Chapter 55
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
preston
I’m stunned into silence when I come back home from some last-minute shopping. In the span of an afternoon, Mia—flanked by April and Callie—has turned my house into the promised twelve-name party Lily wouldn’t stop talking about.
Rainbow streamers twist from the ceiling fans as if someone fed them sugar and let them loose.
Balloons the size of small planets crowd the floor, most of them pearly purple with manatee faces scrawled in Sharpie.
Glitter-coated cutouts of unicorns dangle from fishing line, turning lazily in the air currents, catching the light in a way that makes me certain I’ll still be vacuuming this mess when Lily heads to college.
The dining table has been sacrificed into stations: a slime bar that belongs in a hazmat lab, and a DIY bath bomb setup already dusting lavender into the air.
Kids will make and take home their own unicorn poo bath bombs inside their party bags.
Down by the living room, it’s a ‘decorate your toilet paper roll’ craft corner that I don’t even want to think about.
It’s right next to the toilet pinata, of course.
April’s broom is mid-swipe across the glitter-slick floor, her face tight with regret. Liam stands in the corner, stiff as marble, staring at the sparkly carnage. That is, until Lily spots him.
He doesn’t see it coming. She charges across the room, latches onto his legs, and the man melts, softening as instantly as cup noodles in boiling water.
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 horror and 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 more accurately, 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 office and 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 you to 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?”
Her grip tightens, nails biting even through the fabric. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.
“Mine,” she growls now, twisting her wrist just enough to make me hiss. “You’re mine. They can’t touch you like that. No one can.”
“Well done, Trouble. That’s today's lesson.”
Her mouth fights mine back, biting. She sucks my bottom lip into her teeth, breaking the skin until I taste copper, chanting the word like a curse, like a vow.
“Mine. Mine. Mine.”
Mia’s still murmuring it into my mouth when her hand drops from my face back to my wrist, pressing my fingers harder against her clit, panting.
“Make me come,” she demands. “Right here. Now.” Her other palm moving faster along my length.
I rip my mouth from hers, press our foreheads together, and hear her breath heave. But my fingers stay exactly where they are, inside and steady, not giving her what she’s begging for.
I pin her harder to the door, one hand on her throat, the other between her legs. Fingers moving just enough to keep her trembling, not enough to give her relief.
“Say it,” I rasp against her ear. “Tell me what you really want. Where you wish you were standing when we go back out there.”
Her nails now dig into my arms, breath ragged. “Preston—”
“No.” I tap her clit, once and hard. “Use your words, Trouble.”
Her jaw tightens, but her body betrays her, hips tilting, chasing friction. “I wish…” She swallows hard, every syllable fighting its way out. “I wish I could go out there… with you. Be by your side. Holding your hand.”
My grip on her throat tightens—not a choke, just pressure, a reminder. I inch back to watch her. “Again.”
Her lashes flutter. “I want to stand next to you,” she breathes. “I want everyone to know that you’re mine. And I’m yours.” The last word snaps, all snarl and heat.
The sound that leaves me isn’t a laugh. It’s darker, hungrier. My forehead drops back to hers. “That’s it,” I whisper. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
“Then fuck me,” she pleads, voice splintering. “Now. Please.”
I still my hand, slick fingers hovering over her clit, so close it hurts both of us. “No.” My thumb drags once, a deliberate slow circle, a reminder of who’s in charge. “You don’t get what you want until I can have what I want.” I kiss her forehead. “Fair is fair.”
Her eyes flare, outrage breaking into disbelief. “No?”
I let my teeth graze her jaw, dragging down her neck, slow enough to make her shiver.
“You think I forgot how you’ve been denying me?
” My restraint frays with every word. My fingers hover at the edge of mercy.
“Out there, I had to stand politely while their hands crawled over me. Pretend it didn’t make me want to grab you, pull your body against mine, and let every single one of them know I’m taken.
Let them know that I have a woman in my bed every night—the most incredible, kind, gorgeous woman I’ve ever known.
The only one my cock gets hard for. The only one who makes me whole. The only one who makes me happy.”
My fingers start moving again before I even register it, circling harder, faster, until her hips rock and she’s saying my name under her breath, over and over.
“The one I’m in love with,” I rasp against her cheek.
Her eyes snap open, wide and stunned, head flying back. “What?”
She reaches for my hand, but I’m faster, catching her wrist midair and pinning it above her head against the wall. She gasps, but doesn’t fight me. Her other hand stays limp at her side.
Maybe she’s stunned.
Maybe she’s savoring every second.
Her breath stutters. But I can feel the pulse between her legs, frantic against my fingers.
“And since I can’t have what I want…” I ease my touch back, leaving her clit aching, pussy clenching around nothing.
“… you don’t get what you want either. You don’t walk out of here with my cum dripping down your thighs, Trouble.
You don’t get the wetness of each step, reminding you who claimed you.
If I can’t walk out there with your hand in mine, you can’t have that either. ”
She whimpers, wrecked and furious all at once, thighs trembling in front of me.
“Well, actually, you are getting something you wanted…” I let it linger, unfinished.
“What the hell are you talking about, Preston?” she hisses, breath sharp, hands balling into fists.
“Edging is on your list, baby. Remember?” The peck I lay on her cheek is far too innocent for the timing.
I drop to my knees anyway, tugging her jeans down until they puddle at her ankles. My palms push her thighs as open as they will go, spreading her until she’s bare and shaking under my hands.
“But I will walk out there with your taste on my lips. That much, you don’t get a choice about.” Then I bury my face between her legs.
My tongue strokes slowly from her entrance up to her clit, relishing every drop she made for me.
I circle her clit without pressure, barely ghosting over it, watching her twitch with frustration.
When she bucks forward, I give her a shallow suck.
Enough to make her gasp, far from what she needs to come.
My finger slides inside, finds the swollen ridge of her G-spot, and teases it with the lightest strokes, more taunting than touching. Her hips roll, desperate, chasing more, and that’s when I pull back, my mouth hovering, breath fanning her without giving her what she so desperately wants.
Her whole body riots against restraint. One hand claws at my hair, yanking, trying to force me closer. The other scratches at the door for purchase.
“Please…” she moans, her voice breaking, chest heaving as her head thuds back against the wood. “That’s not what I call fair at all.”
I hold her still, my grip unyielding, drunk on the way she trembles at the edge because I’ve decided she stays there. It’s a high unlike anything else—her wildness caged under my control, her surrender straining against her defiance, all of it mine to play with.
I flick my tongue back over her clit, paced teasing laps, then suck just hard enough to draw another ragged cry.
My finger strokes her G-spot again, gentle and by the looks of it, infuriating too.
I control the rhythm, the depth, and the denial.
Every sound she makes pours fuel on the fire in my veins.
Her head falls back, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, another broken noise spilling out of her. She’s wrecked, caught between surrender and rage, her whole body pleading while I keep her hanging. And I smile, drunk on her, on this power, on the fact that she lets me take it.
One more long, obscene lick, drinking all I can. Then another, savoring, branding her on my tongue.
“When I get back out there, Trouble, they’ll come sniffing again. And all they’ll smell is you—your pussy still wet on my tongue. That’s how they’ll know I’m already taken.”