“Fuck my life,” I breathe out, already losing it.
I rest the tip on her warm tongue, and she leans in—lips closing around the head, sucking down my pre-cum with a long, moaning pull.
It only lasts a few seconds. But it’s branded in my brain.
The way her cheeks hollow. The moan stuck in her throat. Her eyes holding mine like a fucking challenge. Or a promise.
There’s no explanation as to how I keep still and don’t fuck her mouth until she gags. None.
Except this: she kept her word. She let go. And now it’s my turn to walk away.
“I beg to differ,” she says, licking her lips, “it’s even better straight from your cock.” She’s looking at me when she says it. All hunger and honesty and heat.
I don’t know if she can see what she’s doing to me. If I’m as transparent as she is.
I’m torn between wishing I am and hoping I’m not. I’m not sure I’m ready to be this vulnerable again, as much as she deserves to know.
“Don’t take me anywhere if you don’t plan on lettingme suck you dry and making sure I leave that hotel walking funny. Deal?”
“Deal.”
I kiss her once. Quick. Any longer and I’m staying.
I get dressed, turn and leave the room. I make it to the bathroom in a couple of strides and come all over my chest in four strokes. Glancing down at the mess, at my still-hard dick, all I see is Mia’s lips wrapped around it.
My balls ache like I haven’t just come. They’re throbbing. So I stroke again—fast, rough, punishing—chasing relief. I spread my legs wider, adjust my stance, bracing like it’s going to take a while.
It doesn’t. One flash of Mia bent over the edge of a hotel bed, and I’m spilling again, ropes of cum coating my fist.
I jump into the shower, scrub it all away, and crawl into bed, bone-tired and wrecked.
Mia’s moans echo in my head like a lullaby, and for the first time in God knows how long, I sleep like I fucking mean it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
mia
I pridemyself on following my bosses’ instructions and blowing their expectations, so when my alarm blares at 4:30 a.m., I'm half-awake, fully feral, panic-scrolling luxury listings for the fanciest suite I can find.
The one I’m looking at has a private pool you could swim laps in, on a balcony overlooking Central Park. We’ll feel like absolute royalty.
I pause, picturing Preston taking me from behind out there, buried deep, while I watch the world go by. We’ll go by unseen. Unbothered. I hum at the scene playing in my brain. Note to self: wear a skirt.
One more second with that thought, and my hand will slip under the covers. I distract myself by checking the hotel confirmation email, syncing check-in and check-out times to Preston’s calendar, then tidying my room up.
By the time I’m showered, changed, and tiptoeing my way to wake Lily up, Preston’s already beaten me to it.
Lily’s already dressed, hair wrangled with no less thansix bright clips, backpack slung on… and not remotely amused.
“Why is everyone waking up so early today?” she mutters, narrowing her eyes.
Preston and I exchange guilty glances, and might as well raise plaques that readbusted.
I say, “Success favors the prepared,” while her dad claims, “The early bird gets the worm,” and we both crack up laughing, dangerously close to blowing our cover. How we’re supposed to keep this dirty secret from actual adults is beyond me.
“That’s not even funny,” the grumpy six-year-old mumbles, stomping her way downstairs to the kitchen. Once we hear her little feet hit the ground floor, we face each other, and every part of me forgets how to act casual.
Pres doesn’t seem to have the same issue. He pulls me into his arms and kisses my forehead like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Good morning, beautiful,” he says softly.
