids fall with pure pleasure.

“I know,” he groans. “I know.”

I’m losing my mind. He’s stopped moving my hips now because they’re moving of their own accord. I’m chasing friction while loving the feel of him, like warm steel against my folds.

I lift myself a little too high, deliberately, and hold his gaze while I bite down on my bottom lip, then I lower myself onto the crown of his cock.

His hands tighten around my waist and his eyes go even darker.

He must only be inside me half an inch but I can already feel the stretch.

I try to push myself down further but his hands stop me.

“Not yet,” he says through gritted teeth.

I swallow, silently begging him to just do it. I can’t wait anymore. I want this man. I belong to this man. I need him to claim me, finally. Make me his. Truly his .

A growl erupts from his throat. “Not. Yet. ”

“But I’m ready, Andreas,” I whimper. “I’m aching for this. I want to feel you inside me. I don’t care if it hurts.”

He levels me with a glare I can only imagine has his victims inhaling their last breath. “Don’t make me say it again.” His fingers dig into my ribs so hard I can feel bruises forming.

With frustrated reluctance, I lift myself off his crown and slide back down his dick pulling a frayed moan from my chest.

“You are going to be so fucked, Serafina,” he pants, grabbing me again and taking charge of the pace of my movements.

I grip onto his shoulders and let him jerk off against my pussy. My breasts bounce with the frantic motion and my clit starts to sing.

“Oh God, Sera. I can feel you coming on my cock.”

He thickens between my thighs and I dig my claws into him, trying to hold on.

“I’m going to cover you any second. Fuck me hard, baby.”

Blood rushes from every edge of my body to my smoldering core and I release a rootless cry. I throb fiercely over his cock, my thighs parting wide so I can feel more of him.

More. More. More.

He keeps moving me, even as his cock swells and his thighs brace. Come shoots between us, covering us both in white semen. He keeps the pace, drawing out every last bit, painting us both. There’s tons of it .

When he finally lowers me, my thighs are trembling and my breaths shake. I press my mouth to his shoulder and inhale the salty steam rising off him. That was raw and brutal and so completely intense I feel like I’ll never recover.

“Now look at yourself.”

I pull back, drawing my sated gaze to his and he nods to the pools of semen coating my stomach. I let my lids fall until my scars are all I see. The one I chose seems to glow brightly having been brought out into the light, no longer hidden away beneath secrets and silence.

“What do you say?” he asks in a low, gritty voice.

My breath shudders as I focus my full attention on the thickened skin that has endured so much. “I love you,” I whisper.

“Again,” he orders.

My bottom lip trembles and I continue to roam my gaze over the lines and scores. “I love you.”

“Again.”

“I…” I have to swallow. “I love you.”

“Again.”

Something spears through my heart and my gaze slows to a halt.

Andreas doesn’t speak. He just presses a warm hand to my back.

I stare at the mended skin, seeing for the first time it’s repeated attempts to heal itself after the pain and damage I inflicted on it.

I can’t believe I did this to myself .

I can’t believe things had become so unbearable that this was the only way out.

The skin rises up in a beautiful patchwork and I look closely, as if observing it for the first time. I remember each cut, each incision, every trigger that drove me to a blade. I feel the hurt just as acutely now as when each incident happened.

Tears roll down my cheeks and my shoulders loosen, the release pouring from my eyes. The more I look, the more I see the layers I’d wrapped around myself, the skin that grew over the cuts, the Band-Aids that covered the hurt. And finally, they’re starting to peel away.

With each fresh round of tears comes another peeled layer. My dreams, my desires, my nature . They weren’t truly mine.

The career I thought I wanted—that wasn’t me. That was my fear guiding me to safety. I needed to get away from the memories, from my life—from myself.

The astrology books I buried my head in. They were an escape, a way to avoid reality, a means of absolving responsibility for my life and my choices.

My personality—my role as the sensible one, the moralistic one, the one who watched everyone else live their lives while I stayed in the ‘quiet’ corner and cheered them on. That wasn’t me. It has never been me. And the only person to ever see that is Andreas.

My emotions ebb and flow. I can’t hate what I’ve done; I can only understand and forgive. I can’t promise I won’t ever do it again—it's just not that simple—but my confidence is growing the more I learn about myself and what I need.

I trace my finger over all of my scars, feeling Andreas’ eyes follow.

I forgive myself for the damage I caused.

I love this skin so hard it hurts.

A thick thumb wipes away my tears, and the blurriness clears.

From this moment on, scars or no scars, I am me and no one else. I wouldn’t want to be anyone else. The love I feel for myself in this moment is staggering.

I look into my husband’s teary eyes and know that he can see it too.

He reaches a palm up to cup my cheek then gently pulls me into him. I melt into an embrace that I feel across every inch of my skin.

And for the first time in my life, I feel perfectly, flawlessly, unconditionally, loved.