Page 257 of Trouble from Abroad
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.”
Whatever panic flashes across my face, he catches it.
“Breathe,” he says. “I’m not scared anymore. You’re not fucking up my life, Mia. You’re lighting it up. You make me want more than I let myself ask for.”
The air goes still. Or maybe it’s just me.
“I call you Trouble because you undid me. And I don’t want to be put back together the way I was.”
My chest caves around the inevitable exhale.
He leans in and kisses me. Lips soft but certain. A kiss that rewrites everything.
Then his mouth descends. One kiss at a time. Down my chest. Over my stomach. Lower. Until he’s between my legs again.
“Now let me finish what I started.” One flick of his tongue and my legs turn boneless.
His tongue fucks me deep and ruthless. Fingers find my clit and circle with maddening precision. He’s everywhereat once. Of course he is. World-class surgeon with a world-class tongue and fingers.
They switch places. Pres flicks my clit over with cruel intent, building pressure with the tip of his tongue. Then his fingers find their rhythm inside me, coaxing me to the edge again.
“I knew you were trouble,” he says, breath hot over my cunt, “when you ran into me naked, and my dead cock came back to life. I haven’t stopped dreaming of my nanny’s tits and ass since.”
Preston’s figured out my body and its warning signs. He reads me too well—every twitch, gasp, the timbre of my moan—and he pulls back the second I crest, so mean and perfect.
