Page 73 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
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 needsomething. 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.
Hegrowls. “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’mthisclose 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 thebeautiful 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.
