Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
mia
“Number seven—” I squeeze my eyes shut. No need to read it. I know what it says. “Attempt to ride his face without crushing him.”
“Fuck, I’ve been dreaming about that.” My eyes snap open in shock, and I see him palming himself through the towel, the thick outline impossible to miss. I’ve got no choice but to believe him.
“Seriously?” I blurt too loud, while my face scrambles to catch up with what I just heard.
“Nights. Mornings. Showers, mostly. I made a mess of myself every time I imagined you on my face, dripping down my beard while I held your ass in both hands.”
His hand glides to my knee, then between my thighs, nudging them and the towel open, just enough to make me feel exposed.
“Eight, Mia.” He sounds ragged now. Barely hanging on. “I like to think I’ve got some grip on my self-control, but I’m about to lose this battle. Read number eight.”
“Eight.” I barely get the word out. “Get spanked and see if I like it. Not full medieval execution, just… enough to feel owned. To leave marks. To feel it the next day.”
“Fuck, Mia.” His eyes flick to mine. “Is that why you pulled my belt off?”
Preston’s fingers sneak further under the towel, grazing the inside of my thighs, stopping just shy of where I need him most. His holdback is maddening.
A single finger brushes my entrance. He hisses through his teeth and shuts his eyes for a second. I’m dripping for him.
I shift down onto his hand, silently begging for more, but he draws back. “Answer me, Mia.”
“Maybe.” My voice wavers. “I wasn’t thinking about it at first, but… it definitely crossed my mind when it hit the floor.”
His head hangs. “For the love of God, nine.”
“Number nine,” I say, and he slips a finger in. I clench, inviting him in, needing more. “Earn a ‘good girl’ from him.”
“Ten,” he manages the syllable out. Another finger joins, stealing a bit of air from my lungs.
“Ten,” I grit out. “Try edging. Be denied. Be ruined oh-so-slowly. Beg for it. Cry for it.” The smile curling his lips is downright perverse. “Damn it, you’re already making me regret this one, Pres.”
He turns his wrist, fingers angling up, and the hunt for that magical spot begins. Not that it takes long. He’s got me trembling and wired in no time.
I don’t need prompting. “Eleven: Let him finish on me. Or in me. Weigh the risks, take the tests, do the prep.”
“How long is that list, Mia?” His patience is wearing thin, his restraint’s a hair from snapping. He thrusts deep, and the tips of his fingers do ungodly things on their way out.
“Too fucking long.” I throw the paper aside, cursing the tree it came from. “Can we start with the basics?”
I fling my towel open and yank him closer. “Fuck me, Preston. Or break me in two trying, because honestly, you’re too big, and I’m too greedy for my own good. I’m not convinced I can take you… but, God, do I want you to prove me wrong.”
He laughs, but I’m dead serious. What was I thinking, ever considering anal with this man?
“Oh, baby, don’t you worry.” His voice is rough. Decadent. Exactly how I imagine the devil would sound. “We’ll make it fit.”
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 shoulders blocking 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 everywhere at 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.
“I knew you were trouble,” he murmurs, licking slow, “when my house felt better with you in it. And how fucking dangerous it is, knowing you did that without trying.”
No. Nope. No more of that kind of talk. Go for my pussy, Doctor, not my heart.
“Suck my clit and stretch me open, Doctor,” I growl, fisting his hair and grinding on his mouth. “I need your cock.”
“Trouble isn’t an insult, Mia,” he says, soaked in need. “It’s an addiction. It means I’m obsessed. That I’d ruin myself just to keep tasting you. And when I have to go without, I’ll lose my goddamn mind.”
He devours me with his tongue up in one long, masterful lick.
“But go ahead,” he huffs a dark little laugh, eyes on mine, “shut me up by begging for my cock. That’ll work every fucking time, baby.”