‘Help yourself.’ He nods at my bowl. I gauge the position of the fruit bowl, so I can reposition it exactly right, and start spooning some fruit into my bowl. Then I replace it carefully. I’ve not even picked up my spoon before he’s leaning over the table and nudging the fruit dish to the left. My fascination with Miller Hart just keeps growing, and while these little traits are quite irritating, they’re really quite endearing, too. It’s becoming quite clear that it is me who’s sending this gentleman into a tailspin – me and my inability to satisfy his compulsion to keep things just the way he likes them. But I’m not going to take it personally. I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet who could get this right.
The silence is awfully uncomfortable, and I know exactly why. He’s eating, but I can tell that he’s fighting the urge to leave the table and restore his bedcovers to their normal perfect glory. I want to tell him to just go and do it, especially if it means he’ll relax, which means I’ll relax. I don’t get a chance to, though. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and rests his spoon across his bowl.
‘Excuse me while I use the bathroom.’ He stands and leaves the room, and my eyes follow his path, wanting to follow and see him in action, but I take the opportunity to study all the items on the table, trying to figure out exactly what it is about their positions that keep him calm. I can’t see it.
It’s a good five minutes before he returns to the kitchen, visibly more relaxed. I relax, too, and I’m relieved that I’ve finished my breakfast and drunk my juice, so there is absolutely no need for me to move anything . . . except me, and I’m beginning to register an issue with my positioning and movements, too – like in his bed.
He tucks himself under the table and takes his spoon, loading it with a strawberry and popping it in his mouth. The inevitability of my eyes focusing on his slow chews is something that I can’t help. His mouth hypnotises me as much as his eyes do when they’re glistening at me. And I know they are now, which leaves me in a predicament. Eyes or mouth?
He decides for me when he speaks. I almost don’t hear him as I’m too rapt by those lips. ‘I have a request,’ he declares. The words, when they finally filter into my distracted mind, pull my eyes up to his. I was right. They’re glistening.
‘What kind of request?’ I ask warily.
‘I don’t want you to see other men.’ He watches me thoughtfully, clearly trying to gauge my reaction, but I can’t be giving him much to go on as my face is blank, not having quite worked out what reaction to give. ‘I think it’s a reasonable request in light of your performance last night.’
Now I have a facial expression, and I know it’s a little stunned. ‘You are the reason for my performance last night,’ I retort.
‘That may be so, but I’m uncomfortable with the idea of you exposing yourself like that.’
‘Exposed in general, or exposed to other men?’
‘Both. You didn’t feel the need to expose yourself before you met me, so I can’t see that it would be a difficult request for you to fulfil.’ He takes another mouthful of his fruit, but I’m not compelled to watch him chew this time. No, I’m still stunned and looking into completely unaffected eyes.
He clearly seems to think it’s perfectly reasonable to make these demands. I don’t even know what to make of it. He’s just worshipped me in his bed, said some pretty touching words, and now he’s all businesslike.
‘And the dating nonsense,’ he continues. ‘That won’t be happening again, either.’
I have to stop myself from laughing. ‘Why are you asking this of me?’ I probe. Is this his way of saying he wants us to be exclusive?
His shoulders jump up on a shrug. ‘No man will make you feel like I can, so it’s really in your best interest.’
I’m staggered by his arrogance. He’s right, but I’m not about to fuel his ego. ‘Miller.’ My elbows hit the table and my forehead falls into my palms. ‘Will you please just say exactly what you mean?’ I look up at him, finding slight concern etched on his perfect face.
‘I don’t want anyone else tasting you,’ he says unapologetically. ‘It may seem unreasonable, but that’s what I want and I’d like you to agree.’
‘And what about you?’ I ask on a whisper. ‘I know about that woman.’
‘She’s dealt with.’
Dealt with? So he had to deal with her? ‘And she accepted that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why would it matter if she’s just a business associate?’
‘Like I said last night, it doesn’t, but it does to you so I told her about you and let that be the end of it.’
I scowl across the table at him. ‘I don’t know anything about you.’
‘You know about my club.’
‘Only because I landed there by accident. I doubt I would’ve found out if I had waited to be told, and I’m certain you wouldn’t have had me there by choice.’
‘Wrong.’
I frown at his one word, assertive counter.
‘You were on the guest list, Livy. If I had wanted to keep you away, I would’ve had you removed from it.’
I snap my mouth shut and cast my mind back to what I can remember before the champagne and tequila took hold. ‘You were watching me all evening, weren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘I was with Gregory.’
‘You were.’
‘Did you think that he was my date?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you didn’t like it?’
‘No.’
Just like he didn’t like seeing me with Luke. ‘You were jealous,’ I tell him, wondering at what point he figured out that Gregory’s gay. Maybe the dance floor. Or maybe the toilet. He’s been working at Ice, but my friend isn’t obviously camp. He’s a strapping bloke who turns as many women’s heads as he does gay men’s.
‘Frighteningly,’ he confirms.
I was right and I’m glad, but is he going to give me more than one word? ‘What’s in it for me?’ I ask, knowing damn well what he’s going to say.
‘Pleasure.’
I sag at the table. Pleasure delivered by Miller is the ultimate prize . . . nearly. But what I want is his constant loving, like how he is when he has me in his thing or in his bed. ‘You’re asking me to make myself exclusive to you?’
‘Yes.’
I’m absolutely fine with that, but given the circumstances of this conversation and how it’s come about, I’m not sure this will mean that Miller is exclusively mine. ‘And what about you?’
‘Me?’
‘Will you stop speaking in monosyllables?’ I snap.
He leans across the table. ‘I beg your pardon.’
‘You can beg all you like,’ I hiss back, fury burning in my gut. ‘You won’t be getting any pardon from me.’
‘I beg to differ.’
‘There you go again!’ I push my bowl away from my place setting and it collides with the glass fruit bowl, knocking it out of position. ‘Begging!’ I watch as his eyes focus on the disturbed items on his perfect table, and he starts twitching, a flash of anger flying across his face. It makes me sit up and take notice.
More calmly than I know he’s feeling, he spends a few silent moments putting everything back into position, then he stands and my eyes follow him around the table until I can no longer see him. He’s behind me, and I tense when his palms rest on my shoulders, delivering a shot of fire through the material of his T-shirt and into my skin.
‘It is you who will be begging, sweet girl.’ His mouth is at my ear, biting at my lobe. ‘You will accept my request because we both know that you’re constantly wondering how you will survive without my attention.’ His thumbs start massaging delicious, firm circles into my shoulders.
‘Don’t pretend that this is all about my needs,’ I breathe, wanting to relax into his touch but refusing to grant my body the further pleasure that it’s craving. He said he couldn’t have me in the very beginning and in actual fact, he couldn’t stay away.
His hands are gone in a moment and I’m being lifted from the chair. ‘I don’t pretend, Livy.’ He starts a slow walk forward, forcing me to step back until I’m being gently pushed into the wall. ‘This is just as much for my needs, which is why I’m making this proposition, and it’s also why you will accept.’
My mind is doing an amazing job of preventing the desire from steaming forward. It’s there, but so is the desire for answers. ‘You’re making this sound like a business transaction.’
‘I work hard. I’m emotionally and physically drained by it. I want to have you to worship and indulge in when I’m done.’
‘I think you might be referring to a relationship,’ I whisper.
‘Call it what you like. I want you to be at my disposal.’
I’m horrified, delighted . . . unsure. For a man who’s so articulate, he has a pretty strange way with words. ‘I think I’d like to call it a relationship,’ I say, just so he knows exactly what page I’m on.
‘As you wish.’ He dips and finds my mouth, wrapping his forearm around the small of my back and lifting me, crushing me to his chest. I fall straight into the tender rhythm of his tongue, cocking my head to the side and sighing into his mouth, but my mind is still mulling over the weird words that have just been exchanged. Is Miller Hart now my boyfriend? Am I his girlfriend? ‘Stop overthinking,’ he mumbles into my mouth, turning and carrying me from the kitchen.
‘I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘You confuse me.’ My legs curl around his waist, my arms around his body.
‘Take me as I am, Livy.’ He releases my lips and squeezes me to him. It’s a silent, pleading follow-up to his words.
‘Who are you?’ I whisper my question into his neck and return his squeeze.
‘I’m a man who’s found a beautiful, sweet girl who gives me more pleasure than I ever thought possible.’ He lowers me to the couch and lies beside me, his face close to mine, his palm stroking up the inside of my thigh. ‘And I don’t just mean with sex,’ he whispers, and I gasp. ‘I’ve made my intentions clear.’ His hand brushes over the hair at the apex of my thighs and his finger slips down my centre. My back bows. ‘She’s always ready for me,’ he murmurs, working the heated moisture over every inch of my flesh. ‘She’s always aroused by me.’ I push my forehead to his and close my eyes. ‘And she accepts that she can’t stop it. We were made to fit together. We fit perfectly together.’
My breath diminishes and my legs stiffen.
‘She responds to me without even knowing it.’ He uses his forehead to push me back from him. ‘And she knows how I feel when she deprives me of her face.’
Forcing my eyes to open and my head to remain still, I start involuntarily thrusting my hips gently back and forth to match his caressing of my damp, throbbing centre. He’s building me up lazily, watching me come apart. My hands are fisted on the front of his T-shirt, pulling and grappling at the cotton, making a mess of the previously creaseless garment.
‘She’s going to come,’ he muses, his eyes drifting down my body to watch his hand work me. My legs start shifting, trying to control the onslaught of pressure surging forward. And then he pushes a finger into me on a hitch of his breath, quickly swapping it for two when I cry out and start to shake. ‘That’s it, Livy.’
I lose the battle to hold my eyes open and throw my head back, mumbling senseless words as my climax takes hold.
‘Show me your face.’
‘I can’t,’ I moan.
‘You can for me, Livy. Let me see you.’
I yell my despair and toss my head forward. ‘You can’t do this to me.’
He kisses me, too gently for my current frenzied state. ‘I can, I am, and I always will. Scream my name.’ He pushes his thumb onto my clitoris and circles firmly, watching me as I fight to deal with the pleasure that he’s inflicting on me.
‘Miller!’
‘That’s the only man’s name you’ll ever scream, Olivia Taylor.’ He tackles my mouth, kissing me to orgasm as he moans and pushes his chest into mine, his body absorbing my shocked trembles. ‘I promise that I’ll always make you feel this special.’ He brings his fingers to my mouth and runs the moisture across my lips. ‘No one will ever taste that, except me and you.’ His face is expressionless, but I’m beginning to recognise his emotional frame of mind through his mesmerising eyes. Right now, he’s sanctimonious, satisfied . . . victorious. I’ve confirmed all of his claims with my low moans and bodily responses to his touch.
Miller Hart rules my body.
And it’s fast becoming obvious that he rules my heart, too.
Chapter 19
My legs are cold and my body stiff. Miller isn’t on the sofa with me, but I can hear him close by, the sounds of cupboards opening and crockery gently clanking, quickly telling me where he is and what he’s doing. Stretching out on a happy groan, I smile as I look up at the ceiling, then sit up to remind myself of the beautiful art that graces the walls of his apartment. After switching my eyes from one to another, and then another a few times, I give up on trying to pick my favourite. I love them all, even though they are distorted and bordering ugly.
My head is only fuzzy with sleep, as opposed to alcohol, and despite my slightly achy muscles, I feel perfect. Getting to my feet, I go in search of Miller, finding him wiping down the countertop with anti-bacterial spray. ‘Hi.’
He looks up, pushing his hair from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘Livy.’ He folds the cloth and lays it next to the sink. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine, Miller.’
He nods. ‘Excellent. I’ve drawn a bath. Would you like to join me?’
We’re back to gentleman mode. It makes me smile. ‘I’d love to join you.’
He cocks his head curiously as he walks towards me. ‘Have I said something amusing?’ he asks as he takes hold of my nape and turns me.
‘I find your manner amusing.’ I let him lead me to his bedroom and into the bathroom where the huge, claw-foot bath is full of bubbly water.
‘Should I be offended by that?’ He grasps the hem of my T-shirt and lifts it over my head, then neatly folds it and places it in the laundry basket.
I shrug. ‘No, your habits are charming.’
‘My habits?’
‘Yes, your habits.’ I don’t elaborate. He knows what I’m referring to, and it’s not just his gentlemanly ways – when he chooses to use them.
‘My habits,’ he muses, pulling off his T-shirt and going about the same folding routine. ‘I think I am offended.’ He slides his shorts down his thighs, folding and placing them neatly in the laundry basket, too. ‘After you,’ he says, gesturing to the bath, his naked perfection sending me dizzy. ‘Need some support?’
I glance up, finding smugness in his eyes and his hand held out. ‘Thank you.’ I tentatively take his offered hand and climb the steps before lowering myself into the tub.
‘Is the temperature okay?’ he asks, following me in and taking the opposite end so we’re facing one another, his legs bent, his knees breaking the surface of the deep water.
‘Sure.’ I lie back, and the soles of my feet slip along the bottom of the tub until they’re wedged under his arse. He raises his eyebrows, making me blush. ‘Sorry, it’s slippery.’
‘No need to apologise.’ He collects my feet from beneath him and lifts to settle them on his chest. ‘You have cute feet.’
‘Cute?’ I have to stop myself from laughing. I never know what words or tones are going to fall from Miller Hart’s lips, but they affect me in one way or another every time, whether it be amusement, irritation, lust, or confusion.
‘Yes, cute.’ He dips and kisses my little toe. ‘I have a request.’
His declaration makes it very easy to stop the threatening laughter from surfacing. Another request? ‘What is it?’ I ask nervously.
‘Don’t look so apprehensive, Livy.’
Easy for him to say. ‘I’m not apprehensive. I’m curious
.’
‘So am I.’
I frown across the bath at him. ‘What are you curious about?’
‘How it will feel to be inside you without anything between us.’
‘Oh . . .’ I breathe.
He reaches into the water and locates my hand, pulling me to my knees and leading it to the solid rod resting on his abdomen. ‘You must be curious, too.’
I am now. ‘You’re speaking like this is long term,’ I say hesitantly, bracing myself for his reply.
‘I’ve already told you that I want more than our remaining four hours, which I believe have expired now.’ He positions my grasp around him and lays his hand over mine, then starts guiding me up and down slowly under the water. My whole being relaxes, peace settling over me in response to his words. The movement of his chest visibly changes, the rise and fall increasing dramatically. He feels like velvet, but my view of our combined movements is hampered by the gallons of water surrounding us. I can only see the swollen head of his penis, so I lift my eyes and let them indulge in the subtle parting of his incredible lips.
‘I am curious,’ I confess, shifting forward on my knees. ‘But I’m not on the pill.’
‘Are you prepared to rectify that so we can both feed our curiosity?’
I nod my agreement as I allow him to control the strokes of my hand over his erection. He feels sublime – smooth, firm and large. He looks sublime, too, and breathing some confidence into myself, I flex my hand until he releases on a frown and watches me climb up his body.
‘What are you doing, Livy?’ he asks warily, but he doesn’t stop me from finding my way until I’m sitting on his lap, his arousal resting perfectly beneath me. In fact, he helps me.
‘I want to feel you.’ I lower my face to his, the sensation of him pulsing under me injecting more confidence. I’m losing my mind, my body acting without instruction.
He shakes his head lightly and homes in on my lips, kissing me adoringly. I might be teasing and tormenting him, but he’s the one in control. ‘That can’t happen, Livy.’
One Night: Promised Page 29