Page 99 of Trouble from Abroad
“Maybe.” My voice wavers. “I wasn’t thinking about it at first, but… it definitely crossed my mind when it hit the floor.”
His head hangs. “For the love of God,nine.”
“Number nine,” I say, and he slips a finger in. I clench, inviting him in, needing more. “Earn a ‘good girl’ from him.”
“Ten,” he manages the syllable out. Another finger joins, stealing a bit of air from my lungs.
“Ten,” I grit out. “Try edging. Be denied. Be ruined oh-so-slowly. Beg for it. Cry for it.” The smile curling his lips is downright perverse. “Damn it, you’re already making me regret this one, Pres.”
He turns his wrist, fingers angling up, and the hunt for that magical spot begins. Not that it takes long. He’s got me trembling and wired in no time.
I don’t need prompting. “Eleven: Let him finish on me. Or in me. Weigh the risks, take the tests, do the prep.”
“How long is that list, Mia?” His patience is wearingthin, his restraint’s a hair from snapping. He thrusts deep, and the tips of his fingers do ungodly things on their way out.
“Too fucking long.” I throw the paper aside, cursing the tree it came from. “Can we start with the basics?”
I fling my towel open and yank him closer. “Fuck me, Preston. Or break me in two trying, because honestly, you’re too big, and I’m too greedy for my own good. I’m not convinced I can take you… but, God, do I want you to prove me wrong.”
He laughs, but I’m dead serious. What was I thinking, ever considering anal with this man?
“Oh, baby, don’t you worry.” His voice is rough. Decadent. Exactly how I imagine the devil would sound. “We’ll make it fit.”
His fingers pull back to shallow thrusts, two fingers go in and out while his palm slaps my clit. God, I really love this.
The wet sounds fill the room; it’s humiliating and obscene. Fuck, it’s the perfect soundtrack.
“First, I’ll get you dripping on my tongue, coming for me, all sweet and messy. Then I’ll stretch that pussy with my fingers. Three, four, all five of them. My fucking wrist, if I have to. Work you until you’re running down my hand.”
The dark promise in his tone drags me under with it. “Only once we’ve turned this bed into a pool of your cum, you’ll feel my cock sliding in.” I’m right there. Vibrating and on the edge. Then he tips me. “And you’ll know you were made to take it.”
He braces a hand beside my head, broad shouldersblocking out the light. I’m caged in by him and not looking for an exit.
Then he kisses me. No, he devours me as I come on his hand. He swallows every moan, fingers buried deep, drawing it out until I collapse under him, useless.
“Fine, baby,” he rasps. “Fingers first. Tongue second. You’re running this show.”
Cocky, cheeky bastard.
He moves down, kissing and nibbling his way south, taking his time and making it torture. One nipple in his mouth, the other between his fingers. Then lower. Licking, biting, claiming. He marks me without hesitation, and I don’t make a peep to stop him. His mouth’s painting a wet, hot path. It fucking burns.
When he finally sinks between my legs, his broad shoulders shove my thighs apart and wide. He settles into his rightful place, with no apparent intention of coming up for air.
His tongue parts me, and I’m throbbing. Soaked from before. Building him that pool he promised.
One smooth lick and I jerk off the bed, legs twitching, mouth open on a moan I don’t try to muffle.
He hums, the low sound vibrating against me, and goes deeper, savoring me.
“Fuck, Trouble. Why did you have to taste so damn sweet? Dripping like honey for me.”
He spreads me with his thumbs, his tongue relentless. I pant, hips lifting to give him more. I don’t know how I find words. Maybe it’s adrenaline. Maybe it’s my burning hatred for that stupid nickname. “Why? Why would you call me that?”
He kisses my inner thigh, then looks up. It’s as reverent as it is devastating.
“The moment you walked through my door, I knew you’d be trouble.” He says it quietly, but it lands hard.
He climbs over me, elbows braced on either side of my head, his body crowding mine. Heat rolls off his skin. But it's his words that make it hard to breathe. “I knew I couldn’t have you,” he says, eyes never leaving mine. “But I wanted you anyway. And I knew… if I had you, if you ever looked at me like this—” He touches my cheek, tenderly, and I forget the purpose of oxygen altogether. “It would be game over. You were going to fuck up everything I thought I wanted. My precious old morals wouldn’t stand a chance.”
