Promised

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  ‘Yes,’ he sighs, exasperated. ‘We’re going to veg all day, making us broccoli.’

  ‘I’d like to be a carrot.’

  ‘You can’t lie like a carrot.’

  ‘Or a turnip. How about a turnip?’

  ‘Livy,’ he warns.

  ‘No, scrap that. I would definitely like to be a courgette.’

  He shakes his head on an eye roll. ‘We’re going to slob out all day.’

  ‘I want to veg.’ I grin, but he doesn’t give me anything. ‘Okay, I’ll lie like broccoli with you,’ I relent. ‘I’ll be whatever you’d like me to be.’

  ‘How about less irritating?’ he asks seriously.

  I have a raging hangover, and I’m a little confused by how I came to be here, but he’s smiled at me, said some meaningful words, and he’s planning a whole day with me. I don’t care whether he laughs or smiles any more, or if he doesn’t engage with me when I’m trying to be playful. He’s too serious and there’s no sign of a sense of humour, but despite his clipped manner, I still find him impossibly captivating. I can’t stay away from him. He’s alluring and addictive, and as he glances down at his watch, I remember something else . . .

  I think you know that I want more than four hours.

  The memory thrills me. How long is more? And will he backtrack on that . . . again? Another image worms its way into my fuzzy mind – an image of pursed cherry-red lips and a stunned face. She’s beautiful, well-maintained, classy. She’s everything I would expect a man like Miller to go for.

  ‘You okay?’ Miller’s concerned tone pulls me from my thoughts.

  I nod. ‘I’m sorry for vomiting everywhere,’ I say sincerely, thinking a woman like Miller’s business associate wouldn’t do something so lowly.

  ‘I’ve already forgiven you.’ He takes my neck and guides me to the bathroom. ‘I tried to brush your teeth last night, but you refused to hold still.’

  I’m squirming, thinking it best that I can’t remember half of the evening. The things that I can are not making me feel any better about the stuff that I can’t – Gregory and Ben, for a start. ‘I need to call Gregory.’

  ‘No you don’t.’ He hands me a toothbrush. ‘He knows where you are and that you’re okay.’

  ‘He took your word for it?’ I ask, surprised, their heated words coming back to me.

  ‘I’m not compelled to explain myself to the man who encouraged your reckless behaviour.’ He puts some paste on the brush before putting it back in the cupboard behind the giant mirror that’s hanging over the sink. ‘But I did explain myself to your grandmother.’

  ‘You called her?’ I ask warily, wondering what he means by explaining himself. Explain that he’s moody, that he’s playing with my heart and sanity?

  ‘I did.’ He takes my hand and leads it to my mouth, encouraging me to brush. ‘We had a nice conversation.’

  I put the brush in my mouth and start circling, just to stop myself from probing him on how that conversation went. But my face must be revealing pure curiosity, even though I have no desire to know what they spoke about.

  ‘She asked me if I’m married,’ he muses, making my eyes widen. ‘And once we’d cleared that up, she told me a few things.’

  My brush slows in my mouth. What has she told him, damn her? ‘What did she tell you?’ The question I really don’t want to know the answer to just slips past my paste and brush.

  ‘She mentioned your mother, and I told her you’d already shared that with me.’ He stares thoughtfully at me, and I tense, feeling exposed. ‘Then she mentioned that you disappeared for a time.’

  My heart starts a relentless, nervous beat in my chest. I feel mad. It’s not Nan’s place to share my history with anyone, least of all with a man that she’s met a handful of times. It’s my story to tell, if I want to tell it. And I don’t. That part I never want to share. I spit my toothpaste out and rinse, dying to escape the intensity of his inquisitive stare.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asks as I leave the bathroom. ‘Livy, wait a minute.’

  ‘Where are my clothes?’ I don’t bother waiting for his answer, instead heading for the drawers, kneeling and pulling open the bottom one, then finding my bag, knickers and shoes.

  He reaches me and pushes the drawer shut with his foot, then pulls me to my feet. I keep my head lowered, my hair tumbling all over my chest and face, giving me the perfect hiding place, until he removes it and lifts my chin, exposing me to curious eyes. ‘Why are you hiding from me?’

  I don’t speak because I have no answer. He’s looking at me all sorrowful, which I hate. The mention of my mother and my disappearance has brought every second of last night flooding back, every single detail, every drink, every action . . . everything.

  When he realises that he’s going to get nothing, he picks me up and takes me back to his bed, gently easing me down to my back and kneeling to push his shorts down his thighs. ‘I will never force you to do anything I know you don’t want to.’ He dips and kisses my hipbone, the feel of his slow moving mouth on my sensitive skin immediately chasing away my woes. ‘Please understand. I’m going nowhere, and neither are you.’ He’s trying to reassure me, but I’ve already shared enough.

  My eyes close and I let him take me to that wonderful place where anguish, self-torture, and histories do not exist. Miller’s realm.

  I can feel his lips climbing up my body, leaving a scorching trail in their wake. ‘Please let me take a shower,’ I plead, not wanting to stop this, but also not relishing the thought of him worshipping my post-drunken body.

  ‘I showered you last night, Livy.’ He reaches my mouth and pays some attention to my lips before pulling back to look down at me. ‘I washed you, stripped your face back to the beauty I love, and I savoured every moment of it.’

  My breath hitches at the word ‘love’. He said the word love, and I’m so disappointed that I missed him doing all of those things. He looked after me, even after my appalling performance last night.

  Taking my hair, he lifts it, and I register the absence of straight, glossy locks, my usual wild waves back where they belong. He holds it to his nose and inhales deeply. Then he takes my hand and shows me my bare nails, no red nail polish in sight. ‘Pure, unspoilt beauty.’

  ‘You dried my hair and removed my polish? You keep nail polish remover?’

  His lips tip. ‘I may have detoured to a twenty-four-hour store.’ He lifts to his knees, reaching over to the bedside cabinet to pick up a condom. ‘We needed to stock up on these, anyway.’

  The mental image of Miller scanning the aisles of a shop for nail polish remover makes me smile. ‘Nail polish remover and condoms?’

  He doesn’t entertain my amusement. ‘Shall we?’ he asks, ripping it open with his teeth and sliding it out.

  ‘Please,’ I breathe, not caring if I sound like I’m begging. We don’t have a time constraint, there’s really no rush, but I desperately want him.

  He takes hold of his arousal on a small hiss and rolls on the condom before pushing me onto my front and spreading his body all over me. ‘From behind,’ he whispers, guiding one of my legs out and bending it upwards, opening me up to him. ‘Comfortable?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Happy?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘How do I make you feel, Livy?’ He shifts down my back and bites at my bottom, moulding my cheeks as he sucks and licks. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Alive.’ I exhale the word on a fast rush of breath, turning my face outwards, as he climbs back up my body and sinks straight into me, making no noise whatsoever, whereas I cry out. ‘Miller!’

  ‘Shhhh, let me taste you.’ He hovers his mouth over mine, keeping his body still. My cheek on the pillow pushes forward to capture his lips, meeting him harder than I intended to. ‘Savoured, Livy. Never rushed.’ He takes over the speed, calming my frantic mouth with his gentle pace. ‘See? Slowly.’

  ‘I want you.’ I raise my bum, impatient. ‘Miller, I want you, please.’

/>   ‘Then you’ll have me.’ He retreats and drives forward slowly on a suppressed moan into my mouth. ‘Tell me what you want, Livy. Anything you want.’

  ‘Faster.’ I bite down on his lip, knowing there’s some ferocity in there somewhere. He always insists on taking it so slow, but I want to experience everything that he has to give. I want his moodiness and arrogance when he takes me. He pushes me to it, makes me crazy with desire, yet always keeps his head and control.

  ‘I’ve told you before, I like to take my time with you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you deserve to be worshipped.’ He pushes himself up and slips out, sitting back on his heels before grasping at my hips and pulling me up. ‘You want deeper penetration?’ I’m on my knees, my back still to him. ‘Let’s see if we can satisfy you this way.’

  I look over my shoulder to see him holding himself upright, looking down, the sight of his rippling stomach beyond the solid column of muscle he’s holding making me pant.

  ‘Rise and move back.’ He pulls on my hip, guiding me to him, until my kneeling body is straddling his lap. ‘Lower gently.’

  My eyes close as I sink down onto him. ‘Ohhhhh,’ I groan, feeling him impale me, each fraction I lower pushing him deeper and deeper until I have to hold myself on my knees and take some steadying breaths. ‘Too deep,’ I pant. ‘It’s too deep.’

  ‘Does it hurt?’ His hands slide around my front and cup my breasts.

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Take your time, Livy. Give your body time to accept me.’

  ‘It does accept you,’ I object. Every modicum of me accepts him. My mind, my body, my heart . . .

  ‘We have all the time in the world. Don’t rush it.’ He circles my nipples and bites into my shoulder. My legs start to tremble, my muscles objecting to my held position, so I lower a little more, holding my breath and letting the back of my head fall onto his shoulder. One hand leaves my breast, dragging up my chest and onto my throat, his whole palm covering it.

  ‘How are you keeping so still?’ I push the words through controlled breaths, wanting to release my leg muscles and take him to the hilt, but I’m wary of the pain it’ll cause.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ He turns his face into my cheek and bites down before kissing it gently. ‘Trust me, it’s taking everything out of me. Down a bit more?’

  I nod and drop a fraction further. ‘Oh God.’ I grit my teeth, the persistent stabbing pain making my head heavy, my face turning into his neck and hiding.

  ‘Get past this and we’re in a whole new world of pleasure.’

  ‘Why does it hurt so much?’

  ‘I don’t want to sound self-assured, but . . .’ He gasps and starts to shake. ‘Fucking hell, Livy.’

  ‘Miller!’ I hold my breath and release the muscles in my legs, falling straight onto his lap on a shocked yelp. ‘Shit!’

  ‘Are you okay?’ he shouts. ‘Jesus, Livy, tell me you’re okay.’

  I’ve broken out in a sweat, and I’m still shaking, despite my relaxed body. It’s beyond my control. ‘I’m okay.’ I nuzzle into his neck some more.

  ‘Am I hurting you?’

  ‘Yes . . . no!’ I pull away from him and delve my hands into my hair in despair. ‘Just give me a moment!’

  ‘How long is a moment?’ he spits.

  I grit my teeth and push up from my knees, only a very small way, before dropping down, less controlled than I planned. He barks. I yelp. ‘Miller, I can’t!’ I feel utterly defeated by the mixture of pleasure and pain. I want to grab hold of the heaviness in my groin and take it to the next level, but my legs haven’t got the strength required to take me there. ‘I can’t do it.’ I fall back against his chest, my arms falling limply to my sides, my breathing laboured from doing hardly anything.

  ‘Shhhh,’ he soothes me. ‘Do you want me to take care of it?’

  ‘Please.’ I feel useless, feeble.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve worked hard enough to break you in, Olivia Taylor.’ He executes a slow, firm rotation of his groin into my bum, keeping deep but not instigating the sharpness that’s causing me discomfort.

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘Better?’ he asks, resting his palms on my hips. I nod my acceptance on a sigh, letting him keep us completely close and connected while he grinds continuously, around and around, over and over. ‘How does that feel?’

  ‘Perfect,’ I breathe.

  ‘Can you lift a little bit?’

  I don’t answer, lifting myself a fraction, feeling him slip slightly from my passage. ‘You’re so patient with me,’ I murmur, wondering whether he’s this attentive with every woman he’s slept with.

  ‘You make me appreciate sex, Livy.’ I feel him rise slightly, too, his hands drifting from my hips to my breasts, then onto my shoulders and down my arms where he holds my hands. Lacing his fingers through mine, he lifts my useless limbs and takes them behind his head and holds them there. He thrusts forward gently, pulls back and inches forward once more. ‘Let me taste you.’

  I turn my head and find his eyes. It’s been too long since I’ve seen them. ‘Thank you.’ I don’t know why I’ve said that, but I feel the profound need to voice my gratitude.

  ‘Why are you thanking me?’ His eyes twinkle curiously as he maintains the steady flow of his body into mine. It’s divine, all tenderness long forgotten, being replaced with pure, beautiful pleasure.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admit quietly.

  ‘I do.’ He sounds confident, following up his assured words with a confident kiss, hard but slow, demanding but oh so giving. ‘You’ve never felt like this.’ His hips dip and roll up at an excruciatingly accurate angle, pulling a low, pleasure-filled moan from deep within me. ‘And neither have I.’ He pecks my lips. ‘So I need to thank you, too.’

  I’m starting to shake. ‘Oh God!’ I sound panicked, desperate.

  ‘Keep your hands in my hair,’ he orders tenderly, letting his own hands fall to my breasts. He massages them gently and circles his thumbs over the very tips of my nipples, hurling me beyond pleasure.

  I’m losing control of my muscles, my entire body giving in to wild shakes, and I’m purring, pulling his head closer to locate his lips. ‘Let me taste you.’ I mimic his words, plunging my tongue into his mouth, rolling, retreating and pushing back in, while he tortures my body with his delicate rhythm, so careful and attentive.

  ‘Do I taste as good as you?’ he asks.

  ‘Better.’

  ‘I very much doubt that,’ he claims. ‘I need you to focus, Livy.’ He groans and separates our mouths, his hair damp from sweat and dripping down his face. ‘I’m going to lower you so we can both finish, okay?’ I nod my acceptance, and he kisses me as he takes my hands from his head and pushes me down so I’m on all fours. ‘Comfortable?’

  ‘Yes.’ I shift my arms, feeling no reluctance or vulnerability at being so exposed. I’m at complete ease, and when he repositions himself, widening his stance and taking a gentle hold of my hips, my blissed-out mind just blisses out more. I take a deep breath as he lazily withdraws, then let it all rush back out when he plunges forward. ‘Ohhhhhhhhhhh . . .

  One hand leaves my hip and his fingers walk up my spine, each connection of his fingertips on my skin singeing my flesh. When he reaches my neck, he flattens his palm and strokes his way down until he’s at my bottom, rubbing soft, wide circles. ‘Jesus, Livy, I’m in awe of such perfection.’

  My legs may have been relieved from holding my weight, but my arms are now shaking in their place. ‘Miller.’ I resist collapsing to my front and try to rein in the uncontrollable spasms.

  He jerks forward on a curse, and then reaches under my stomach, feeling down until his fingers are slipping across my throbbing flesh. I cry out, my head dropping, my hair pooling on the bed beneath me. ‘You need a little help.’ His throat sounds sore, his voice like gravel. ‘Let it take hold.’ He slips his fingers back and forth over my clit as his hips advance and retreat, and his
spare hand finds my breast, his grip compressing gently. I’m in sensory overload, helpless to what my body’s striving to find.

  Explosion.

  Release.

  And it comes fast, my bottom flying back on a choked cry, my arms finally giving out.

  ‘Oh Jesus!’ he cries, tugging me onto him and grinding deeply. He sighs and holds us connected while he thrusts the remnants of our pleasure away, mumbling confused words quietly.

  I don’t think I’m quite with it. My mind is a pleasure-induced fuzz, not allowing me to think straight, and my body is totally replete. It’s morning. I’ll never survive his endurance all day. I let him grind into me lazily, him groaning, me trying to stabilise my pleasure-fuelled gasps.

  ‘Come here, sweet girl,’ he murmurs, pulling at my body impatiently.