“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 devourthem.”
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.
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 seeif 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.”
