Promised

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  ‘Or maybe you’re too sweet.’

  ‘No, you’re too intimidating,’ I affirm, feeling him throbbing inside me. All edginess has left me, leaving me feeling calm and serene. It’s a lovely sensation, and he made it.

  ‘We’ll agree to disagree.’ He’s back to intimidating, but my serenity is still intact. It’ll take a lot to pull me from this relaxed state of mind.

  Easing out of me, he looks down between my thighs and pulls the condom off. ‘Consider yourself broken in, Livy.’

  My face screws up at his lack of tact. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He shifts down the bed and nestles between my thighs, looking up at me. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Okay,’ I answer hesitantly. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m just checking if you need a break. Say the word and I’ll stop, okay?’ He rests his lips over the apex of my thighs, encouraging my receding orgasm to resurrect. I start twitching. I need more recovery time.

  ‘Okay,’ I whisper, dropping my head back to the pillow and gazing up to the high ceiling. I don’t think I’d ever tell him to stop. ‘Shit!’ I blurt when I feel something hot and wet meet the tip of my buzzing clit. My head flies up, my stomach muscles tense and my hands fist in the sheets by my side. My outburst is ignored and he sits up, taking my leg and bending and lifting it so he can kiss the sole of my foot. I want to throw my head back, curse and shout, but I’m immobilised by those damn clear eyes as he watches me struggling to cope with his tongue running up my ankle and onto my lower leg. ‘That feels nice,’ I confess as he inches his way upward until he finds my tummy and starts trailing his lips across my navel and then back down the other side.

  ‘Would you like me to continue?’

  ‘Yes,’ I wheeze, my leg twitching, my muscles firming up.

  ‘Then I shall.’ He nibbles the inside of my thigh. ‘Soon, my mouth will be here,’ he says quietly, pushing a finger into me, just a little. ‘Would you like that?’

  I nod my answer and he circles, enticing a long, low moan from me. ‘Oh, God,’ I breathe, pulling at the covers, yanking one side up and letting it float down over my face.

  He almost laughs as he pulls the sheets from my face, but my eyes remain firmly shut, even when I feel him moving up the bed until he’s settled half on me, his finger still submerged. ‘Open.’

  My head shakes adamantly, my brain focused only on the sensation of his finger inside me. He’s not moving, yet I’m still pulsing incessantly around him, but then I feel his lips on the side of my mouth and my face turns towards the source of the heat, opening up to him, my thighs spreading wider, invitingly. I hum. It’s low and broken, a clear sign of my pleasure, but I want him to know. I want him to hear how I feel.

  ‘I love that sound,’ he whispers, withdrawing his finger and slowly thrusting forward with two. I whimper. ‘There it is again.’

  ‘It’s good,’ I tell him quietly against his lips. ‘Really good.’

  ‘We’ll agree on that one.’ His lips leave my mouth and start trailing down between my modest breasts and onto my stomach, his fingers still pushing forward and pulling away neatly, carefully. ‘It would’ve been a crime if you had declined this, Livy.’

  ‘I know!’ I gasp, my stomach curling and knotting, my body movements becoming erratic.

  ‘To think I could’ve missed out on this.’ His fingers are suddenly gone and he’s moving fast.

  ‘Oh!’ My upper body flies up when he separates my folds and skims my clitoris with a light dash of his tongue. ‘Ohhhhhhh,’ I fall back to the bed, my palms covering my face, my legs shifting around him.

  He nestles further into me, the hotness of his mouth completely encasing me and sucking gently. I recognise the signs now. I recognise the heaviness in my groin, the regular heartbeat in my clitoris and the need to tense everywhere. I’m going to climax again. ‘Miller!’ I cry, my hands finding my hair and gripping hard.

  He releases me from his mouth and strokes a wickedly firm trail with his tongue, right up the centre of my cleft. ‘Good?’

  ‘Yes!’

  He’s suddenly on his knees and his hands slide underneath me, his palms cupping my bum, and with one pull the whole of my lower body is raised from the bed. ‘Get your legs over my shoulders,’ he demands, helping me shift them until they’re draped over his body. He holds me with ease and pulls me forward until I’m held to his lips. ‘You taste incredible.’ His mouth starts a torturous dance across my sensitive lips, plunging into my centre and sucking on my clitoris. ‘Exquisite, Livy.’

  I can’t acknowledge that. I’ve been tossed into sensory excess, my body struggling to deal with the onslaught of pleasure. This is unknown territory. This is beyond any stretch of my imagination. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience.

  My calves push into his back, pulling him closer, and his hands slide all over me, stroking and massaging me softly. I rip my eyes open and look up at him in his knelt position, holding me to his mouth, his blues pointing down at me. That look shoves me over the edge. My back bows and my fists slam into the mattress on either side of me. I want to scream.

  ‘Let it go, Livy,’ he mumbles against my flesh. And I do.

  I stop trying to suppress the pressure in my lungs and let it all out on a loud scream of his name, my thighs tensing around his face, my head thrown back. ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God!’ I pant, trying to think clearly. It’s no good. Nothing can get past the wall of shock as my body goes lax and my mind goes blank. I’ve lost control of everything. My mind. My body. My heart. He’s hijacking every part of me. I’m at his mercy. And I like it.

  I’m eased back down to the bed, and I do nothing to help as he positions me on my side and lies behind me, pulling me into the hardness of his chest. ‘What about you?’ I breathe, feeling him hard against my back.

  ‘I’ll let you recover first. I could be a while. Let’s just cuddle.’

  ‘Oh,’ I whisper, wondering how long a while is. ‘You want to cuddle?’ I never in a million years expected cuddling to be included in my twenty-four hours.

  ‘Cuddling’s my thing with you, Olivia Taylor. I just want to hold you. Close your eyes and enjoy the silence.’ He gathers my masses of honey hair and pulls it out of his way so he can access my back, then he starts a hypnotising, slow routine of lazy kisses over my skin. It makes my eyes heavier, finding immense comfort from the attention and his warmth coating every part of my back as he gives me his thing.

  It makes me realise that I’ve existed in solitary.

  Chapter 8

  I come to in a dusky darkness, completely naked and completely disorientated. It takes me a few moments to gather my bearings and when I do, I smile. I feel relaxed. I feel at peace. I feel sated and comfortable, but when I roll onto my side, he’s not there.

  I sit up and gaze around his bedroom. Should I look for him? Should I stay put and wait for him to return? What should I do? I have just enough time for a trip to the bathroom, ensuring I leave everything exactly how I found it, before the door opens and Miller appears. He has his black shorts on again, and his semi-naked perfection attacks my sleepy eyes, making me blink repeatedly just to ensure I’m not dreaming. He looks at me standing and fidgeting, a sheet wrapped around me and my hair probably resembling a bird’s nest.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, walking forward. His hair looks adorable, the dark waves wild and messy, and that lock sitting perfectly in place on his forehead.

  ‘Yes.’ I pull the sheet in tighter, thinking maybe I should’ve got dressed.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’ He takes the sheet and wrestles it from my grip until he’s holding a corner in each hand and opening it, exposing my naked body to shimmering blue eyes. His lips don’t smile, but his eyes do. He moves into the sheet and drapes the ends over his shoulders so we’re both enclosed in white cotton. ‘How do you feel?’

  I smile. ‘Good.’ I feel more than good, but I won’t admit it to him. I know why I’m here and it’s searin
g painfully on my conscience and morality each time I think about it. So I simply won’t.

  ‘Just good?’

  I shrug. What does he want? A thousand-word essay on my current state of mind and state of body? I could probably write ten thousand words. ‘Really good.’

  His hands slide around to my bottom and squeeze. ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Not for oysters,’ I blurt on a shudder.

  He removes himself from the confines of the sheet and wraps me back up with the utmost care. ‘No, not for oysters,’ he agrees, pecking my lips lightly. ‘I’ll feed you something else.’ His hand finds the nape of my neck over my hair, and then turns me away from him, leading me from the room.

  ‘I should get dressed,’ I say, not attempting to stop him, but wanting him to know that I’m not entirely comfortable with a sheet of cotton covering my modesty.

  ‘No, we’ll eat, then bathe.’

  ‘Together?’

  ‘Yes, together.’ He doesn’t give my concerned tone the attention it deserves. I can shower or bathe myself. I don’t need him to worship me to that extent.

  I’m taken into his kitchen and placed on a chair at a huge dining table, and I thank the cotton gods for the bed sheets separating my backside from the cold seat beneath me. ‘What time is it?’ I ask, silently hoping that I’ve not wasted too much of my twenty-four hours sleeping.

  ‘Eleven o’clock.’ He opens the mirrored door of the huge double fridge and starts shifting things aside and placing things on the counter next to him. ‘I was allowing you two hours’ sleep, then I was going to poke you.’ He places a bottle of champagne on the side and turns to face me. ‘You came round just in time.’

  I smile, pulling my sheet in, thinking how much nicer it would’ve been to wake up to those eyes glistening down at me. ‘Do you mind if I get dressed?’ I ask.

  His head cocks to the side, his eyes slightly narrowed. ‘Are you not comfortable in your skin?’

  ‘Yes,’ I answer confidently, although I’ve never found myself asking that question before now. I know that I’m a little on the slender side, Nan reminds me daily, but am I really comfortable? Because the way I’m holding the sheet to me would indicate otherwise.

  ‘Good.’ He turns back toward the fridge. ‘Then that’s settled.’ A glass bowl appears, piled high with big, juicy strawberries, and then he opens a cupboard which reveals row after row of precisely placed champagne flutes. He grabs two and places them in front of me, then the bowl of strawberries – all washed and hulled – before he’s in another cupboard pulling down a cooling bucket and loading it with ice from the dispenser on the front of the fridge. The bucket gets placed in front of me, the champagne nestled into the ice, and then he’s at the hob, putting on an oven mitt. I watch in fascination as he moves around the kitchen with complete ease, every motion precise and neat, and all done so very carefully. Nothing that he moves or puts down stays in the same position for very long. It gets turned a fraction or repositioned before he’s happy and continuing with something else.

  Right now he’s walking towards me, holding a metal pan which is billowing steam from the glass bowl that’s resting on the rim. ‘Would you please pass me that trivet?’

  I look in the direction of his pointed finger and get up as quickly as the sheet covering me will allow, retrieving the metal pan stand and placing it next to the bowl of strawberries, champagne and glass flutes. ‘There,’ I say, taking my seat again and watching as he shifts the stand a few millimetres to the right before easing the hot pan onto it. I crane my neck over the pan and spy a deep puddle of melted chocolate. ‘That looks delicious.’

  He’s next to me now, pulling a chair near and resting his backside on the seat. ‘It tastes delicious, too.’

  ‘Can I dip?’ I ask, getting my finger ready to plunge.

  ‘Your finger?’

  ‘Yes.’ I look to him, finding dark, raised, disapproving eyebrows.

  ‘It’ll be too warm.’ He grabs the champagne and starts peeling away the foil. ‘And that’s why we have strawberries, anyway.’

  His frowning face and abrupt words make me feel childlike. ‘So I can dip a strawberry, but not my finger?’ I see him look at me out of the corner of his eye while he works the cork.

  ‘I guess so.’ He brushes off my sarcasm and pours the champagne, but not before neatly placing the rubbish that he’s just accumulated into a tidy little pile on a small plate.

  He passes me a glass, and I start shaking my head. ‘No, thank you.’

  His gasp is barely contained. ‘Livy, this is Dom Pérignon Vintage 2003. You don’t say no to that. Take it.’ He thrusts it forward, and I pull back.

  ‘I don’t want it, but thank you.’

  The look of shock morphs into thoughtfulness. ‘You don’t want this particular drink or any drink?’

  ‘Water would be good, please.’ I’m not going into this. ‘I appreciate what you’ve done with the strawberries and champagne, but I’d rather have some water, if you don’t mind.’

  He’s clearly stunned by my refusal to drink the expensive liquid, but he doesn’t push it, and I’m grateful. ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I smile as he leaves me to replace the champagne with water.

  ‘Tell me you like strawberries,’ he pleads, fetching a bottle of Evian and joining me again.

  ‘I love strawberries.’

  ‘That’s a relief.’ He unscrews the lid and pours my water into the other flute. ‘Humour me,’ he says when he catches sight of my furrowed brow. I accept the drink and watch as he takes his time selecting a strawberry before he dips it in the bowl and swirls carefully, coating the ripe fruit with dark chocolate. ‘Open.’ He clasps the seat of my chair with his spare hand and drags me closer so I’m snugly fit between his thighs. His bare chest is slightly distracting.

  My jaw loosens automatically, mainly because I’m gaping at his close beauty, and he holds my eyes as he brings the fruit to my mouth until I feel it skimming my lip. My mouth closes around it and my teeth sink in, biting a small piece from its plump flesh. ‘Hmmm,’ I hum happily and reach up to catch a trail of strawberry juice on my chin, but my wrist is seized before I get to wipe it away.

  ‘Allow me,’ he whispers, edging further into me, his lips homing in on my chin and slowly licking away the juice before he slips the remaining piece past his lips. My chewing has slowed right down, matching the precise motions of his mouth. He swallows. ‘Good?’

  My mouth is full, so I nod – knowing Miller’s compulsion for manners – and hold my finger up to indicate a second as I chew quickly. I lick my lips and lean towards the bowl again. ‘You need to feed me another.’

  His eyes twinkle as he selects another strawberry and dips and swirls again. ‘It would be even better with champagne,’ he muses, flicking his eyes to mine.

  I ignore him and place my water on the table. ‘What chocolate is that?’

  ‘Ah.’ He brings the strawberry to my mouth, but this time he brushes the runny chocolate across my bottom lip, and my tongue instantly leaves my mouth to clear it up. ‘No.’ He shakes his head and slides his palm around my neck, pulling me in. ‘I get to do that,’ he whispers in my face, moving in.

  I don’t fight him off. I let him clean up the mess that he’s made and take the opportunity to rest my palms on his thighs, on either side of my knees. I smooth across the dark hairs of his legs, enjoying the feel of him, while he finishes up at my mouth, kissing the corner of my lips, the centre, and then the other corner.

  ‘What chocolate is it?’ I repeat quietly, wanting to forget all sweet-tasting things and taste Miller instead.

  ‘Green and Black’s.’ He offers me the strawberry and I take it, holding it between my teeth. ‘It has to be a minimum of eighty per cent cocoa.’ The strawberry that I’m holding is preventing me from asking why, so I frown instead, prompting him to go on. ‘The bitterness of the chocolate coupled with the sweetness of the strawberry is what makes it so special. Add cha
mpagne and you have a perfect combination. And the strawberries simply have to be British.’ He leans in and bites the strawberry that’s wedged between my teeth and juice explodes between us.

  I don’t care about the juice all over my chin, or that my mouth is full. ‘Why?’

  He finishes chewing and swallows. ‘Because they’re the sweetest you can buy.’ He slips his hands under my thighs and lifts, pulling me forward so I’m astride him on the chair. He takes excruciatingly long to clean me up. It makes my skin heat and my breath catch constantly in my throat as I try to contain the urge to pounce on him. The sheet is yanked away, exposing my full nakedness to him. ‘Bath time.’

  ‘You don’t need to bathe me,’ I object, wondering how far he’ll take this worshipping business. I’m feeling extremely special, but I can wash myself.

  He takes my hands and rests them on his shoulders, then gathers the masses of honey locks framing my face. ‘I absolutely do need to bathe you, Livy.’

  ‘Why?’

  He stands, holding my bum cheeks, and takes me to the mirrored fridge. I’m placed on my feet and turned away from him so my front is facing the mirror. I’m staring at myself. I feel uncomfortable, especially when I flick my eyes to Miller behind me and see his gaze journeying the length of my body. My eyes fall to the floor, but quickly snap up again when his chest is pressed against me and I feel his hard length pressed into my lower back – hot and moist. His shorts are gone.

  ‘Feeling better?’ he asks, holding my eyes in the mirror and