I’m spent, but still bouncing on his hand, shattered and blissed out, while he watches with a kind of reverence I wasn’t prepared for.
“Preston, I…”
I want to tell him he’s the orgasm whisperer. That nothing—no toy, no ex, not even my own damn imagination—has ever made me feel this good. But the words die a quick, tragic death the moment he sucks me off his fingers like it’s his new favorite flavor.
Hell, I don’t lick caramel sauce like that. I don’t look at anything like he looks at me. I could watch this scene on a loop and never get bored.
“We’re here.” He adjusts my skirt just in time as the car goes up the valet ramp. Waiting for us is an elderly man with a smile too kind for this moment in my life. He opens my door, welcomes me to the hotel with a cheerful nod, and I'm instantly consumed with a mix of guilt and shame.
Preston, of course, is unbothered. He laughs all the way around the car, hands over his keys, a generous tip, and a thank-you like he didn’t just finger-blast me into another dimension.
As soon as we’re out of earshot, he leans in close. “Goodthing you came all over my fingers, or you would’ve put that poor man in his grave.” We both laugh, loud and reckless, but that easiness is cut short when he laces his fingers through mine.
“Pres, what if someone sees us?”
I try to slip my hand free, but his grip tightens, trapping me. His eyebrows rise and say,not happening.
“It’s Wednesday morning. Nobody we know will be here. You’re lucky my hand’s on yours and not back inside you. So be a good girl and say, ‘Thank you, Doctor Jett.’”
“Ha. You’ll have to do better than that to earn a thank you, Doctor.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
mia
“Challenge accepted,Miss Thorne. Let’s get our keys and those thank-yous rolling off your tongue.” He tugs me toward the front desk, gets our key card, and we practically sprint to the elevator.
While we wait for it to arrive, Preston never lets go of my hand. He draws slow circles inside my palm with his thumb, casual for him, devastating for me. The doors open, and we slip inside, barely composed. He stabs the button for the top floor like the thing insulted him. It’s ridiculous, charming, and so, so him.
But just as the doors begin to close—merciful, beautiful doors, seconds from giving us privacy—a hand slices through.
And the damn thing opens again.
In walks Judgment and Judgment’s Wife. Both around Preston’s age, dressed for court and already mid-verdict. The woman’s head jerks back while the rest of her stays put. A silent flinch of disapproval.
I glance up and catch both of them lookingus up and down, matching sneers plastered across their faces, no doubt assessing our age difference. I hate that these strangers make me resent looking younger than I am. They have the subtlety of a Victorian aunt at a strip club.
My imagination takes flight. Do they think I’m his sugar baby? His affair? How scandalous does this look, an older man and a much younger woman, sneaking into a five-star hotel at 11 a.m. in the middle of the week?
I look to Preston for backup, but he’s blissfully unaware of the nineteenth-century judgment party unfolding around us, still stroking my hand, ever so tender, and gazing at me with a jar of glitter in each eye.
Oh, man. I’m met with something even better than support. I find comfort.
So I give the narrow-minded couple, and my own stupid worries, a properfuck youby nuzzling in closer and kissing him stupid against the mirrored wall.
I don’t stop when they huff. I don’t stop when they storm out stomping their heels. I kiss him until there’s no room left in the elevator for anything but us.
“Do you have ‘exhibitionism’ written down on your list? Or is it straight ‘fucking in elevators’?” he purrs in my ear, then drags his mouth south along my jaw.
“If you were paying attention to your surroundings,Doctor”—I smirk his title out—“you’d have seen the judgy way they were staring at us.”
“Why would I be looking at anyone but you, Mia?”
My heart skips a beat.
His fingers rake the back of my neck, then weave into my hair, holding me steady. He presses his forehead againstmine and lands a series of emotional sucker punches, as if I wasn’t already down from the first.
“But sure,” he growls, “maul me anytime. Give jealous people something to look at.”
