Page 81 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
He finds a rhythm, stroking back and forth from my entrance to my clit, his hand sneaking between my thighs and his wrist pushing against my bottom.
As the pressure builds, I want to cry out, or at least moan a little, or gasp, but the close proximity of a flight attendant is keeping my lips shut tight.
As if he can sense my need, Andreas rests his left hand against his jeans, just below my breasts, and lifts his thumb. “Put this in your mouth,” he says softly.
At this point in the proceedings, I’m losing my damn mind with lust, so I don’t care about the implications for my dignity by wrapping my lips around his thumb. If anything, I’d like something to bite down on when he continues to torture me with his teasing fingers.
His thumb is thick and calloused. It isn’t the thumb of the suited professional he appears to be—it’s the thumb of a man who knows brute, physical work. I close my eyes against the temptation to wonder what kind of work that might be, and to my stunned surprise, I feel the climax building faster.
I writhe on his fingers and suck his whole thumb into my mouth. I suddenly wish another part of him were in my mouth.
When my lids lift in a daze I catch him in the corner of my eye. He’s watching me, completely consumed, his gaze dragging from his thumb in my mouth to my canted ass circling on his fingers, chasing their attention.
As the orgasm crests, I tighten my lips around his thumb and muffle a loud moan.
“Oh that’s a good girl,” he coos, as he presses his fingers into my folds, rubbing that little nub of nerves until I’m practically fucking his hand. “So good.”
The orgasm sizzles languidly and I continue to squirm on his lap, chasing every last tremor. My head is slowly spinning, the blood whirring behind my closed lids.
His hand pulls away but his thumb remains. I let it pop from my mouth then kiss it gently, all over.
I hear a wet lip-smacking sound and without opening my eyes I know my husband is licking my arousal from his fingers.
It makes me lustful for more.
I suck his thumb back into mouth and swirl my tongue around it, hoping he gets the message. And of course he does, because Andreas Corioni isexperienced.
“I love that you want more,” he murmurs, pushing his hand back between my thighs.
A pained moan falls out around his thumb when he softly strokes me again. I feel so wet I should be morbidly ashamed, but I’m not—I’m proud of myself for feeling unabashed and unapologetically turned on by my husband.
He pushes two fingers just inside my entrance and scissors them gently, giving me a sense of what’s to come, eventually. I rotate my hips, chasing his touch while also reveling in the growing thickness of his length beneath my stomach. Knowing how I turn my husband on makes me feel powerful.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking about, keep thinking it,” he whispers hoarsely. I feel like we’re being really naughty, doing sexual things when there are people so close by. “It’s making you very,verywet, my angel.”
Power. That’s what I was thinking about. The fact I make my husband—this beautiful, dangerous man who rules an entirearmy—hard.
I did that.
Idothat.
If I have this effect on him before he’s been inside me, what’s he going to be like afterward?
I shiver with lust and I’m rewarded with calloused fingers softly circling my clit. I moan again and tease my teeth along his thumb.
“You were made to be worshipped, Sera.” he coos. “You fit so well in my lap. This exquisite,breath-takingbody was designed just for me.”
My lids flutter closed as I focus all my senses on his caress. It makes my head spin.
Then he drifts a thumb over my bottom, pressing it to the opening there. My eyes flash open and I stop moving.
“Shh,” he whispers gently. “I’m not going to do anything that won’t feel good. Trust me.”
My pussy is aching and I can’t bear for him to stop pulling me to that edge, so I swirl my tongue around his thumb and whimper my permission for him to continue.
He doubles down on my clit, tugging it between his fingers, rubbing it softly, then firmly. Just as my moans become incoherent, his other thumb breaches my back entrance. This time, I’m too close to that pinnacle to stop him, and the more I writhe, the deeper I take his thumb.
“This is so. Damn. Hot,” he rasps, his hands completely full of me.
