Page 61 of The Sound in Silence

“You’re gorgeous. This will live in my head for a long time coming. But I need one more thing from you. Touch yourself. Let meseethe evidence of what we did.”

Her blush returns, but she obeys me, even when, for a second, I doubted she would. She slides her hands between us, into her bikini bottoms, and I curse the science of angles because I’m unable to watch as she strokes herself. She lifts her hand, her middle and index finger gleaming.

“Fuck.” And fuckmefor asking this of her. If fucking my wife wasn’t already a dream, I now want to taste her. Wantherto instruct me to taste her. I’m not sure we’re there yet though. My mouth is dry, but I crave the hint of what I hope will eventually occur. It’d be so easy to lean forward and take her fingers in my mouth, but even in this, she’s in control.

“Let me taste you,sirena, please.”

It’s been a long time since I’ve pleaded with a woman. Usually, it’s them begging me for release because they think it’s what I crave. That because I dominate in life, I need to in the bedroom as well. But they’re wrong and finding a woman who understands is challenging.

“Just one taste, so I know. So I have something to dream about until you let me between your legs.”Ifshe does.

Her eyes narrow playfully and I swear, this woman’s making me a mind reader because I can almost hear her denial.

“Ariella, you’re going to make me lose my mind.” My hands tighten around the chair, the leather squeaking, proving my point.

Her eyes flick to the side in what I think is debate. Minx. But then she brings her fingers toward me and the second she’s in reaching distance, I take her tips between my lips, sucking deeply, tasting her delicious, sweet flavour.

Fuck.

I release the chair and in one, quick movement, have her in my arms as I walk her to the desk, placing her on top for another heated kiss. Her legs wind around my waist, her confidence remaining. She grasps the edges of my shirt until I break the kiss.

She reaches for my phone, quickly types on it, and shows me her question.

What happened to me being in control?

I glance from the screen to her, finding eyes sparkling with mischief and a crooked grin, so I know she’s not upset.

With my thumb against her bottom lip, unable to stop touching now that I have in the first place, I reply, “Once I tasted your cunt, I had to see you on my desk just once. Kissing you was the safest option. Believe me,” I reaffirm, “if today hasn’t proved Idowant you,sirena, then I’m fucking up more and more as your husband.”

Her gaze flicks to my cock tenting my pants, finally accepting the proof before typing another question.

I’ll admit, I’m very surprised in what we did. Aren’t you mafia men all big and bad and dominant?

Yet again, she’s not avoiding conversation and hiding her curiosity, and I really fucking appreciate that.

“In life, in my role, I take charge. I relish control, enjoy commanding others to do my bidding. In the bedroom, occasionally. But more often what I crave most, is to hand over control to someone else. Toyou.” I cup her cheek, tipping her head back so no part of her expression is hidden from me. “I enjoy both roles, but you…from the beginning, I sensed you also relishing the power. Once freed from the bounds keeping you down, you’d shine, and trust me, you have today.”

She bites her bottom lip, and I rub my thumb over it again, trying to free it from her teeth. She spends a long time writing on my phone before revealing her message.

Before the accident, when I was a normal girl, I hated when my ex-boyfriend tried to pin me to the bed. He’d wrap his hand around my neck, try to tell me to “take him,” to “enjoy it.” When I tried to be on top, he always flipped us over, told me he was in charge. After him, I assumed no guys liked me being in control so I stopped trying and did whatever they wanted.

She might not realize it, but she just sentenced a man to death. With a mental note, my men will scour her past until finding the fucker who made her feel less. Even back then, she wasn’t her true self—wasn’tableto be herself.

That changes now.

I don’t realize I’m seething until she touches my arm, her head tilting in question. My jaw unlocks, and I tuck away the revenge for now, focusing on only her.

“That’s the difference between akidand aman. A kid thinks they need to be in control of their partner. A man knows what he wants, but more importantly, he understands his partner’s desires, and interactions become whatbothneed.”

Beneath my thumb, her lips fall open, and I tease the edge of her mouth, imagining how she’d look with my cock there instead. One day, hopefully. If she sucks as well as she kisses, my control will be less than nothing.

“For now, we need to get you hydrated.”

Without further warning, I scoop her up. She gasps lightly, scrambling in my hold until her arms lock around my neck, her legs at my side. My hand selfishly holds her ass to keep her steady as I ensure she has my phone until we find hers.

I walk her straight down the hallway, past her music room, which I’ve slowly been outfitting for her needs, by the main sitting area with the huge wall of windows and fish tank, and into the kitchen. It’s empty, thankfully, because after our experience, I’m not ready to share Ariella with anyone else.

I plop her onto the island counter, hearing her hiss as the cool temperature touches her bare skin. I fill a glass with cold, filtered water from the fridge and hand it to her.

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