Page 56 of Trouble from Abroad
“Preston—fuck! I’m coming.”
I convulse between his legs as he pulls, pinches, and torments my nipples with devastating precision. His mouth drops to the top of my head, inhaling me as I ride the aftershocks of one of the best orgasms of my life.
This audition deserves a standing ovation, but my legs are on strike.
He buries a kiss into my hair, and when he speaks again, his tone has shifted. It’s threaded with warning. “I need you to go upstairs now,” he says. Voice hoarse. Tone commanding. But the man istorn. “Don’t look at me as you go.”
“What?” I’m still coming back to my senses. “What did I do wrong?”
“Don’t you dare think that.” His breath shudders. “You’re nothing less than magnificent.” Another sharp inhale. “I’m an honorable man, Mia. But I’m not strong enough to look at your flushed face and keep my distance.” He leans back on the sofa, hands tight on his thighs and waits. “Upstairs. Now.” He looks ready to pounce on me. “Did I stutter, Mia?”
No, but my vagina just did.
“Go straight to your room. Maybe lock the door. No,definitelylock the door.”
I’m still panting, still trying to get my jelly legs to cooperate, when he speaks again. “Go. This is your last warning.”
I scramble up from the floor, pushing my tits backinto the top, without daring a glance back. Not because I don't want to, but because I don’t trust myself either.
I never knew fooling around could be this fun. This filthy. This soul-wrecking.
But I don’t make it to my room. Not all the way. I crouch on the third step, silent, listening to him. His breath is fast, broken. The grit in it. The edge.
It’s brutal.
And then his release—furious, almost punishing.
It’s fucking glorious.
He doesn’t last long either.
The guttural sound he makes when he comes becomes my new life mission. I need to hear it again—face-to-face next time.
“Go to bed, Mia,” he calls, lower now. Spent.
The sound of my name, post-orgasm, on his lips nearly knocks me off the step.
I flee like my ass is on fire, slam my bedroom door, lock it, and slide down with my back to it—cheeks burning, heart galloping.
Grinning like a lunatic.
Still breathless, I pick up my phone and type him a text with trembling fingers: ‘You’re hired.’
Wink emoji.
I’m holding the phone to my chest, trying to slow my breathing, when I hear the soft press of the door handle.
It doesn’t open. I remembered to lock it.
From the other side, his voice slips through—smug and velvet-smooth. “Good girl.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
preston
I replyto her text before I can second-guess it.
You’re off tomorrow. Sleep in. I’ll leave the keys for you.
