The Troublemaker

by Lili Valente

  “You won’t have to fake anything, sweetheart.” I brush my nose against hers, relishing this charged moment—the second before potential becomes reality, before I discover what this woman tastes like, what she feels like, the way she moves when she’s pinned beneath me and desperate for the orgasm I’m about to deliver. “Just give me a number.”

  “A number.” She exhales sharply as I cup her breast and sweep my thumb lightly over her nipple. “Number of what?”

  “How many times do you want me to make you come?” My lips skim hers before I pull away, teasing her with the promise of a kiss and so much more.

  Sparks flash in her eyes, issuing a challenge I can’t wait to live up to. “Three, Valentine. You manage that, and you’ll hold the record.”

  The words are the final blow to my self-control.

  I avoid drama, but I never back down from a challenge. Especially one that involves making a beautiful woman come apart in my arms.

  Chapter 6

  Rafe

  A second later my mouth is hot on hers, her arms are wrapped tight around my neck, and we’re both moaning as I lie back, pulling her on top of me. Her thighs spread as she rocks her hips, grinding against where I’m already hard, my cock dying to be set free to do what he does best.

  But he’s going to have to stay locked and loaded a little longer.

  If I’m going to deliver a holy trinity of orgasms, I need to keep my clothes on for the first two. It’s been a while for me, and I’m not sure I’m going to be able to last more than fifteen, twenty minutes tops. I’m already so hot, my dick throbbing with the need to be buried deep inside the woman who’s writhing on top of me, leaving no doubt she’s going to rock my world the moment I glide inside her.

  “Just how much heat are you packing, Valentine?” Carrie asks, her words ending in a sharp intake of breath as I tug her tank top over her head, baring her gorgeous tits. “Feels like a serious situation down there.”

  “Nothing you can’t handle, Caroline. Especially after you’ve come for me twice,” I say, cupping her teacup-sized breasts in my palms as I roll her nipples between my fingers. “These are fucking beautiful, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” She arches her back, moaning as I bend to kiss her breast, teasing my tongue over her taut flesh before sucking her nipple into my mouth. Her fingers curl into my hair, holding tight as I transfer my attention to her other nipple, which tilts up toward my mouth, practically begging to be ravished.

  “This one is my favorite.” I flick my tongue over the tight bud, relishing the salt and honey taste of her skin. “I like its style.”

  “I take it you noticed that they’re crooked.”

  “They’re individuals. With personality.” I trace the pink circle of her areola, already knowing I’m never going to tire of worshiping her tits with my mouth.

  But there is so much more delicious territory to explore, and so with a silent promise to get back to these beauties ASAP, I roll Carrie beneath me and kiss a trail from her chest to her navel.

  I tease her belly button with my tongue, loving the way her stomach pulses beneath my mouth with its own heartbeat, a hungry throbbing that grows faster as I pop the button on her shorts and drag the zipper down with a slow, deliberate tug. She lifts her hips, silently giving me permission to keep going, an invitation I don’t hesitate to accept.

  I pull her shorts down her thighs, stripping them off and tossing them aside before settling between her legs to soak in the sight of the simple white cotton briefs that are the only thing keeping my mouth from her pussy.

  “These are also sexy as hell.” I run a finger beneath the elastic waist of the panties.

  “You like granny panties?” she asks, biting her lip as she meets my gaze.

  “Not as a general rule, but these do it for me.” I run my hands up and down her thighs as I shift my attention to her mound, my balls aching as I inhale the scent of her arousal. She smells like honeysuckle wine, sweet but sharp and tangy, and I’m dying to get drunk on her. If we’d been together before, her panties would already be off and my tongue buried inside her, but this is the first time.

  I want to savor this moment, these last few seconds before the big reveal, before I find out if her pussy is as adorable as the rest of her.

  I lean in, pressing a kiss to her sex through the soft cotton, summoning a moan from low in Carrie’s throat. “Do you want me to fuck you with my mouth, Caroline?” I ask, voice low.

  “Oh, yes, Valentine,” she says. “Please.”

  And because I’m not the kind to make a woman ask twice—at least not the first time we’re together—I hook my thumbs in the sides of her panties and drag them down until I’m clear to push her thighs apart, settle into position, and claim my prize. And her pussy is a prize, so pink and slick and swollen it makes my chest ache at the carnal beauty of it.

  “Incredible,” I murmur, kissing her center, above her entrance, where all that flushed skin promises untold pleasures to any cock lucky enough to find its way inside her. Mine jerks hard in my jeans, demanding to be set free, but it’s not time, not even close.

  Ignoring the hunger building low in my body, making it feel like a lead weight is dragging between my legs, I settle in to make my offering, plead my case, to convince this sweet pussy to open for me and reveal all its secrets. Tilting my head, I fit my lips to her sex the way I would to her mouth and give her a French kiss I hope she’ll never forget.

  Judging by the way her breath speeds up and her thighs begin to tremble, the way her nails claw into my shoulders and her chest heaves, I know I’m on the right path. But I still don’t expect the first to come so quickly. I’ve barely gotten started—haven’t even sucked her clit into my mouth or bitten her in all the delicate places that secretly crave a bit of violence—when her hips lift up to my tongue and a shudder racks her body.

  She cries out, a raw, abandoned sound that cuts right through me, making me groan against her slick skin as fresh heat coats my tongue, making me wild.

  I surge over her, claiming her mouth with mine, stroking my tongue against hers, letting her taste how fucking incredible she is, how hot she makes me. “You’re so sexy when you come,” I murmur against her lips as I thrust two fingers into her pussy, desire spiraling higher as her inner walls clench around them.

  “Oh my God,” she whispers, arms trembling as she clings to my shoulders. “Yes, more. Please.”

  All too eager to oblige, I add a third finger. It’s a tight fit, but she doesn’t seem to mind. The added friction makes her moan, in fact, and when I glide my thumb over her clit, she shivers.

  “No way,” she breathes. “I can’t do it again this soon. Can I?”

  “Of course you can,” I say, balls throbbing as I continue to fuck her with my hand. “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

  “But I… I…” She stiffens against me, coming with a sobbing sound as I bring the heel of my palm to her clit, grinding in circles, doing my best to draw her pleasure out for as long as possible. Her breath comes faster, faster and her entire body begins to quake as number two rockets right into number three.

  When the third hits, she screams and the final thin thread of my self-control snaps. The sight of her abandoned to pleasure, the feel of her hot juices coating my fingers, the smell of her desire thick in the air—it’s all too fucking much.

  I reach for the close of my jeans and rip it open. But before I can get my zipper down or dispose of the hateful fabric keeping my cock from her incomparable pussy, Carrie makes a soft sniffling sound.

  I look up to see tears streaming down her face and abandon my zipper like the tab is on fire.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” I bring my shaking hand to her cheek, brushing the wetness from her flushed skin with my thumb.

  “Nothing. That was amazing. Completely amazing.” Her face crumples. “I don’t know why I’m crying. Ignore me. I’m sorry.”

  I exhale with a shake of my head. “Of course I’m not go
ing to ignore you. And don’t be sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  She blinks, sending fresh tears streaming over her thick lashes. “I know you didn’t. You’re so generous, and it was so easy for you to…to get me there. It made me…” She sniffs, clearly trying to regain control, but when she speaks, her voice shakes. “It made me realize that the men I’ve been with must not have tried very hard. Or maybe even tried at all.”

  My brows furrow as I stretch out beside her on the blanket, wincing as the movement makes the too-tight situation in my jeans even worse. “Maybe they were just shitty in bed.”

  Her lips press into a thin line. “All of them?”

  “Or they were selfish pieces of shit,” I say, placing a gentle hand on her stomach. “Either way, it isn’t your fault.”

  She crosses her arms, concealing her lovely breasts from my gaze. “Isn’t it? I mean, I picked them. And I don’t know…” She swallows hard, her throat working. “I guess after all this shit with Jordan, the realization that my past lovers haven’t considered my pleasure a priority hit harder than it usually would.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I think a lot of men are selfish in bed,” I say, hating to see her taking some dickhead’s sub-par effort so personally. “Either because they don’t know any better or because they were never taught that a woman’s pleasure comes first, before you even think about taking yours. I had that drilled into my head from the time I was twelve. My dad took sex ed seriously.”

  Carrie’s lips quirk. “So this isn’t the first time you’ve heard that you’re a superhero from the land of Orgasmia?”

  My lips curve. “Well, no one’s ever put it that way, but…”

  She laughs as she lifts a hand, sweeping the last of the tears from her cheeks. “All right. I’ve got my shit together. Sorry about that.” Her lips tremble into a smile. “So, where were we? I believe it was my turn to show you some appreciation.”

  I shake my head, even though my dick is still hard enough to crack walnuts and my balls are aching with the need for release.

  But this doesn’t feel right. She’s saying the perfect words, but the look in her eyes says she’s still too vulnerable, too exposed for me to feel certain I wouldn’t be taking advantage somehow.

  “Let’s put that on hold for now.” I sit up, grabbing her shirt and passing it back to her. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Want to grab subs? There’s a great sandwich shop a few streets over.”

  It’s actually eight long blocks over, but it’s a nice day for a walk—and I’m going to need more than a few minutes to pull my shit together and stop thinking about how desperately I want to be inside her.

  “Are you sure?” She frowns as she pulls her tank top on. “I’m not a selfish jerk, you know. I enjoy giving as well as receiving.”

  Her words send a graphic mental image of Carrie on her knees, running her pink tongue over the tip of my cock, rocketing through my head. A moment later I’m sweeping aside the sheet guarding the entrance to our fort and bolting into the air outside.

  “I’m sure, it’s cool,” I call over my shoulder as I circle around the couch. “I just need to hit the restroom and I’ll be ready to go.”

  As soon as I close the door to the bathroom behind me and lock it, I shove my jeans and boxer briefs down around my thighs and take my fever-hot dick in hand. I jerk off hard and fast, barreling toward release, fueled by the taste of Carrie’s pussy still sweet in my mouth and fantasies of what it would have felt like to push inside her, to sink deep until every inch of my cock was gripped in her slick heat.

  My hand tugs, slides, jerks, making fierce, urgent demands until I reach the pinnacle and spiral out. I come with a muffled groan, my release spilling hot over my own fingers, but the relief I was hoping for eludes me.

  Yes, I’ve taken the edge off, but the hunger is still there, boiling in my bloodstream, assuring me I could be hard again in seconds if Carrie was spread out on my bed.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted a woman like this. Which probably means I should abort this sandwich plan and take her home—do not spend the afternoon with her, do not take her back to the Land of Orgasmia, do not discover how incredible it feels to have her riding my cock, her violet eyes flashing as she comes with me buried deep inside her.

  “Fuck that,” I mutter as I wash my hands, already knowing I lack the will to follow that plan through. I’ve had a taste of the forbidden fruit, and now that I know how sweet it is, I only want more.

  * * *

  But by the time we grab sandwiches and get back to my place, Carrie looks totally beat, the kind of exhausted that takes hold of a person when they’re stressed to the max. So instead of coaxing her back into our fort, I get her set up in the spare room for a nap.

  When she wakes up, it’s almost supper time, so I grill some pork chops on the balcony while she makes a salad and heats up potatoes, and we eat in front of the tiny television in the kitchen, watching America’s Funniest Home Videos and making fun of each other for laughing. Afterward, we share some popcorn because she’s apparently as much of a bottomless pit as I am and catch an old movie, but she’s drooping again before Cary Grant catches the bad guys.

  And so I give her a loaner toothbrush, assure her it’s no big deal for her to crash here, and bid her good night with a friendly forehead kiss before retreating to my own room, where I jerk off again.

  Because, apparently, I’m sixteen again.

  But deep down, I know general horniness isn’t the problem.

  The problem is the irresistible woman in the other room, who’s quickly getting beneath my skin.

  Chapter 7

  From the texts of Carrie Haverford

  and Emma Haverford Hunter

  Carrie: Just a heads up—I slept somewhere else last night, but I’ll head back to the house to check on Mercy later today. I won’t let Mom starve your baby while you’re on your honeymoon, I promise. Hope you guys landed safe and are having a great time soaking up sun on the beach!

  * * *

  Emma: You slept somewhere else last night, huh?

  I hope it was with a handsome devil who took your mind off your problems.

  * * *

  Carrie: Nah, just a cheap hotel.

  I couldn’t deal with Mom yesterday.

  Needed a good night’s sleep first.

  * * *

  Emma: I hear you. She doesn’t handle public mortification very well, does she? Hers or anyone else’s.

  * * *

  Carrie: That’s the understatement of the century.

  * * *

  Emma: Ugh. I know. I’m sorry.

  And I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk before I left.

  * * *

  Carrie: Don’t worry about it, Em. And don’t apologize.

  I’m the one who ghosted on your wedding breakfast.

  * * *

  Emma: It’s okay. I spent half of it cleaning syrup off the baby, anyway. Which reminds me—don’t worry about going home to check on Mercy if you would rather steer clear of Mom. I gave her a VERY stern talking to before we left. She’s going to stick to the usual feeding schedule, she and Mercy will have a lovely long weekend together, and Dylan and I will be back to serve as Mom buffers on Tuesday. And as soon as we get back, you and I will powwow until we figure out what to do about Jordan and getting your career back on track.

  * * *

  Carrie: Thank you, but I’m a big girl, Em. I can handle my problems on my own.

  * * *

  Emma: Of course you can, but you don’t have to handle them alone because you have family to help you. Dylan and I are both here for you, and if Mercy were old enough to understand the situation, I’m sure she would pour syrup all over Jordan’s stupid head for you.

  * * *

  Carrie: I think Mercy considers a syrup bath a special treat, not a punishment, but I agree. And I would absolutely place my bets on her. For a thirteen-month-old, she’s fierce.<
br />
  * * *

  Emma: She really is. And funny and sweet. I’m missing her a ridiculous amount already, and it’s barely been a day. You don’t think she’s worried about us, do you? Wondering where Mommy and Daddy are and when we’re coming back?

  I want to call her, but Dylan keeps…distracting me.

  * * *

  Carrie: I bet he does. I think men are contractually obligated to distract their wives on their honeymoons. And I think you should stop worrying about Mercy and enjoy the distraction. She’ll be fine. Mom was a lame Mom, but she’s a great grandmother. I’m sure she’s spoiling Mercy rotten and playing trains and ponies with her all day long and reading her a dozen stories before bed.

  * * *

  Emma: You’re right, I’m

  U

  Wa

  xoij

  * * *

  Carrie: Emma? You okay?

  * * *

  Five minutes later…

  * * *

  Carrie: Earth to Emma?

  * * *

  Six minutes later…

  * * *

  Carrie: Guess we got cut off. I’m pretty sure I only got part of your last message, so if it was something important shoot me an email or something. If it wasn’t, then enjoy your honeymoon and we’ll talk when you get home.