Page 21 of Yearn

And those hands.

Those knuckles shining in the porch light.

If just watching those hands grip that huge cock could make me ache, what would those same fingers feel like playing with my pussy?

And God help me, the thought didn’t stop at his hands—it slid straight to his mouth. The way his lips would close over my nipple, the way his tongue might lap at me like I was the sweetest secret he’d ever been given.

The way he licked his lips sometimes at breakfast—just an unconscious swipe—suddenly rewrote itself in my mind. That tongue wasn’t made for casual gestures. No, it was made to spread me open, to drink me down like a meal he’d been starving for.

I closed my eyes, hoping to calm myself.

I wanted to know how his mouth tasted when it was desperate. I wanted to feel his lips dragging heat across the softest parts of me, his breath catching against my skin. I wanted him pressed between my thighs, undone and unholy, because of me.

A low, traitorous throb lit up between my legs, sharp as if my pussy had just remembered it was alive.

Wow.

I poured water and drank half the glass in one go.

The cold steadied me.

I set the glass down and felt the tremble in my fingers. I braced them on the counter to stop it, but the tremble had already moved lower, a hush through my belly and a warmth that I did not want to name.

And. . .I almost asked if he needed help with that. . .

Of course that would not have been smart. The kids were upstairs getting ready for bed. They were slow because theywould be horsing around, but they didn’t need to come downstairs and catch Mommy stroking their buddy Dom’s very erect cock.

Wow. So. . .I have to talk to him about this.

It would have been one thing to do that if I didn’t have kids in the house. It was another thing with them being upstairs.

I didn’t want to talk to him about it. But I also couldn’t stop seeing him, fist tight, cock swollen, looking at me like I was the only thing he’d ever needed.

His face hit me again. That look did something to me I did not want to analyze with the lights on.

No man had looked at me like that in years, not even before my marriage crumbled. Dominic looked at me like I was more than tired eyes, love handles, and stretch marks—like I was worth losing control for.

In that moment, I wasn’t invisible, I wasn’t tired, I wasn’t worn out—I was the center of his universe.

And his cock yearned to meet me.

And God help me, I liked it. I loved the reminder that someone could still want me so much the rest of the world fell away.

Yeah. . .he was jacking off to me. . .

His cock might’ve been in his fist, but his hunger was all over me, every drop of it screaming my name.

My pulse jumped as the memory edged closer. I pushed it away, and it returned, stubborn and bright.

Damn. . .

I grabbed a dish from the drying rack and turned on the water to rinse a plate that did not need rinsing.

The faucet hissed, but at least the sound covered the thoughts I could not control.

And I had already planned on going down to the basement to thank him. . .

I thought about the dinner Dominic had clearly arranged—the chef with his crisp apron and polite bow, the roses, my babies in their little suits and red bow ties. I thought about how quickly I had accepted a man I didn’t know in my kitchen, all because my children swore they’d saved up their allowance and hired him, when I knew the whole time Dominic was pulling the strings.