Page 255 of Trouble from Abroad
“Can’t wait. Number four,” I announce with poise. “Anal.” I pause, eyes wide, and look straight at Preston to make sure he understands the gravity of the next word. I enunciate with the drama of a woman facing death. “Eventually. Like… train for it. Work up to it. Step by step. Lube. Finger, singular. Plug. Bigger plug.Theplug. Eventually, take him there without screaming or splitting in two.”
“I’m dying to see the plug lineup. I bet you’ve already chosen them all. Maybe even named them.” He’s smirking, eyes wicked, waiting for my response. I say nothing, because he’s kiddingandright. “You did,” he says, serious and final. “Buy them. I’ll help you stretch and I’ll praise you through every single size.”
This version of Preston—flirty, teasing, slightly unhinged—feels light-years from the one who took me in last week, with a jaw clenched tight enough to chip stone.
“They’re all sitting in my shopping cart as we speak.”
“Check out before you go to sleep tonight. Use the card I gave you.”
“I thought that was for groceries. Household essentials. Boring adult stuff.”
“Consider this a Preston-and-Mia essential. Top priority.” He lowers the paper from my hand and kisses me so softly I melt on contact.
“Keep kissing me like that, and I’ll throw this list out of the window.”
He pulls back, fast as lightning.
“Oh no, you won’t. Number five?”
I look at him, committed to my filthy syllabus. “Number five: Dirty talk that doesn’t sound like a badly translated IKEA manual.”
He frowns, looking a little insulted. “You did not write that down.”
I frown back, completely lost. “What are you talking about?”
“Mia, you dirty talk like a pro. Are phone sex operators still a thing? You could run their training sessions.”
Okay, Grandpa. I’ll let that one slide.“Really?”
“I’ve been wondering where you learned to talk like that.”
“It’s a bit embarrassing.”
“It’shot. I don’t need your exes’ resumes, but nothing about you could ever be embarrassing. Tell me.”
“Pfffft. Please. Exes. Try poorly executed flings. Preston, your tongue and fingers alone humiliated every last one of them.”
His smirk turns lethal.
“It’s not from experience,” I rush out. “It’s books. Mostly smut. Some fanfic. I devourthem.”
I stare at my feet, then force my chin up. “Don’t laugh. Be nice. Or you could even pretend to be horny about it.”
His voice loses the tease, it goes low and leveled, the way he sounds when he’s giving me instructions. “I want you to read them to me. But only after you’re done with your current reading.” He watches me, steady and sure, and something in his eyes tells me this has already gone from suggestion to plan.
I gape. Did I just win the romance reader jackpot? All those women on Facebook groups raving about their partners reading smut with them? I thought that was fiction too.
“Number… whatever!” I flail my arms and wrinkle the paper. “Would you reenact scenes from my favorite books with me?”
“Right fucking now, if you want. You annotate the filthy bits on those books with your pretty pens, don’t you? We can jump right onto those.” The look on his face is pure sin and absolute focus. It hits me hard enough to spark a full-body shiver.
I scream into a pillow. Very gracefully.
When I resurface, he’s grinning, proud of the giddy mess he’s made of me.
“I highlight them on my Kindle. Yes.” I fan myself with the list. “Number six. Wait. We already covered that. I’ll cross it off.”
“Tell me anyway. What was it?”
