Page 50 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
He leans in and draws his tongue over my breast and my arched spine makes his biceps tense like rocks.
Then he latches on to my nipple again and suckles while circling his fingers around my entrance.
“OhGod,” I breathe.
I edge in and out of awareness, each time emerging into reality with shocked cognizance at the sound of my restless panting. He’s worked me up into a mindless frenzy but I don’t have the presence to feel embarrassed.
My breasts feel heavy and swollen until he lavishes them with his mouth, and my hips begin to circle, needing his touch on my clit. He teases me, attending to my clit with brevity between more rimming of my entrance.
A whimper escapes my lips. “Please…”
His mouth releases my nipple with a wet pop and hestaresat me.
I don’t care anymore. This prolonged release has tipped me over the edge of sanity and I no longer care that I hate this man and his soft, skillful fingers and sharp, treacherous tongue. I just want to come.
“Please,” I whimper again.
His fingers tease through my folds and I grip the sheets in my curled fists.
I make a sound I don’t recognize.
Finally, he leans down, fastens his mouth to my nipple and sucks it hard. His fingers find my slippery clit and circle it with increasing pressure until all the blood rushes to my center and I come off the bed with a breathless cry.
My head is spinning with the afterglow. I sense Andreas lift himself to his knees and say something out loud, but when I realize what he’s doing, it’s too late.
His words echo on the periphery of my awareness. “I want toseeyou.”
The lights are bright and my vision is blurry. When the image of him crystalizes, my blood freezes. Everything that was once hot turns to ice.
His mouth has fallen open and veins pop across his forehead. I hadn’t realized that at some point in my mindlessness, he’d pushed my shorts down past my hips. And now his gaze is directed at my thighs.
Time stops. My breath holds fast in my lungs.
When his gaze lifts, it’s as sharp as glass, afurnaceraging behind it.
He doesn’t speak as much as most men, doesn’t love the sound of his voice like other walking egos, but when he does use words, they are always crystal clear and cut like shards.
And these are lined with a fury that almost shatters my bones.
“Who did this to you?”
Confusion zips through me. “What?”
His teeth gnash together. “Who. Did. This. To. You.”
Fear courses through my veins. He looks like hewants tokillsomeone, and this is not the reaction I’d imagined.
“No one,” I whisper.
“Liar,” he spits.
I frown.How on earth can he not know?
He growls, sending a flash of terror into my chest. “Who?”
My lips move but hardly any sound comes out. “Me,” I whisper.
He blinks and his voice lowers to a deadly breath. “What?”
