One Night: Unveiled

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  ‘Good call,’ Gregory agrees, flashing me a big smile. I narrow suspicious eyes on him, certain he knows more than he’s letting on. And when he coughs and reins in his amusement, getting up from the table to escape my probing eyes, I’m certain of it. ‘I’ll make something else.’

  William’s phone begins to ring, and I look over to see him fishing through his inside pocket. I definitely don’t imagine the mild wave of agitation on his handsome face as he sees the caller’s name on the screen. ‘I’ll just take this.’ He waves his phone at me and strides out of the back door, into our courtyard garden.

  As soon as the door closes behind him, I’m up. ‘I’m going to Miller’s,’ I declare, snatching my phone from the table and making my way from the kitchen. I home right in on the certainty that William won’t leave Nan, not even with Gregory. She’ll be safe. Something isn’t sitting right. Everything is telling me so – Gregory’s behaviour, William’s feigned coolness . . . every internal sense I have.

  ‘No, Olivia!’

  I never expected to be allowed to leave with ease, which is why I’m running down the hallway before Gregory can catch me or alert William to my escape. ‘Don’t you dare leave Nan,’ I call, breaking free from the house and sprinting down the street towards the main road.

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ Gregory shouts, his frustration travelling down the street with his echo and smacking me in the back. ‘I hate you sometimes!’

  I’m at the tube station in no time. I ignore the persistent ringing of my phone, Gregory and William both trying to reach me, but once I’ve been taken down to the tunnels of London by two escalators, my reception dies and I no longer have to reject any more calls.

  I find myself in the stairwell of Miller’s building, taking the steps fast up to the tenth floor without one thought of using the lift. It feels like forever since I’ve been here. I let myself in quietly to be immediately greeted by soft music filling the flat. The track sets the tone before I’ve even closed the door behind me. The deep, powerful notes have me hovering on the edge of worry and peace.

  I shut the door without a sound and pad around the table, through to the kitchen, finding his iPhone docked in its station. The screen tells me what I’m listening to. The National “About Today”. My eyes drop as the words leak from the speakers and penetrate my mind.

  I wander into the lounge, finding what I knew I would. Everything is Miller-perfect, and I can’t deny the settling feeling that engulfs me because of it. But my perfect Miller isn’t here. I debate whether I should head for the bedroom or try the studio while I drink in the art that graces the walls of Miller’s flat. Miller’s art. The beautiful landmarks made to appear almost ugly. Distorted. Beautiful things are mostly noted as beautiful on first sight. Then sometimes you look deeper and discover that they aren’t as beautiful as you first thought. Not many things are as beautiful on the inside as they are on the outside. There are some exceptions, though.

  Miller is one of those exceptions.

  I find myself falling into a bit of a trance, feeling comforted by the tranquil music. I have no intention of giving it up just yet, despite knowing I need to track Miller down and tell him that he’s nowhere close to losing me. His flat and everything in it feels like a snuggly blanket closing in on me, wrapping around me to keep me warm and safe. My eyes close and I breathe in deeply, grabbing on to all of the sensations, images, and thoughts that have brought me so much happiness, like the sofa that I can see clearly in my darkness, where he first made his intentions clear. I remember the bowls of huge, ripe strawberries he had in the kitchen. Melted chocolate on the stove, me pinned to the fridge, Miller’s tongue licking every part of me. It all catapults me to the very beginning. Then in my dark reflections, I wander into his studio and see the chaotic mess that came as such a surprise. An amazingly wonderful surprise. His hobby. The only thing in Miller’s life that’s disordered. Or the only thing until he met me.

  I’m spread on his table; he’s drawing lines across my tummy with red paint – or, as I now know, writing his declaration of his love for me there. And “Demons” is playing softly in the background. Never have words been so true.

  We’re entwined on his squidgy couch, wrapped up in each other, stuck together so tightly. And the view. It’s almost as beautiful as Miller.

  Almost?

  I smile to myself. Nowhere close.

  My private reflecting couldn’t get any better, but then those wonderful misplaced fireworks begin to fizz under my skin and my darkness bursts with light. Bright, powerful, superb light.

  ‘Boom.’ His whisper, his voice in my ear, the heat of his mouth engulfing my cheek, it all makes my body feel like it’s free-falling into that wonderful light. I’m unable to separate my daydreams from reality, and I really don’t want to. If I open my eyes, I’ll be alone in his flat. If I open my eyes, every perfect thought of our time together will be lost to our ugly reality.

  I can feel the warmth of his hands on my skin now, too, and the strange sensation of moving but . . . not moving. ‘Open your eyes, sweet girl.’

  I shake my head adamantly, squeezing my eyes tighter shut, not prepared to lose any of my dreams – the feel of him, the sound of him.

  ‘Open.’ Soft lips tease me, making me moan. ‘Show me.’ Teeth nibble in between the tormenting skimming of his mouth on mine. ‘Keep me in your light place, Olivia Taylor.’

  My breath hitches and my eyes flutter open, revealing the most breathtaking vision I’m ever likely to see.

  Miller Hart.

  My gaze roams the contours of his face, taking in every perfect detail of him. It’s all here – his piercing blue eyes swimming with emotion, his soft lips parted just so, his dark stubble, his wavy hair, the errant lock sitting perfectly in place . . . everything. It’s all too good to be true, so I reach up to touch him, the tip of my finger taking its time to feel it all, just to check I’m not imagining things.

  ‘I’m real,’ he whispers, taking my fingers gently to stop my quiet exploring. He kisses my knuckles and takes my hand to the back of his neck where my fingers delve into the masses of locks flicking from his nape. ‘I’m yours.’ His lips drop to mine and I’m hoisted up to his body, held tightly in his arms as we unite – taste each other, feel each other, remind each other of our powerful bond.

  My thighs snake around his waist and constrict. I know I’m not imagining anything now. My insides are a riot of heat, sparks, and blazing flames. They are all consuming me, taking over me, rejuvenating me. It’s so very needed. For both of us. Right now nothing else exists, only me and Miller.

  Us.

  The world is shut safely outside.

  ‘Worship me,’ I plead between our lapping tongues, pushing his jacket from his shoulders impatiently. I’m desperate to be skin on skin. ‘Please.’

  He moans, releasing me one arm at a time to rid himself of the expensive material. My hands are at his tie, yanking at the knot frantically, though he doesn’t complain. He’s as desperate as me to remove everything between us. As he holds me to him with one hand sitting under my bum, he uses the other to help me, pulling hard and taking his silk tie over his head and his waistcoat off. I make a very bold move when I grab the top of his shirt and wrench it open. I brace myself for his gasp of shock, which I’ve already decided I’ll ignore, but it doesn’t come. Buttons fly in every direction, the sounds of the tiny pieces meeting the floor around us, and I start pushing at the fine material, yanking it down one arm at a time. The heat of his bare chest against my dress is one step closer to skin. The shirt joins his jacket, waistcoat, and tie on the floor and my hands slap against his shoulders while our kiss becomes more and more urgent. There’s not his usual demand. He doesn’t try to slow me down or stop me. I’m allowed to kiss him madly and glide my hands everywhere they can reach as I whimper and moan my desperation for him.

  I manage to kick off my Converse and push my body higher so he has to drop his head back to maintain our kiss. ‘I want to be ins
ide you,’ Miller gasps, starting to pace across the lounge. ‘Now.’ He stops and reaches behind him to push my legs down from his back, all the while going at my mouth like a starved lion. I find my feet and move my hands to his belt, making fast work of removing it and tossing it aside. His trousers are next. They’re undone and I work them as far down his thighs as I can manage while keeping my mouth attached to his. Miller does the rest, taking over and pushing his boxers down. Then he kicks everything off – trousers, boxers, shoes, and socks. My desire to remind myself of his full naked perfection doesn’t overwhelm me enough to break our kiss, but when the hem of my dress is grabbed and pulled up my body, leaving me no option but to pull away from him, I take the interruption to drink him in. The material of my dress going past my face only hinders my studying momentarily, and I get a little extra time when Miller lazily reaches behind me to unclasp my bra, pulling it slowly down my arms. My nipples harden into tight, sensitive nubs, and my core starts to throb, begging for his touch. My eyes flick to his, my short pants being matched, as my bra is cast aside blindly before warm thumbs slip into the waistband of my knickers. But he doesn’t remove them immediately, seeming content with watching me becoming more desperate by the second. He can’t start with the torturous control. Not now.

  I shake my head a little, watching as the corner of his mouth lifts just the tiniest bit. Then he moves forward, keeping his thumbs in place, encouraging my backward steps until my back’s pushed up against the cold paint of a wall. I inhale a shocked rush of air, letting my head fall back. ‘Please,’ I beg, starting to feel him drawing my knickers down my thighs. The pulsing between my legs moves up a gear, transforming into a consistent thud. My knickers land at my feet.

  ‘Step out of them,’ he orders gently, and I do as I’m bid, trying to focus on what’s likely to come next. I don’t have to wonder for long. Heat meets me between the thighs. The source? Miller’s fingers.

  ‘Oh God!’ I clench my eyes shut as he strokes up my centre. It makes me push myself farther into the wall in a pointless attempt to escape his teasing tactics.

  ‘So fucking wet,’ he growls, taking his finger back down and pushing into me, applying pressure on my front wall. My palms slap into his shoulders and push until my arms are braced at full length between us. ‘Turn around.’

  I swallow hard and try to filter his instruction, but his fingers are still inside me, motionless, and moving will instigate friction, which will instigate crumbling to the floor in a pile of want and lust. So I stay where I am, frightened to enhance my craving.

  ‘Turn. Around.’

  I shake my head obstinately, biting down harshly on my lip, digging my short nails into the flesh around his collarbones. Suddenly, a hand knocks my arms away and his body is flush with mine, putting more force behind his fingers buried inside of me.

  ‘No!’ I have nowhere to hide. I’m pinned to the wall, helpless.

  ‘Like this,’ he mumbles, biting his way from my chin to my cheek. Miller keeps us as close as possible as he turns me, ensuring his fingers remain submerged. As I feared, the sensations of my movements only heighten my wanton state, and I start to take deep, controlled breaths to stop myself from yelling my heady despair. ‘Hands on the wall.’

  I comply immediately.

  ‘Back you come.’ One hand takes my waist and guides me back, and then his foot taps my ankle, making me widen my stance. I’m wide open, totally at his mercy. ‘Comfortable?’ He twists his fingers inside of me, making my arse shoot back and collide with his groin.

  ‘Miller!’ I shout, letting my heavy head fall to the wall.

  ‘Are you comfortable?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Good.’ He releases my waist and a moment later, I feel the hard, broad head of his arousal meet my entrance. I hold my breath. ‘Breathe, sweet girl.’ It’s a warning and all of the air sails from my lungs as his fingers slip from my passage, making way for his hard cock. I’m not left absent of fullness for long. He slides in on a disjointed prayer, robbing me of breath again.

  I feel complete. ‘Move,’ I plead, pushing back onto him, taking him to the hilt. ‘Miller, move.’ I push into my arms, bringing my head from the wall, letting it roll back on my neck.

  My plea is answered. Soft palms rest lightly on my hips, his fingers flexing in preparation. ‘I don’t want you to come, Olivia.’

  ‘What?’ I gasp, beginning to shake just at the thought of restraining my climax. They come out of nowhere, mostly. He’s the Special One – talented beyond mine and his own comprehension. ‘Miller, don’t ask the impossible!’

  ‘You can do it,’ he pointlessly assures me, grinding into my bum. ‘Concentrate.’

  I always concentrate. It gets me nowhere, so I have to rely on his expert teasing tactics, where he holds me in limbo. The torture that awaits me lands hard in my desire-saturated mind. I’m going to be screaming my despair, maybe even scratching and biting him. He always holds me in no-man’s-land, so just the fact that he’s warned me is worrying.

  I clench my eyes shut and release a broken cry when he leisurely withdraws until only the very tip of him is submerged. ‘Miller.’ I’m begging already.

  ‘Tell me how you want me.’

  ‘I need hard,’ I confess, stopping myself from firing back and finding that delicious fullness.

  ‘How hard?’

  His question surprises me. And so does my answer. ‘I want everything you have.’

  He stills behind me. He’s considering my answer. ‘Everything?’

  ‘Everything,’ I affirm. His power and energy will strip away so much agony. I know it will.

  ‘As you wish.’ He bends, bringing his chest down to my back, and bites into my shoulder. ‘I love you,’ he murmurs, kissing at his bite mark. ‘Do you understand?’

  I understand perfectly.

  ‘Yes.’ Pushing my cheek into his face, I make the most of the scratchy feel of his stubble before he rises and takes an audible lungful of air. I brace myself.

  Yet no amount of bracing stops my yelp of shock when he pounds forward. I half expect him to freeze and panic at my shout, but he doesn’t. He swiftly retreats and flies forward on a roar. Those first few drives set the pace. He’s relentless, unforgiving. His fingers dig into my flesh and yank me back repeatedly, pushing cry after cry past my lips. I have every faith that he can detect my frame of mind, so I don’t try at all to stop my constant yelps. Every crash of his body into mine spikes one, and it’s not long before my throat feels raw and dry. It doesn’t stop me, though. My body isn’t my own. Miller has full control of me and he’s making the most of it. He’s almost brutal, but the passion and want mingling between us holds me firmly in utter ecstasy.

  He keeps up his merciless tempo until it’s only him holding me up. There are barely any gaps between his groin slapping against the flesh of my bum, the sound getting louder the sweatier we become. The deep penetration isn’t only filling me literally; it’s filling me mentally, every thunder forward reminding me of this wonderful place I find myself in each time he takes me – whether controlled and gentle or brutal and unforgiving. There’s no control here. At least there doesn’t appear to be, yet I suspect it’s there. No, I know it’s there. I’ve come to learn that no matter how he chooses to have me, it’s all worshipping. It’s all undertaken with unremitting love backing it up.

  Twinges are starting to stab at the tip of my clitoris. It’s the beginning of the end. Oh God, I’m not going to be able to stop this! I try everything – focusing, breathing, but the crashing of his strong body into mine is preventing me from doing anything else but accepting him. Absorbing him. Taking absolutely everything he has to give me. It’ll always be this way.

  ‘You’re tensing inside, Livy,’ he yells, maintaining his ruthless pace, almost panicked, like he knows the internal battle I’m having. I don’t have a chance to confirm he’s right. He pulls out and spins me around, hoisting me up to his body and slamming back into me.

  I s
cream, wrapping my legs around his waist and fisting my hands in his hair. The sudden loss of friction did nothing to help me. He’s working too fast. ‘My name, baby,’ he pants into my face. ‘Scream my name.’ On his demand, he jacks me up and yanks me back down.

  ‘Miller!’

  ‘Oh yeah! And again.’ He repeats his previous move, this time harder.

  ‘Fuck!’ I cry, going dizzy from the depths he’s achieving.

  ‘My name!’

  I’m getting mad, my looming orgasm and Miller’s insistence of controlling it triggering my sass. ‘Miller!’ I scream, tugging at his hair, throwing my head back as he pounds on. He’s getting thicker and thicker with each strike, has been for a while, yet the bastard refuses to give in.

  ‘No scratching?’ he taunts, sending my fingernails on an immediate lashing mission. I shock myself, but my surprise at my own viciousness doesn’t stop me. I’m digging right down and then dragging hard through his skin. ‘Arhhhhhh!’ he roars in pain, tossing his head back. ‘Fuck!’

  Neither his agonised shout nor his anger-filled curse hold me back. I’m clawing at him like a madwoman, and strangely I think he wants me to.

  ‘Lame, sweet girl,’ he puffs, unreasonably incensing me. His eyes drop and lock with mine. They are dark and serious. He wants me to hurt him? His relentless hips pull to an abrupt halt, making my climax retreat.

  I lose the plot.

  ‘Move!’ I pull at his hair, yanking his head to the side. But he just grins. ‘Move, you bastard!’ Dark eyebrows rise in interest, but he remains motionless, sending me on a pointless writhe in his hold to try and gain some friction. ‘Damn you, Miller!’ Without thought, my mouth drops to his shoulder and my teeth sink into his hard muscle.

  ‘Fuck!’ His hips piston forward, resurrecting my dying orgasm. ‘You . . . fuck!’ He’s really going for it now, smashing into me like a man possessed.

  My jaw locks around his flesh, making him yell, grunt, shout, and my hands are pulling constantly at his waves. I’m being as brutal as Miller. And it feels so good. The pleasure is beyond words, and the pain is replacing other agonies. All of the hurt is being slammed out of me, maybe only temporarily, but it’s still going. He’s punishing. I’m punishing. My back is being slammed repeatedly against the wall and we’re both barking shouts of gratification.