Page 314 of Trouble from Abroad
“Anything for my wife,” he drawls.
“My mouth is so dry.” I clear my throat, devoted to the part.
“And how could I possibly help you, baby?” His eyes spark, chest expanding, his hand going still on his length.
“Spit in my mouth.” I stretch my tongue out for him.
“Fuck, Mia. You want me spilling before I’m inside you?” He evens his breath before he commands, “Open wider, baby.”
He spits, and I moan. It hits my tongue, but I feel it everywhere. I want to swallow and ask for more, but we’re on borrowed time, so I spread it over his crown as my pussy clenches around nothing. I don’t get a full minute with him in my mouth before he pulls back.
“Baby, you’re too good at this. Lie back on the seat. Now. I’m only coming inside that tight little cunt today.”
The leather feels cold on my back, and I welcome the tiny mercy in the inferno he’s turned this car into. The fabric frames us; the bow skews as he fits his body over mine. He opens me with his knees and pushes in—thick, sure—until I’m denied oxygen. One of his hands keeps me open for him; the other grips the top of my bodice, pinning me in place while he moves. That first stretch always hurts, and I revel in the pain as if it’s part of the reward.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, Daddy.” It slips, and my eyes snap open in time to catch his darkening.
“Careful, Trouble.” He stills inside me. “You know damn well that word empties my restraint.”
I gulp, then my hips start moving.
“You want that, don’t you?”
Guilt and want wrestle for control inside me. My hips move faster, announcing the winner. “I want the worst version of your good intentions. Give it to me.”
“Fuck, Trouble,” he says, voice low. “You want me to crack the divider an inch? Let the driver sit there hard and polite while I fuck you?” He pumps into me. Hard.
Heat. Shame. Thrill. Yes—God—yes. My moans fill the space around us. “Be loud, Doctor. Make sure the driver knows exactly what you’re doing to me.”
Preston presses his forehead against mine. “You’ll be the death of me, Mia. Tell me more; bury me with a smile on my face.”
“Your new wife is a little whore, Doctor. I want him to hear. I hope he’s stroking himself as he listens to us. Fuck me harder, and let’s give him a fucking show.”
He drives into me. Precise, mean. I love it. I love all versions of this man.
“Who…” Thrust. “Do you…” Thrust. “Belong to?”
“My husband,” I manage, laughing breathlessly as he drives into me.
His mouth ghosts my ear, one hand knots my hair tight, the other wraps around my throat. His finger presses deeper on my pulse. “Then I’m going to thrust into you so hard, this car is not going to rock. It’s going to fucking move lanes.”
Heat prickles everywhere.
He slides out an inch, then back in.
Over and over.
My moans pitch higher.
“Say that word again, and I’m taking that ass on spit alone.”
I roll my lips and whimper on his next punishing stroke.
“Not such a bad girl anymore, are you, Trouble?”
His laughter is dark; it dares me. Preston is nothing if not a man who keeps his promises.
When he angles just right, I bite the bow hanging from my shoulder. No, I practically chew on it, afraid I’ll blurt that word again.
