I nod, and then let him lower me back to the table. My hands are released and he reaches to the side of me, collecting something and returning his hands to my stomach. I look down and see the tip of his index finger caked in red paint. Slightly bemused, I flick my eyes to his, seeing him focused on my tummy. Then he slowly drags his finger across my skin, starting to gently thrust into me again, reviving the lingering climax. I begin to tingle and take immense satisfaction from watching Miller concentrate on his task while he effortlessly lets his body flow into mine.
He’s calm and slow in both of his missions, drawing on my tummy and making love to me. But I’m running out of time. ‘Miller,’ I gasp, my spine bowing, my fists balling. I’m tipping the edge, bubbling.
‘I love feeling you,’ he whispers, his hips bucking a little, enticing a yelp from me and a gruff shout from him. ‘You’re pulsing around me,’ he pants. ‘Fucking hell, Olivia!’
‘Please!’ I plead, my head beginning to thrash as I’m tossed into a whirlwind of intense sensations. I can’t escape it. I’m going to shatter. Both of his hands grab my thighs and start pulling me onto him, not incredibly hard, but considerably more powerful than his usual composed tactics. ‘Oh!’
I’m desperate to pull myself together, gain a bit of control amid my crazy pleasure, just so I can focus on his face as he climaxes. I look up to him, going dizzy when he throws his head back, his jaw set to crack from the pressure of his teeth gritting. Now our bodies are slapping together, each collide spiking shouts of pleasure.
And then it happens.
For both of us.
Miller slams into me on a roar, stilling and pushing deep, and I scream his name. I burst. I can’t see straight, my internal muscles going into spasm to match my body.
‘Oh my God,’ I exhale on a long, satisfied rush of breath, finally gaining something close to normal vision, finding his chest pumping and his face dripping in sweat. Looking down to my stomach, I catch a glimpse of a few lines, but his palm is quickly covering the letters and smudging them, spreading the paint everywhere, the words now a big smear of red dye.
Then his body collapses onto me, his lips finding mine. ‘I lost it. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’ Paying some special attention to my mouth, he smothers me. Body. Mouth . . . Heart.
I smile and embrace him, taking him in my arms and returning his kiss. ‘There was feeling,’ I say quietly into his mouth. The absence of it during my encounter with the punishing escort was the issue, not necessarily how hard he took me. It was how unloving and detached he was.
His face hides in the hollow of my neck. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘No,’ I assure him. ‘The only pain I feel is when we’re apart.’
He slowly lifts, revealing his chest covered in paint. ‘We just painted perfect, sweet girl.’
I smile on a breathy exhale. ‘Hum to me.’
He matches my smile, giving me one of his most beautiful traits. ‘Until there is no breath left in my lungs.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
There’s something to be said about making the perfect cup of coffee, but I’ll struggle without the aid of an all-singing all-dancing coffee machine, and leaving Miller’s apartment without him is not an option right now.
I stand in my knickers and one of Miller’s black T-shirts, scanning the lengths of worktop in his kitchen looking for a kettle . . . and don’t find one. In fact, I don’t find much at all – no toaster, chopping boards, kitchen towels, or any kitchen-related gadgets, for that matter. Every available space is free from clutter. Deciding Miller’s obsessive tidy habit must mean he’s hidden everything away, I start opening cupboards on the hunt for a kettle. I work my way around the rows of base and wall cabinets, swinging each open in turn, getting more and more exasperated with each cupboard that I venture into. All of the contents are stored too perfectly, although it does mean I can quickly see what’s hidden within. But I still find no kettle. I close the last cupboard on a frown and begin tapping my fingers on the empty work surface, but I’m distracted from the mystery of an absent kettle when my skin starts to tingle mildly. My fingers pause and I smile, keeping my back to the doorway, the tingles building up into a delicious flurry of internal sparks.
‘Boom,’ he whispers onto the back of my neck, making every nerve ending explode. Firm hands slide beneath my T-shirt and take my naked waist, turning me in his arms. I come face to face with a nude, sleepy Miller. ‘Morning.’ His lips move sleepily, too, hypnotising me momentarily.
‘Morning.’
He smiles, swooping down to claim my mouth. ‘I just had quite a shock,’ he says against my lips, nibbling between words.
‘Why?’
‘Because I just ventured into my wardrobe.’ He pulls back and eyes me while I press my lips together, shame and guilt attacking me. Oh God, he’s . . . calm. I relax but feel wary of his reaction to his shredded wardrobe. His head tilts. ‘Or I suppose rag shop is more apt now.’
‘I’ll replace them,’ I promise sincerely, thinking my mother’s mass of stored cash probably won’t even cover it. ‘I’m sorry.’
His palm slips into my locks at the back of my head and I’m pulled forward until his lips meet my forehead. ‘I’ve already forgiven you. Looking for something?’
‘A kettle,’ I answer, lifting my eyes to his, staggered by his calm persona.
‘I don’t have one.’
‘How do you make hot drinks, then?’ My hands slide up his arms to his shoulders as he lifts me onto his worktop.
He doesn’t answer, instead leaving me on the counter and moseying over to the sink. I’m curious, but not enough to convince my eyes to watch what he’s doing, rather than watch the incredible vision of his backside tensing with each step. My head cocks thoughtfully on a satisfied smile, and then he turns and I’m suddenly not focused on his buns any longer.
‘Earth to Olivia.’ His soft tone has my line of sight diverting up his torso slowly, eventually arriving at a knowing hint of a smile. He flicks his head in indication for me to look, and I see him press a button on a chrome, state-of-the-art tap. Steam immediately billows from the head. ‘Instant boiling water.’
I roll my eyes and rest my hands in my lap. ‘How very tidy,’ I muse mockingly. ‘I bet you peed your pants with excitement when that was invented.’
His lips purse in an attempt to prevent his smile. ‘It’s a damn good idea, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Yes, for obsessive-compulsives like you, who hate clutter, it’s perfect.’
‘There’s no need for insolence.’ He flips it off and immediately gets a cloth from under the sink to wipe away the water drops that his little demonstration has left behind. It doesn’t escape my notice that he fails to challenge my reference to OCD, and I don’t bother telling him that there really is a need for insolence, choosing to goad him further instead.
‘I’m proud of you,’ I tell him, casually casting my eyes around his kitchen with interest, knowing he’ll be studying me curiously.
‘You are?’
‘Yes. You’ve placed me on your work surface, making it look a little messy, and exposed yourself to some risks.’ My eyes arrive back at Miller’s naked, inquisitive form.
‘I’m good at assessing and mitigating risks.’ He takes a few steps towards me, his eyes turning hungry. ‘But I need to know what the risks are in order to do so.’
‘Good point.’ I nod agreeably, stopping my stare from dropping below his neck. I can see from the smoke in his eyes that he’ll be firming up. Catching a glimpse will toss me into surrender mode and I’m having too much fun poking fun at him. ‘I’ll tell you the risk.’
‘Please do,’ he whispers, low, deep and seductively. My nipples pucker.
I slowly remove my T-shirt and swing my bare legs onto the counter, lying flat on my back, my body spread along the length of marble. Maintaining my nonchalance is difficult with a naked Miller in such close proximity, and even harder when the cold of the marble spreads across my
skin. I hold on to my gasp of shock and turn my head to the side to see him.
He’s smiling, and it punches the stored air from my lungs fast so I can mirror his happiness. ‘I don’t see this as a risk.’ His eyes skate from my face, all the way to my toes and work slowly up my horizontal body again. The lust in his gaze hits me between the thighs like a sledgehammer. I’m squirming under his obvious intent that’s seeping from his every naked pore. ‘I see this as an opportunity.’
I grip my bottom lip between my teeth and follow his remaining steps until he’s looming over me.
‘Raise your knees,’ he orders gently, his instruction making the pressure of my teeth increase on my lip. ‘Now, Olivia.’ That authoritative tone is all it takes. I have no shyness, no reluctance or holding back. My knees lift until the soles of my feet are flat on the counter, anticipation for his touch consuming me. I’m zinging from head to toe. He slips his fingers into the top of my knickers and lazily draws them down my thighs, encouraging me to lift my feet when he reaches them. The small, cotton garment is folded neatly and placed accurately on the side before his palms rest on my thighs and pull them apart. I gulp down air and close my eyes, waiting for his next move. ‘Fingers or tongue?’
‘I don’t care,’ I exhale on a breathy gasp. I’ll take anything. ‘Just touch me.’
‘You sound desperate.’
‘I am,’ I admit, unashamed. He winds me up into a coil of desire and desperation, then teases and tortures me with his expert worshipping ways. It’s excruciating and wonderful all wrapped into one.
‘Fingers,’ he decides, tickling my entrance with a skim of his thumb across my heated flesh. My back bows violently, and I cry out. ‘That way I get to kiss you if I choose.’
My eyes open and I find him braced on one arm over me, his face hovering close to mine and his wayward wave of hair tickling his forehead. I remain quiet and endure the agonising wait for another dash of contact as he scans my face. And then it happens and I find my head lifting without thought to capture his lips. Only one finger is half submerged within me, and my greedy muscles try their hardest to hold on to it, tensing harshly, but he pulls out and separates our mouths. I moan despairingly, letting my head rest back down as I pant and twitch.
‘You don’t call the shots, sweet girl,’ he warns cockily, stirring my impatience.
‘You always say you’ll do anything I want.’ I’m using his own promise against him, even though I know full well he wasn’t referring to sexual acts.
‘I concur.’ He gets his lips as close to mine as they can be without touching. ‘But you haven’t told me what you want.’
‘You.’ I don’t hesitate.
‘You have me already. Tell me what you want me to do to you.’ He’s just as speedy with his counter, making my cheeks flush as I grasp his intention. He wants instructions? ‘Come on, Livy. Think of it as a method statement to support our assessing and mitigating of risks.’ There’s an element of mocking to his tone, which both deepens my blush and sparks a bit of sass. So on a long, confidence-boosting inhale of oxygen, I locate that sass and mentally grab it with both hands, ensuring it can’t disappear on me.
‘Enter me.’
‘With what?’ he deadpans.
‘Your fingers,’ I breathe, seeing instantly that he doesn’t just want instructions. He wants exact, step-by-step commands.
‘Ooh, I see.’ He conceals his amusement well, glancing down at his hand hovering between my thighs. ‘Hadn’t I ought to check your’ – he pouts and thinks for a second – ‘condition?’
Damn him! I’m growing aggravated, my own fingers prepared to do the job if he doesn’t get on with it. ‘Miller, please.’ I immerse myself in darkness, closing my eyes in desolation. I’m bursting at the seams with need, the heaviness between my thighs pushing deep and starting to throb eagerly.
‘Focus, Livy.’ He pushes my thighs apart again when I attempt to close them to suppress the pulsing.
‘You make it too hard!’ I shout on a futile thrash of my body. Two big palms press into my shoulders, holding me still, and I open my lids to come nose to nose with a triumphant glimmer in deep, satisfied blues. My hand instinctively reaches up and grabs his hair, giving it a bold yank in frustration.
It has zero effect. He prises my fingers from his dark waves and places my hand on my tummy, giving it a little warning squeeze on a serious face. ‘I love your sass,’ he whispers, ghosting his lips across mine, flirting, and though I know I won’t get blessed with a heart-stopping kiss, my body responds and lifts in a vain attempt to catch them anyway.
‘You want to taste me?’ he mumbles, only allowing a slight friction of our mouths, denying me the full-on contact. ‘Do you want to swallow me up and lose yourself in me for ever?’
‘Yes!’ My frustration grows as he continues to refuse me the contact I’m demanding.
‘Do you remember who can sate this unyielding need?’
‘You,’ I moan as I squirm beneath the brief contact of his fingers at my entrance.
He pulls away from me quickly, his sanctimonious expression morphing into something else. I’m not sure what. But I can only compare it to glory. He looks like he’s struck gold. To anyone else, his face is expressionless, blank . . . untelling, but to me it’s spelling a million words of happiness. Miller Hart is happy. He’s content. And I know for sure that that has never happened in the history of Miller. ‘I don’t just want to be the man who can give you mind-blowing orgasms.’
My pleasure and musing is interrupted by his statement, and I immediately notice the glory in his eyes has fallen away. I’m a trifle confused. ‘You always say it,’ I argue quietly, my fizzing settling under his uncertainty. I’ve vowed to make him feel like more than a walking, talking pleasure machine, yet he seems to be happy with the praise he’s rewarded with when we’re intimate. He demands it, working me up into a frenzy and basking in the begging he draws. He deserves it, by God, he needs a medal, but I never considered for a moment that I might be making him feel used. He likes me pleading for his touch. It makes him feel wanted. Needed.
Everything dies within me when I consider the horrific thought of him pinning the same statement to every woman he’s taken. Does he deliver such compelling words to them? Probably. It’s his job. Does he make them feel as amazing as he makes me feel? I know he does.
Miller is brooding when in the heat of the moment, and he’s flaming hot when armed with a belt and a four-poster bed. ‘Do you express this much passion to every woman you’ve ever taken?’ My question shocks me, especially since I only planned on considering it silently. My subconscious wants an answer.
‘Everything you get from me is natural instinct, Olivia Taylor. I’ve never been fascinated before. I’ve never given all of me before. You get all of me. Every fucked-up little piece. And I pray every second of every day that you’ll never give up on me, even if I do.’ He pushes his lips gently to mine and leaves them lingering for what seems like for ever, injecting me with strength, intensifying my love. ‘Keep me in this beautiful light place with you.’ He releases me and hits me with pleading eyes. ‘Don’t let me fall back into darkness, I beg you.’
I absorb his words, immobilised under his clear blue gaze. Hearing him reaffirm his feelings, express himself so well, should hold my contentment firm. But I heard the negative line in his statement. Even if I do.
I’m too aware of Miller’s recent actions. The right words from the wrong people could send him spiralling back into that dark place and only my strength can pull him back.
‘Stroke me,’ I order softly, ‘with your fingers.’ I take his hand and guide it to the apex of my thighs. ‘Then enter me and thrust gently.’
He nods in wordless acknowledgment and braces his hand on the counter as his touch finds me. My breath catches. ‘Let me taste you,’ he whispers, bringing our faces closer together.
My response is mechanical, no thoughts necessary, and I lift and seal our mouths on a groan, wrapping my arms a
round his neck. Every muscle I possess hardens in preparation, my thighs dropping further open, inviting more of him into me. His efforts are lazy and measured, two fingers gliding perfectly across my flesh and working me up deliciously. I’m breathless, my kiss becoming predictably harder as my pleasure builds.
I gasp, sucking at his bottom lip before letting my head fall back to the worktop.
His eyes are hooded, his laboured breathing matching mine, as he maintains the steady slipping of his fingers over my throbbing flesh. ‘Jesus, Olivia.’ His head drops limply as he finally breaches the threshold of my entrance with his fingers and puts some weight behind his caresses, pushing into me on a low moan.
My chest flies up on a delirious shout. ‘Miller!’
‘Fuck! I love hearing you scream my name.’ He withdraws and thrusts forward again, the power of his drive not just evident by my continued moans and cries, but clear on the cut edges of his strained face. I’m fighting the urge to squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to lose myself in dark pleasure, but more desperate to watch him. There’s wonder past the dark desire of his addictive eyes, but I lose the glorious sight when he dips and encases my tingling nipple with the heat of his mouth. It catapults me into sensory overload. I start to shake.
‘Oh God!’ My hands in his hair apply pressure, pushing him onto my breast, and my hips start lifting, meeting the pumping of his fingers. Every nerve ending is buzzing uncontrollably, my head shaking, my thoughts scattered. I begin to feel my climax take hold, the pleasure dominating every inch of me shifting to one spot, set to explode. And with a nip of my nipple and a deep rotation of strong fingers within me, it happens.
The world ceases to rotate on its axis. Life stops. My mind goes blank. There’s a distant sound of groaning and once I’ve overcome the initial onslaught of harsh pleasure, I drop my head to the side in exhaustion and peel my eyes open to find Miller at full height, looking down at me as he strokes me softly between the thighs, easing me lightly down. His arousal is thick, pulsing and protruding proudly from his groin.
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