Page 111 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
“Me, Benito and Cristiano.”
I bite my cheek. “And Tess and Tril are okay with it?”
He shifts on his seat, avoiding my gaze.
“They don’t know do they?”
“They will know by morning.”
I turn away, unable to stop the grin taking over my face. “Pray for your brothers, Andreas. My sisters don’t take kindly to being told what to do.”
Arrow and Viola help me get Andreas up to our room, before leaving to organize rooms for the men who came to help with the clean-up. I make sure he’s settled on the bed then head to the bathroom to wash my face and brush out my hair.
I hear his voice filter through the doorway.
“You’ll have to ride me tonight baby. These stitches are a bitch.”
I pop my head round the doorframe. “Your optimism is impressive.”
His voice lowers. “I need you, Sera. But I need you to go on top.”
I finish up and walk back into the bedroom. “So, what you’re saying is, I get to be in control for a change?”
“Um, no. I didn’t say that…”
“Oh, okay.” I smile while my eyes roll a little. “Tell me what to do then,sir.”
He shifts as though he’s uncomfortable, and his voice turns dry. “Keep calling me sir. That’s a good start.”
“Noted.” I pull the sweater over my head.
“Leave the dress on,” he says, his words clipped.
“This old thing?” I ask innocently. “You mean the same dress I just wore while I killed the men who tried to destroy us?”
He swallows, loudly. “Fuck.”
I leave the dress on but slowly remove my panties, kicking them to the side. My taut nipples stand tall beneath the green satin, craving his warm palms. I want to move faster but he’s clearly in pain. The morphine arrived and he refused to take it. Every now and then his lips twitch in what looks like a wince but he doesn’t let on to anyone how much the slice across his chest is bothering him.
“Why didn’t you take the morphine?” I ask.
His chest rises and falls as he watches me. “I might have more stamina than most men but even I can’t fuck on morphine.” He lifts a hand, extends a finger and curls it toward himself.
When I’m a foot away, I bend so my face is level with his. He watches my lips as he whispers in a low, broken timbre. “And after watching my wife emerge barefoot onto our porch, thenmow downthose parasites with my favorite machine gun, wearing an evening gown for Christ’s sake, I want to fuck her.Hard.”
I have to wet my lips which have suddenly been zapped of moisture. I’ve seen Andreas look ravenous, but now there’s a darkness in his eyes I haven’t seen before, like he’s seeing himself in me… like he’sawe-struck.
In the past I’d have shrunk back at a look like that. And that’s if I’d emerged from my room and my astrology books long enough to see someone capable of giving me a look like that. But today, after many months of being Mrs. Corioni, a woman healing from a decade of trauma, and the wife of the most intelligent, passionate and generous man I’ve ever met, I don’t shrink back—I lean in.
“Well, you can’t,” I whisper, brushing my lips over his. “So letmefuckyou, hard.”
His lids fall shut like he’s about to enter heaven after being promised only hell.
I reach down to unbuckle his belt. The sight of his cock straining to be freed makes my stomach turn toliquid. I pull down the zipper, then tug his pants and boxers down over his hips. His cock leaps as a tight groan leaves his throat.
Saliva floods my mouth at the sight and without thinking, I straddle his legs and take him into my mouth. He gasps in surprise, then a soft hum tells me his eyes are now open and he’s watching me suck his cock.
I love how he tastes—how the heat rises off his length. I love how the girth grows thicker as I wrap my lips around it. And I love the groans he emits when my lips make little sucking sounds over the taut skin. The most surprising thing I’ve discovered about giving my husband head is not that I would enjoy it this much—though thatwasa surprise—but that it makes me just as wet as his tongue makes me.
