His thumb traces a lazy path up my inner thigh, too casual for the timing and shameless in its confidence. “You have a list, Trouble. I plan to make a dent in it. What have we ticked already? Fingering. Blow job. Both ways, huh? The balls.”
I snort. “That’s one way to go. Death by checklist.”
I expect him to laugh. Maybe kiss my thigh and finally give me what I want. But instead, he parts me again and settles back. Does he think I’m his last meal?
“Preston…”
“Shhhh. No talking.” His breath skates over my clit. “Unless you’re reading that list or answering to me.”
May this be known as the first time I’ve let a man shush me.
His tongue flattens against me, unhurried. Not teasing now. Worshiping. His fingers grip my thighs tighter when I squirm.
“I already made you come,” he murmurs, tonguing lower. “Now I want to feel you beg.”
I grip the sheets. Not because I’m dramatic, but because I’m about to levitate.
He licks up the rest of the mess I made, chasing every drop, pressing his tongue flat to gather the last of me, then swallowing on a low, rough sound. Only then he circles my clit with the tip of his tongue in precise spirals. One arm slides under my thigh. Then the other. He hooks his hands over my hips, locking me in place.
I whimper. It’s involuntary. So is the way my hips buck.
He moans rightintome. Filthy bastard. My head thrashes from side to side.
“Still with me?” he asks, lips brushing right where I need him.
“Barely,” I rasp.
“Good. I want you too fucked-out to speak when I play with your toys.”
Oh, lord. Oh, help. Toys?
Fuck. Fuck.
I’d forgotten. Of course I did. I can’t think when he’s got his head between my thighs. But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.
“You brought more than that rose-gold one, didn’t you?” His tongue flicks over me like punctuation. “In that big bag you hauled in with you.”
“What?” My breath catches. “You read minds now?” I tease and deflect at the same time, because yes. Yes, I did.
“Mia,” he says, tone dipping into that dangerous velvet one he uses when he’s about to do something I’ll love to hate. “Answer me.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Fuck. Yes.”
“Good girl.” He pulls back, face gleaming with satisfaction and everything else I gave him. “I just hoped. And after hearing some of your list, I figured it was worth asking.” He grins. “Can I get them?”
I nod, mourning the loss of his mouth.
He’s naked and on a mission, already halfway across the room, while I’m still trying to remember how to form full sentences.
Preston’s back in a second after fishing a fluorescent pouch from my oversized purse. He sits between my legs, unzips the bag and starts pulling the toys out, one by one. Ibrought four. Not out of wild optimism, but sheer indecision.
The Satisfyer he caught me using the other morning.
A mini wand.
A tiny vibrating butt plug.
And, of course, the classic: my reliable, penis-shaped vibrator, with clit-tickling bunny ears.
