Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
mia
I didn’t get even half of him past my lips.
But he never stopped staring at me—except when his eyes rolled back in bliss. One second, he was cursing at the ceiling; the next, he was whispering praise, hands cradling my scalp.
There are no words for how Preston makes me feel. Queen? Goddess? They don’t rank high enough. I need an entirely new tier of worship hierarchy.
“That… was…” He kneels and kisses me.
I gasp. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I flinch anyway. Muscle memory, I guess.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is soft and careful. But the arm pulling me in? That’s all dominance. It wraps around my waist and seals us together.
“Nothing,” I say, and I mean it. My unguarded smile should be proof enough. “I’m just not used to being kissed after giving…” I let the rest hang there, unfinished. He knows.
His smile is just as sincere, but cocky as hell. “You’re used to messing around with boys,” he says, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “I’m going to show you what it feels like to be fucked by a man.”
Then Preston takes my mouth again. This time, it’s not a kiss; it’s a claim. His tongue pushes in, deep and unrelenting, leaving no part of me untouched. There’s nothing hesitant about this kiss. Nothing apologetic.
He’s showing me exactly how unbothered he is by the taste of himself on my lips. Fucking hell, he licked his cum off my breast last night. Why am I so surprised?
Truth be told, I’m getting turned on by it.
His lips leave mine, but the high doesn’t. I’m still floating when his voice cuts through my fog. “Come shower with me, baby. I want to feel you clean me up with those pretty hands. Every inch.”
I light up instantly. Yes. Yes. Let me map that body and burn the route in my memory.
We’re in the shower moments later, and I lather him with reckless abandon and unreasonable amounts of body wash, letting my hands slide over ridged muscle and bubbles.
He gives me the same TLC, but before the suds are gone, Preston pins me to the cold tile and kisses me, bodies sliding together, raising a fresh round of steam.
One hand catches my wrists and lifts them while the other hand rinses me with the handheld showerhead.
When he’s done, one finger parts me and slips through the slick he made.
The fancy rainfall head can pour all it wants. Preston’s the reason I’m drenched.
My moans rise, bounce off glass and tile, then vanish when he goes still.
His mouth brushes my ear. “Not until I hear your list. All of it. Out loud.” I’ve never seen that cruel side of him before. It’s delicious.
He turns off the water, and I shove him away in mock outrage. Fine, not entirely mock, my thighs are already twisting in anticipation. I fling a towel at him. “You’re such a tease, Preston. Is this how you treat your students? Withhold orgasms until they recite their homework?”
He catches the towel one-handed, grinning like he just got tenure in sin.
“Only when they’ve got extra credit tucked in their bag,” he growls, slapping my ass hard enough to make me jolt—and clench even harder.
“Now, towel off, sit your pretty ass on the bed, and read to me. Every word, Mia. The longer you stall, the longer I’ll edge you. ”
I’m wrapped and halfway to the bed before I decide if I want mercy or more.
I sit, leaning against the padded headboard.
Legs crossed, nerves buzzing. Then he steps out of the bathroom, the towel slung low on his hips, causing me emotional harm.
I should sue. That brutal V slicing down his torso is just rude, and by that, I mean, offensively hot.
The longer I look, the more brain cells I lose.
I’m seconds from drooling into the pillow.
“And that’s why you make me feel like a fucking king,” he says, catching my stare and holding it, full of that lethal certainty that makes me feel butterflies inside. Not in my stomach, but they flutter.
“Preston, every woman on this planet stares at you and drools. What are you talking about?”
“Never noticed.” He shrugs. “Or cared. Something must’ve changed when the nanny moved in.”
“Do you have it?” His voice stays steady, his tone giving nothing away—but when both hands land on his waist, the flicker of impatience is impossible to miss. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s as anxious as me.
“Right here.” I unfold the paper and… Well, fuck. I didn’t think this through, did I? I didn’t censor a single word I wrote on this list. I just… blurted my inner thoughts. Vented. Documented every horny neuron firing in my brain.
I was never supposed to perform this. I’m in bed, but it feels like a stage. I feel the heat of the spotlight. The weight of his gaze. And I can’t back out. “Okay, some of these things we’ve already done.”
“Every word, Mia. I want to know it all.”
Oh God, he really can read minds. Or just see through paper? Because I did not hold back. This list is a manifesto.
I cough. Shuffle. Consider disappearing into the duvet. “Okay, okay. You might regret this, but okay. A deal is a deal. Honesty. Transparency. Right?”
Preston sits at the edge of the bed facing me, one arm draped across my hips, his hand resting on the curve of my ass. I think he likes that part of me.
“I’m not sure it’s in the right order of escalation, so don’t take that into considera—” His hand tightens. Not playful. Not light. A full-on grip that nearly pulls me down the mattress.
“Stop stalling,” he commands. “Is edging on that list? Is that what you’re aiming for?”
“Yes. Number ten. But no, that’s not the aim.” I blink, trying to refocus. “I ramble when I’m nervous.”
His hand smooths over my ass, where he supposedly just punished, fingers tracing, lingering there. Yeah, he definitely likes that part of me.
“Okay,” I whisper, spine straightening. “Here goes my pride.”
I square my shoulders. Settle in. And pretend this is a pitch presentation for the dirtiest client of my life. I fucking ace presentations.
“Number one: Give a proper hand job. No limp, awkward fiddling. Two hands? Rhythm. Grip. Confidence. Maybe even eye contact. (To be confirmed, could be terrifying.)” Fucking hell, I can’t help it.
I read every damn word out loud, parentheses and all.
I decide to embrace this disaster, throwing in live commentary. “Hey, not that terrifying, after all.”
“Number two: Learn how to deep throat. Or at least not choke as if I’m being waterboarded by dick. Gag reflex training. Is that a thing? Can I search it without getting flagged?”
He’s smiling back at me, but judging by the tent in his towel, this isn’t going as badly as I feared.
“That’s one hell of a challenge with what you’re packing, but I’m up for it, if you’re willing to help.”
“So fucking willing, baby.” His hands glide up and down my sides, smooth enough that the towel stays exactly where it is.
“Number three.” I’m quite sure all my teeth are on display when I read this one. “Figure out what to do with balls. Kiss them? Suck them? Cup them reverently as a prayer offering? Honestly, open to instruction.”
Preston drops his head into my lap to muffle his laughter.
He fails spectacularly. When he looks up, eyes shining, he says, “Mia, your brain never ceases to amaze me. And you say I have a way with words.” He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye and adds, “You… prayed and revered them perfectly today, but kissing and sucking are also great. We’ll get on that another day. ”
I wiggle my legs, excitement bubbling up at the promise.
“Can’t wait. Number four,” I announce with poise.
“Anal.” I pause, eyes wide, and look straight at Preston to make sure he understands the gravity of the next word.
I enunciate with the drama of a woman facing death.
“Eventually. Like… train for it. Work up to it. Step by step. Lube. Finger, singular. Plug. Bigger plug. The plug. Eventually, take him there without screaming or splitting in two.”
“I’m dying to see the plug lineup. I bet you’ve already chosen them all.
Maybe even named them.” He’s smirking, eyes wicked, waiting for my response.
I say nothing, because he’s kidding and right.
“You did,” he says, serious and final. “Buy them. I’ll help you stretch and I’ll praise you through every single size. ”
This version of Preston—flirty, teasing, slightly unhinged—feels light-years from the one who took me in last week, with a jaw clenched tight enough to chip stone.
“They’re all sitting in my shopping cart as we speak.”
“Check out before you go to sleep tonight. Use the card I gave you.”
“I thought that was for groceries. Household essentials. Boring adult stuff.”
“Consider this a Preston-and-Mia essential. Top priority.” He lowers the paper from my hand and kisses me so softly I melt on contact.
“Keep kissing me like that, and I’ll throw this list out of the window.”
He pulls back, fast as lightning.
“Oh no, you won’t. Number five?”
I look at him, committed to my filthy syllabus. “Number five: Dirty talk that doesn’t sound like a badly translated IKEA manual.”
He frowns, looking a little insulted. “You did not write that down.”
I frown back, completely lost. “What are you talking about?”
“Mia, you dirty talk like a pro. Are phone sex operators still a thing? You could run their training sessions.”
Okay, Grandpa. I’ll let that one slide. “Really?”
“I’ve been wondering where you learned to talk like that.”
“It’s a bit embarrassing.”
“It’s hot. I don’t need your exes’ resumes, but nothing about you could ever be embarrassing. Tell me.”
“Pfffft. Please. Exes. Try poorly executed flings. Preston, your tongue and fingers alone humiliated every last one of them.”
His smirk turns lethal.
“It’s not from experience,” I rush out. “It’s books. Mostly smut. Some fanfic. I devour them.”
I stare at my feet, then force my chin up. “Don’t laugh. Be nice. Or you could even pretend to be horny about it.”
His voice loses the tease, it goes low and leveled, the way he sounds when he’s giving me instructions.
“I want you to read them to me. But only after you’re done with your current reading.
” He watches me, steady and sure, and something in his eyes tells me this has already gone from suggestion to plan.
I gape. Did I just win the romance reader jackpot? All those women on Facebook groups raving about their partners reading smut with them? I thought that was fiction too.
“Number… whatever!” I flail my arms and wrinkle the paper. “Would you reenact scenes from my favorite books with me?”
“Right fucking now, if you want. You annotate the filthy bits on those books with your pretty pens, don’t you? We can jump right onto those.” The look on his face is pure sin and absolute focus. It hits me hard enough to spark a full-body shiver.
I scream into a pillow. Very gracefully.
When I resurface, he’s grinning, proud of the giddy mess he’s made of me.
“I highlight them on my Kindle. Yes.” I fan myself with the list. “Number six. Wait. We already covered that. I’ll cross it off.”
“Tell me anyway. What was it?”
“Get fingered properly.” I read what’s written. “Not hunting-for-loose-change style. And not just one knuckle and vibes. I want pressure. Curves. Groans from both sides. Real intent.” I swallow. “You gave me all that and then some.” His stare sears my skin. “I can cross this off.”
I hesitate, then think better of it. “Actually, no. I’d like more of that.”
“Today,” then he adds, “I’ll have that pussy on my tongue, then my fingers, then my cock.”
My eyes search for a distraction, landing on the next item on the list.
I’m cringing before saying it out loud.