Page 87 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
Venom spews from his eyes as I struggle to compute why he’s fighting me. Then I drop my gaze for a second. He’s still hard. Even harder than before if that’s possible.
“Go to the bathroom and lock yourself inside,” he says in a voice so deep and otherworldly I half wonder if someone else is in the room.
“Wh—?”
“GO!” he roars.
I scramble backward off the bed and run to the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind me. I stand facing the handle, trembling with confusion. I hear him move about the room, the occasional slam of a door confirming he’s still inside the suite. Despite the fact there’s a part of my husband thatterrifiesme, I am so saturated with lust for this man, he could kill me with a climax and I would die happy.
Andreas
It takes a good ten minutes for my cock and my temper to return to normal. I had to get her out of harm’s way. The sight of her sucking my come into her mouth undid me. My cock was still hard and ready to go again. If she hadn’t moved when she did, I’d have fucked her so rough, I’d have ripped her open.
I rap my knuckles on the bathroom door. “You can come out now.”
The lock clicks and the door opens slowly.
“Are you okay?” she asks in a quiet voice.
“Yeah. I am now.”
The door widens. Thankfully, she’s got dressed into a pink satin robe. It’s still saucy as fuck but at least those achingly peaked nipples and swollen clitare hidden from view.
“Did I do something wrong?”
I shake my head, my eyelids drifting closed. “You did nothing wrong. I just need to learn to control myself better around you.”
“Well,” she says, with an emerging confidence as she walks past me into the bedroom. “I loved that, Andreas, and I will want to do it again. So you better learn fast.”
My jaw falls open as she disappears into the main suite.
Well, that told me.
Twenty-four hours and another four orgasms for my wife later, we’re walking into the Cosmos Club to have dinner with some Washington officials, including my formermistake.
The dining room is dimly lit, all golden sconces and polished mahogany. It’s the kind of place where secrets echo louder than laughter, and I should know—I’ve traded most of them.
My wife looks radiant beside me in a navy silk dress, her gait precise, her carriage composed. Every day she shows me a new side of herself that I can’t help but be infatuated with, and every day she fits a little better into the life I’ve carved out for her in my world.
She holds her own at my side as we make small talk with a number of government officials, delicately steering conversation around the unfortunate anduntimely death of Governor Grayson. I’m relieved when we sit down for dinner, because this is when I intend to get what I came here for.
Secretary Olsson is seated directly across the table from me. Ignoring my wife at my side, she smiles over her wine as if this is just another political gala, not the culmination of all my work to date. She knows I need her signature so I can crest the summit and get my plans on the road. She thinks she’s the one in control. I’m happy to keep it that way, for now. People do foolish things when they think they have all the power.
Olsson has the papers in front of her, tucked between a linen napkin and her bloodied steak. They outline what the press might call “the city’s newest data innovation center.” But what it will really be is a fortress, shrouded in layers of code, surveillance, veils and whispers.
Eating actual food is a mere formality. I just want ink on those papers—to make sure Olsson signs along that dotted line without hesitation.
Meaningless chatter rattles around me and it takes all my focus to remain alert and detached. But as I drift my eyes slowly around the room, I see something that makes my chest tighten with tension. Sera senses it too because she puts a hand on my arm.
I seehim—near the bar, slipping into a hallway, watching from behind a random stranger like some damned ghost.
My father.
Cheap suit, eyes yellow like nicotine, just hoveringlike he never bled out in the Bronx. Each time I see him, I blink, and he’s gone.
Killing the old man’s right-hand must have stirred up old memories. Could it be regret that I never gave him a second chance at fatherhood? That’s a definite no. Guilt that I never gave him a proper burial? No to that too—the man didn’t deserve one.
Sera’s touch slides to my wrist, drawing my gaze to hers. Right here, this second, I wonder how I got so fucking lucky. After everything I’ve put her through, she’s here for me in every way that counts.
