Page 53 of Trouble from Abroad
Can you die from sensory overload? Will I be the first case on record?
Please, God, don’t let me die a sexually unsatisfied woman. That would be the worst way to go. Except… this? This feels too good to be the worst way to depart. I don’t know a thing anymore. I’ve lost track of my own name.
And then—his mouth. Right at my ear.
“Mia.”
My name. That’s all it takes. That’s how tight he’s got me wound up.
A full-body jolt runs through me. I don’t fight it. I reverberate.
The sound of him shoots straight to my center. It sparks a chain reaction I feel everywhere. I’ve never felt like this. Never responded like that.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
I can’t speak. Can’t think.
He waits. Then softens. “You okay?”
I nod. Aggressively.
His chuckle is low and molten. It pools beneath my skin. Actually, the pooling’s happening somewhere else entirely.
And then I feel his hands again.
Not rushed.
Exploring.
Learning.
And I—I am one slow breath away from falling apart.
“Mia.”
He says again. But the way it falls from his lips: reverent, drenched in want. It has my whole body tighter than a bowstring.
How the hell does he make my name sound X-rated?
He’s not a doctor. He’s an orgasm whisperer. And I’m seconds away from embarrassing myself all over this very tasteful quilt.
“Yeah?” The word vibrates its way out of my hoarse throat.
He’s closer.
Too close.
Not close enough.
A gentle kiss lands just behind my ear, and it sets off a chain reaction that ripples all the way down to my feet. In my lungs. In the hot mess between my thighs.
“Will you?” Another kiss. Feather-soft. Cruel. “Let me show you what I mean by credentials?” His mouth brushes lower, wetter, like he’s already savoring the obvious answer.
I’m not sure I have a skeleton anymore. I’ve become a sigh-wearing skin.
I lean back, eyes closed, my head resting between his strong thighs, and whisper, “Yes. Show me.”
His hands glide to my waist, unhurried. No fumbling. No rush. Just a confident kind of patience I’ve never been privy to before.
