Page 131 of Trouble from Abroad
The billionaire drops to one knee, designer pants be damned, straight into a slurry of metallic dust, slime, and glue. His face transforms as he bends to her height, utterly undone by her grin. Lily crowns him with a unicorn tiara, and his face lights up, fool that he is for her.
Callie is cackling from the couch, phone up, documenting every crime committed against my walls and Liam’s wardrobe.
Lily hops from one station to the next with the kind of energy I’d swear came from illicit substances if I didn’t know better. She’s practically airborne, joy strapped to a jetpack. Everything and everyone in this room orbits around her.
Something pulls at me, a tug I can’t resist or explain. And then my eyes land on Mia. She’s by the slime table, watching Lily with this look—wide-eyed, soft at the edges, as if she’s memorizing every spark my daughter throws into the room. And when her gaze finally flicks up, it collides with mine across the chaos.
Everything else—the balloons, the glitter, the noise—it all fades. For a second, it’s just the two of us, her face flushed from laughter, mine still stiff in horrorand awe. And the only thought in my head is that she did this. For Lily. For us.
Her cheeks go a shade darker, and she casts her gaze down.
The party swells fast. Lily’s classmates and some neighbors pour in until my house feels one squeal away from collapsing. The kids are fine. Loud, sticky-fingered, already responsible for two shattered vases we should’ve had the sense to hide, but fine.
The single moms, though… are a different story.
“Preston, you didn’t tell us you can bake.” One of them slides too close to the snack table, fingernail tracing the edge of a cupcake I merely paid for.
I’m shaking my head, but another woman swoops in before I can voice my answer, hand catching my arm as if I might vanish. “Forget baking. Look at these balloons. Bet he blew them all up himself.” Her laugh lands too sharp in my ear, fingers still latched onto me.
A third joins, practically elbowing the second aside to take her place at my shoulder. “You’re blushing, Dr. Preston. That’s adorable.”
By the time they form a circle around me, their voices high and sugary, I’m halfway convinced there’s an unspoken competition to see who can plant their claws deepest. And if the kids are chaos incarnate, their mothers are a whole other brand of disaster—handsy, territorial, and with no sense of boundaries whatsoever. This is an ambush.
When I spot Mia across the room again, her gaze isn’t on Lily or the decorations—it’s locked on me. Or moreaccurately, on every manicured hand staking a claim on my shirt sleeve, or any patch of skin they can find.
The look in her eyes isn’t polite. It’s possessive and unguarded; it slams straight through me. My mouth curves before I can stop it, tongue sweeping across my bottom lip. I’m tasting her jealousy, and it’s the best thing I’ve had in weeks.
Aside from her pussy, of course.
I pry the unwanted fingers from my shirt one by one, voice clipped as I excuse myself from the clueless swarm. And as I pass Mia, I don’t give her time to recover or disguise, I lean just close enough to let my breath catch her ear.
“Follow me. Now.” Then I head for my office without looking back.
Her hurried steps follow, uneven, and I take far too much pleasure in the offbeat sound of her chasing me down.
“Anything wrong?” the party planner in her asks. It’s meant to sound neutral, but the sharp edges poke through.
I glance over my shoulder, take in her tight jaw, the flush in her cheeks. I go deliberately gentle, just to needle her. “No, Mia. Nothing’s wrong.”
“Then we should go back,” she fires back, arms folding, chin tilted up. “The birthday girl’s father seemed very in demand out there.”
I slow my pace until she almost bumps into me. Then I pivot, step in close, close enough she has to tilt her head back to keep glaring. “Funny. From where I was standing, it looked like I was needed somewhere else entirely.”
Before she can argue, I tug her into the officeand shut the door with a quiet click. The noise of the party dulls to a hum outside. In here, it’s just the two of us. My pulse is already hammering. Restraint forgotten outside with the guests.
I close the distance and seal my mouth over hers. A rough, punishing kiss that swallows the rest of her protest.
“I asked you,” I growl against her lips, my fingers already finding her waistband, “begged youto tell everyone, to stand beside me. Today. Every damn day. But no.Too soon, you said.Not sure, you said.”
Her breath stutters as I unzip her jeans and slip my hand inside her panties, the other yanking the denim down to give me better access. Her hands fly around my neck, and she holds on for dear life.
“But tell me, Trouble,” I murmur against her ear. My touch presses deeper, then spreads slick over her clit. “Remind me, in case I’ve forgotten. Who does this perfect, greedy little cunt belong to?”
Her right hand clamps tight around my jaw, forcing my gaze to hers. There’s a dark menace in her eyes I’ve never seen before. Her pussy clenches around my fingers, answering before her mouth can. “You haven’t.You’d never forget,” she says, steady despite the tremor in her body. “This pussy is yours.”
I peel her other hand from my nape and drag it down, planting it on the hardness straining against my zipper.
“And this?” My teeth bare as her palm curls around me through the denim. “Whose cock is this?”
