Page 156 of Trouble from Abroad
“I want to talk to the lawyer too. We do this right. Not high on Vegas or hormones.”
His eyes glint. “That’s my wife.”
“Oh God, I love the sound of that. Say it again,” I breathe, shifting, letting the dress flood his lap.
He swallows. “My wife.”
His hand finds the slit of my skirt and parts it. My legs follow. He reaches my panties—fine, my high-waisted Spanx—and pulls them aside. A single finger strokes up and down my entrance. “This dress is a hazard. An invitation I’d never be rude enough to refuse. Say yes, Trouble.”
“Yes.” I guide his wrist deeper. “Fuck me in the back of the limo. Make it rough, Pres. Give me”—I glance at the partition currently keeping this moment private—“and the driver, the rides of our lives.”
“Fuck.” He huffs, palming his hard length over his pants with his free hand. “I’ve gotten myself a slutty little wife, haven't I?”
I answer him with an open-mouthed kiss and a sound I don’t bother to hide while two of his fingers keep working me where I’m already slick for him. “I’m going to wrinkle this dress beyond saving, baby,” he says, low and wicked. “And I won’t be even a little sorry for it.”
He yanks his belt, the buckle clapping leather. Button and zipper come next, and he’s free. For the rest of my life, the sight of his hard length will steal my voice.
“Kneel. Get my cock wet. There’s no time to stretch that pussy, and you’re getting what you asked for. Rough.”
I hike up my skirt, drop onto my knees, and the white of my dress swallows me whole. I take him in my hand and drag my tongue along his length, slow enough to make his breath go ragged. Then I stop.
“I need your help, Doctor.”
“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.
