Page 67 of Troublemaker: The Big Picture Edition

This fucking skirt makes it impossible for me to reach between her legs, and I’m starting to hate it.

Except how can I hate anything with those beautiful tits in my face?

Emilia is unbuttoning my shirt and rocking back and forth and bearing down on my erection and biting her lower lip.

She pushes my shirt apart, dipping down to kiss my chest, swiping her hands across my pecs, inspecting the chest hair, and then climbing off me as she unbuttons and unzips my jeans.

Holy fuck.

She pulls my jeans and boxer briefs down and off, and I fix my gaze at the screen in front of me. A grown man in an elf costume runs around, and honestly, this is exactly what I need to concentrate on to keep from exploding.Think of Christmas. Santa Claus. Reindeer. Do not think about the white-hot woman between your legs and the hands on your thighs. Do not concentrate on what she’s telling you, about how she’s fantasized about doing this for months—about having my big hard cock in her mouth while I watch a movie in my screening room.

Jesus.

Is she kissing the top of my foot?

Do not concentrate on how fucking good it feels to have her kissing and licking her way up the inside of your thigh.

Fuck that. It feels so fucking good, I want to live in this delirious moment.

This moment of her confident but gentle hands and her warm, adventurous tongue and her moist lips and the sound of her devouring my throbbing cock.

My hands are in her hair, and she is gripping my shaft and cupping my balls with exactly the right amount of pressure whilesucking, and when the tip of her hot tongue swirls and flicks beneath the head, I groan and reluctantly push her away.

“Baby. You have to stop. I need to fuck you. I need to.”

My vision is so clouded with lust, but I know she is nodding and wiping her mouth and slowly standing up.

“I want you to fuck me too,” she says plainly. She looks over her shoulder. “I love this movie.”

“I will probably get hard every time I see Will Ferrell for the rest of my life.”

She smirks. “Sorry not sorry.”

My little vixen is not so hesitant anymore.

She waits for me to regain the use of my limbs and pulls me up. I lead her up the stairs, to my bedroom. I’m naked, and she’s still wearing that long, pretty, terrible skirt.

When we reach the second floor, I turn to pick her up and carry her over one shoulder. She squeals and laughs. “This. Fucking. Skirt.” I drop her onto the bed, flip that skirt up, and bury my face between her legs. She isn’t wearing panties. She’s been going commando all this time, without telling me, and I will punish her for this. With my tongue. I will punish myself by waiting just a few minutes more. I will savor her sweet pussy, and I will drive her wild until she is begging to have me inside her.

AndthenI will fuck Miss Stiles, long and hard.

All night.

CHAPTER 25

EMILIA

Oh, for the love of vulvas and all things holy—is he trying to kill me?

I feel like I’m lost in a pink cloud of orgasm overload.

My face is covered by my pink skirt, and his face is covered by my pink…oh my God, what are you doing down there?

I manage to push the skirt off my face, but I can’t lift my head off the bed. I’m pretty sure this is something I used to be able to do—move different parts of my body at will. But now all I can do is sink into the mattress and breathe heavily and moan and sigh and yelp while experiencing insane rhythmic contractions and sudden shocks and the kind of pleasure that will probably short-circuit my brain.

In a way, it has felt like he’s been kissing me ever since we first met. It has been half a year of foreplay with this man, and I don’t think I can take it anymore. But also, I never want him to stop French kissing my lady parts.

“Alex. Alex. Al…exsssssss OH MY GOD! Oh God! Alex! Yes! Oh my God. Yes! Yes!”