One Night: Unveiled

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  ‘Time to end this, Olivia,’ he pants, nudging my face from his shoulder and tackling my mouth. We kiss like we’ve never kissed before. It’s hungry, fast, and desperate, and in the blink of an eye, I’m suddenly on the floor beneath Miller. He keeps us close and pumps fast until my toes curl and I scream as my release rips through me, drawing him farther into me on long, pulsing constrictions of my internal wall. He groans, his pace slowing, muffled words being mumbled into my neck. I’m milking him dry, relishing in the heat of his cum flooding me.

  ‘Good God,’ I gasp, prying my fingers from his back and letting them fall limply above my head.

  ‘I concur,’ he wheezes, pulling out of me and rolling onto his back in exhaustion. I drop my heavy head to the side, seeing his arms splayed out haphazardly as he puffs laboured breaths to the ceiling. ‘I fucking concur.’ His head drops and his eyes meet mine. He’s dripping wet, his hair in disarray, his perfect mouth parted more than usual to drink in much-needed air. ‘Give me my thing.’

  ‘I can’t move!’ I splutter, astounded by his unreasonable demand. ‘You’ve just fucked me into exhaustion.’

  ‘You can move for me,’ he protests, grappling at my waist haphazardly. ‘Come to me.’

  I’m given little choice. And besides, I want to smother him with my body and my mouth, so heaving myself up, I roll onto him until I’m spread limply down the length of his tall body. The only thing working now is my mouth and it’s currently stuck to his neck, sucking and biting. ‘You taste delicious,’ I declare, getting a hit of clean sweat. ‘And you smell divine.’

  ‘Suck harder.’

  I pause devouring him and bring my face slowly up. I know I’m frowning. Miller Hart is the last person in the world I would expect to want a bruise on his neck. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Suck . . . harder.’ His eyebrows rise a touch, backing up his repeated order. ‘Are you going to make me ask a third time?’

  Slightly bemused, I fall back to his neck and nibble at him a little, wondering if he’ll retract his command, but after a good few minutes of gentle biting, I only get that third time.

  ‘Suck!’

  My lips latch on to his neck immediately and suck. Hard.

  ‘Harder, Livy.’ His palm meets the back of my head and pushes me to him, making it slightly difficult to breathe. But I do as I’m told, sucking his flesh deeply into my mouth, drawing all of the blood to the surface. This will be seen loud and proud over the collar of his posh shirt. What the hell is wrong with him? I can’t stop, though. For one, Miller’s locked palm on the back of my head won’t allow me to, but two, I’m getting an unreasonable thrill at the thought of everyone seeing such a defacement on my well-mannered gentleman.

  I’m not sure how much time passes. The only indication is how sore my lips are and how achy my tongue is. When I’m finally released from his harsh hold, I pull away, a little breathless, and stare down at the monstrosity I’ve just created on his perfect neck. I flinch. It isn’t perfect now. It looks hideous, and I’m sure Miller will agree when he sees it. I can’t rip my eyes away from the ugliness.

  ‘Perfect,’ he sighs. He yawns and clasps my neck, then rolls us until I’m held snuggly under him and he’s straddling my hips, sitting up on me. I’m still dazed and confused, and Miller lightly tracing the contours of my breasts with the tip of his finger doesn’t distract me from that.

  ‘It looks horrible,’ I confess, wondering at what point he’s going to check out the damage I’ve done.

  ‘Maybe,’ he muses, not giving my concern the concern it deserves. He just happily continues to delicately trail his finger all over my torso.

  I mentally shrug to myself. I’m certainly not going to get myself all worked up – something Miller does best – if the king of stress isn’t even bothering. So instead I ask the question I planned on asking the moment I found him . . . before he laid his hands on me and distracted me with a little Miller-style worshipping, albeit a little harder this time. Little? I smile. That was a proper good fucking, and surprisingly I loved every single moment. ‘What was in that envelope?’ I begin carefully, knowing this needs to be broached sensitively.

  He doesn’t even look at me, nor does he falter in his task of drawing invisible lines all over me. ‘What happened with you and Gregory?’ He looks at me, eyes full of knowing. I can’t even breathe. Gregory was right to be worried. ‘Gregory didn’t look too comfortable when I inquired.’

  My eyes close and I remain silent, failing to prevent the guilty signs from charging forward.

  ‘Tell me it meant nothing.’

  I swallow hard, furiously debating my best angle. Confess. Or deny. My conscience gets the better of me. ‘He was trying to comfort me,’ I blurt quietly. ‘It went too far.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘After you took me to the hotel.’

  He winces, pulling in a calming stretch of air.

  ‘We didn’t have sex,’ I continue nervously, keen to clear that little bit of suspicion up. I’m not liking the shakes that his body has developed. ‘A silly fumble, that’s all. We both regret it. Please don’t hurt him.’

  His nostrils flare, like it’s taking every modicum of his waning strength not to explode. It undoubtedly is. ‘If I hurt him, I hurt you. I’ve hurt you enough already.’ His teeth clench. ‘But it won’t happen again.’

  That is a statement, not a question or request for confirmation. It won’t be happening again. So I remain quiet until I eventually see his chest heaves begin to subside. He’s calming, but I still posed a question before we slipped off course, and I want an answer. ‘The envelope.’

  ‘What about it?’

  I chew on the inside of my mouth, deliberating whether to continue. He’s slipping into detachment. ‘What was inside?’

  ‘A note from Charlie.’

  I kind of knew that, but his willing reply surprises me. ‘What did it say?’ The follow-up question slips out without hesitation this time.

  ‘It told me how I can get out of this world.’

  My mouth drops open. He has an out? Charlie’s going to release him from the invisible shackles? Oh my God! The potential of all this being over, of us getting on with our lives, is suddenly too much to comprehend. No wonder Miller looks so peaceful, but I soon pull up when a small point worms its way past my relief and happiness. Actually, a huge point. He read that letter in the kitchen at my house and looked completely stricken past the cool impassiveness of his mask. He was troubled, so what’s changed since then to make him seem so at ease? I steel myself and ask the question I should’ve asked before I let my excitement run away with me. ‘How can you get out of this world?’ My instinct to hold my breath worries me. It tells me I’m not going to like the answer.

  But my question still doesn’t make his finger falter across my skin, and he still isn’t looking at me. ‘It doesn’t matter because I’m not doing it.’

  ‘Is it bad?’

  ‘The worst,’ he answers without thought, almost scowling before it drifts into disgust. ‘I have another way.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I’ll kill him.’

  ‘What?’ I wriggle beneath him in a panic, but I don’t go anywhere, and I wonder if he positioned himself like this on purpose, knowing damn well I’d start pressing for answers and want to escape when he gave them to me. And I don’t know why I’m acting so shocked by his shocking, hateful promise. After what William said and Miller’s look, I had a bad feeling he would say that. What Charlie proposed is worse? How?

  ‘Stay where you are.’ He’s calm. Too calm, and it just makes me all the more freaked. He seizes my wrists and holds them above my head, and I’m now puffing exhausted bursts of air into his face. ‘It’s the only way.’

  ‘No, it’s not!’ I argue. ‘Charlie’s given you another way. Take it!’

  He shakes his head adamantly. ‘No. And that’s the end of it!’ His jaw is tight now, eyes darkening in warning. I don’t care. Nothing can be worse than killing
someone. I won’t let him do it.

  ‘It fucking isn’t!’ I yell. ‘Get off me!’ I heave and flip myself, all without success.

  ‘Olivia, stop it!’ He slams my wrists back to the floor above my head when I manage to fight them up a little. ‘Damn it! Stop fighting me!’

  I finally relent, but only because of utter exhaustion, and pant in his face, trying to glare through my tiredness. ‘Nothing could be worse than killing someone.’

  He draws in a deep breath. It’s a confidence-boosting breath, and it makes every muscle against him tense. ‘If I agree to what he wants, it will destroy you, Olivia. And there’s no guarantee that once I do this, he won’t ask me to come back and do something else. As long as he’s breathing, he’s a threat to our happiness.’

  I shake my head adamantly. ‘It’s too dangerous. You’d never be able to pull it off – he must have dozens of heavies watching his back.’ My panic is escalating. I heard Gregory mention guns. ‘And you can’t live with this on your conscience for the rest of your life.’

  ‘It’s too dangerous not to. And Charlie himself has given me the perfect opportunity.’

  His confounding words hold me silent for a second before realisation slams into me and I gasp. ‘Oh God. He wants you to go on a date?’

  He nods mildly, choosing to remain quiet and let it settle in my wrought mind. This only gets worse by the minute. There has to be another way.

  Something deep and possessive inside of me is stirring at the thought of someone else touching and kissing him. Part of my mind is screaming, Let him kill Charlie. The world’s a better place without him! And a little devil on my shoulder is nodding his agreement. But I suddenly have a little angel, too, and she’s looking at me sorrowfully, not speaking, but I know what she’d say if she did.

  Let him go.

  Just for one night.

  It’ll mean nothing to him.

  ‘She’s the sister of a Russian drug lord,’ he says quietly. ‘She’s wanted me for years but she disgusts me. She gets off on degrading her partner. All she wants is the power. If Charlie delivers me, he’ll get in with the Russians. It would be a very lucrative partnership, and he’s wanted it for a long time.’

  ‘Why don’t they just join forces anyway?’

  ‘The Russian’s sister won’t agree to an association unless she gets me.’

  ‘Let go of me,’ I whisper quietly, and he does, breaking away from my sprawled body and resting back on his knees. Apprehension is pouring from him. I get to my knees and reach for him, catching him frowning. But he lets me do my thing. I start to tug at his shoulders, encouraging him to turn away from me, and when his back comes into view, I fall apart.

  It’s a mess. Red lines are crisscrossing his back; some are weeping tiny beads of blood and others are swollen. His back looks like a roadmap. He really did want me to hurt him, but his reasons were far deeper than a pleasure-pain mix. He wanted my marks all over him. He belongs to someone.

  Me.

  My palms find my face and I push my fingers into my eyes, unable to stop the constant hitching of my breath from my pain-filled sobs.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ he whispers, turning and taking me in his arms. He kisses my head repeatedly, stroking my hair and holding me tight. ‘Please, don’t cry.’

  Guilt attacks me and I yell at myself to do the right thing. Miller’s willingness to do something so wretched for me is only enhancing it. No matter how much I tell myself that Charlie is the devil in disguise, that he deserves everything he gets, I still can’t convince myself to agree. Miller would shoulder the burden for the rest of his life, and now that I know, so will I. I can’t let him do that to us. It’ll be like a noose around our necks for the rest of our lives together.

  ‘Shhhhh,’ he soothes, pulling me onto his lap.

  ‘Let’s run away,’ I sob. It’s the only way. ‘We’ll take Nan and go far, far away.’ My mind is making a mental list of places as he looks at me fondly, like I just don’t understand.

  ‘We can’t.’

  I feel aggravation budding as a result of his simple and final answer. ‘Yes, we can.’

  ‘No, Olivia. We can’t.’

  ‘We can!’ I yell, making him wince and close his eyes. He’s trying to gather his patience. ‘Stop saying we can’t when we can!’ We could go now. Pack Nan up and drive off. I don’t care where we end up, as long as it’s miles from London, away from this vile, cruel world. I’m not sure why Miller has claimed to be on his way to hell, because it feels like he’s already there. And I’m with him.

  Blue eyes slowly peel open. Haunted blue eyes. They steal my breath and stop my heart, but not in the usual way. ‘I cannot leave London,’ he says clearly, his look and tone daring me to interrupt him. He’s not done yet. He really can’t leave London and there’s a damn good reason why. ‘He has something very damaging on me.’

  I hate my body’s natural instinct to remove itself from his hold. I sit far back, working up the courage to ask the operative question. ‘What?’ I barely hear myself.

  His Adam’s apple protrudes from his throat and settles slowly after his challenging swallow, and his lovely face has drifted into . . . nothing. ‘I killed a man.’

  The noose I was avoiding is around my neck already, and it’s tightening fast. I swallow repeatedly, my eyes wide and rooted to his straight face. My mouth has been zapped of moisture, too, making breathing increasingly hard. ‘I . . .’ I move back slowly, numbly, feeling the ground around me to check it’s still there. I’m falling into hell. ‘He can’t prove it,’ I claim, my tortured mind feeding my mouth words that I have no control over. Maybe it’s my subconscious refusing to believe it’s true. I don’t know. ‘No one will believe him.’ He’s holding Miller to ransom. Blackmailing him.

  ‘He has evidence, Livy. Video evidence.’ He’s so calm. There’s no panic or fear. ‘If I don’t do what he wants, he’ll expose me.’

  ‘Oh God.’ My hand rakes through my hair, my eyes darting around the room. Miller will be thrown in prison. Both of our lives will be over. ‘Who?’ I ask, forcing my eyes to him, all the while hearing Gregory’s light sarcasm that time he wanted to add murderer to Miller’s long list of flaws.

  ‘That’s not important.’ His lips press together. I think I need to be angry, but I can’t seem to muster the fire in my belly. My boyfriend has just confessed to killing someone and I’m sitting here like an idiot asking calm questions. I don’t want to believe that there’s an underlying reason for my reaction, but I know for sure there is. I should be running away as far as my legs will carry me, yet I’m still sitting on the floor of his flat, totally naked, looking at him.

  ‘Elaborate,’ I grate, squaring my shoulders in a display of strength.

  ‘I don’t want to,’ he whispers, dropping his eyes. ‘I don’t want to pollute your beautiful, pure mind with it, Livy. I’ve promised myself so many times that I won’t tarnish you with my dirty brush.’

  ‘Too late,’ I say quietly, whipping his eyes to mine. He must realise. My apparently beautiful and pure mind has long been tarnished with dirt, and not just Miller’s. There’s plenty of shit I’ve inflicted on myself, too. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ he breathes, shame now apparent on his cool face. ‘But I can show you.’ He slowly rises from the floor and holds his hand out to me. Instinct is working again, because my arm lifts of its own accord and I lay my hand in his. I’m pulled to my feet and our naked bodies meet, the heat of his bare flesh swathing me instantly. I don’t pull away. He doesn’t have a firm hold of me; he isn’t keeping me where I am. I’m choosing to stay. His fingertip meets my chin and pulls my face up to his. ‘I want you to promise me that what I show you won’t make you run. But I know that’s not fair.’

  ‘I promise you,’ I murmur, without thought or consideration, for reasons I may never know, but Miller’s small smile and then the tender kiss he places on my lips tells me he doesn’t believe me.

  ‘You never cease to a
maze me.’ My hand is clasped and I’m led to the couch, unbothered by my nudity. ‘Sit,’ he instructs, leaving me to make myself comfortable while he wanders over to a cabinet and opens a drawer. He pulls something out before he slowly strides towards the TV. I can only watch in silence as he takes a DVD from a familiar envelope and loads it into the player. Then my eyes follow his path back to me. He hands me a remote control. ‘Press play when you’re ready,’ he instructs me, thrusting it forward gently until I take it. ‘I’ll be in my studio. I can’t watch . . .’

  Again.

  He was going to say that he couldn’t watch it again. He shakes his head and dips, taking each side of my head in his palms and placing his lips on top of my head. The deepest breath is inhaled, like he’s trying to siphon off enough of my scent and spirit to last him forever. ‘I love you, Olivia Taylor. Always will.’ And with that, I watch the distance between us grow as he leaves me alone in the room.

  I want to scream for him to come back, to hold my hand, or just hold me. The remote control in my hand is burning and the urge to throw it across the room is overwhelming. The screen of the TV is blank. A bit like my mind. Starting to spin the control in my hand, I sit back, widening the distance between me and something that’s going to send my already crumbling world into complete obliteration. I know it. Miller has confirmed it. So when I stop spinning the gadget in my hand and my finger pushes down on the Play button, I only stop to wonder what the hell I’m doing for a split second before the image of an empty room stops me from finishing my thought process. I frown and inch forward on the couch, taking in the plush space. It’s boasting antique furniture at every corner, including the huge four-poster bed, and there’s no question that it’s all original. Wood panelling dresses every wall, and detailed paintings of countryside landscapes are hanging randomly, each mounted with intricate gilded frames. It’s so posh and I can pretty much see the whole room, which tells me the camera is in a corner. It’s empty, quiet, but when the door opposite the camera suddenly opens sharply, I fly back on the sofa, dropping the remote control to the floor.