He’s patient, thorough. His gyrating h*ps are going to be the death of me. My hands are wildly feeling him everywhere they can reach, my legs are aching and heavy, but I don’t care. ‘Miller,’ I say into his mouth, ‘it’s coming.’
He bites my lip and sucks, throwing me into sensation overload. ‘I can feel it.’
‘Hmmm . . . I attack his mouth forcefully, my hands moving to his hair and pulling. I need to loosen my iron grip of his hips, but with the pulsations between my thighs hammering violently, I can’t concentrate on anything else. My body movements are spontaneous. No instructions are filtering through. Everything is happening, but I’m not telling it to. ‘Please, please, please,’ I beg. ‘Faster.’ The need for him to tip me over the edge has lowered me to more shameless begging – that and the desperate need to make this something other than tender lovemaking. He’s holding me in limbo. I need to let go.
‘No, Livy.’ He pacifies me softly but adamantly. ‘I’m not ready yet.’
‘No!’ This is torture. Pure, evil torture.
‘Yes,’ he counters, pushing into me, upholding his balanced rhythm. ‘This is too good. You don’t call the shots.’
My temper surfaces and I brazenly tighten my fists in his hair and yank his head from my lips. I’m panting, and so is he, but it doesn’t hamper those hip movements. His hair is wet, his lips parted and the usual stray wave has been joined by a few more. I want him to slam me into the fridge. I want him to swear and curse at me for my viciousness. I want him to f**k me.
‘Livy, this isn’t stopping anytime soon, so rein it in.’
I gasp at those words and silently will him to follow them up with a powerful smash of his body into mine, but he doesn’t, damn him; he keeps his control. I yank his hair again, attempting to pull some fierceness from him, but he just smiles his full-on beautiful beam . . . so I pull some more.
‘Vicious,’ he mouths, still not giving me what I want, still easing gently into me.
I throw my head back and yell in frustration, ensuring I keep my fist clenched in his hair.
‘Livy, you can mistreat me all you like. We’re doing this my way.’
‘I can’t take any more,’ I cry.
‘Would you like me to stop?’
‘No!’
‘Does it hurt?’
‘No!’
‘So I’m just driving you crazy?’
I drop my head, accepting his careful pumping, still bubbling, and now sweating. I find his eyes, noting that familiar degree of arrogance. ‘Yes,’ I grate.
‘Is it wrong for me to be delighted by that?’
‘Yes.’ My teeth are clenching now.
His faint smile transforms into a sly smirk, and his eyes glisten. ‘I’m not going to apologise, but lucky for you, now I’m ready.’
And with that, he lifts me, gains more leverage and eases back before gliding smoothly into me and holding himself deep and high on a strained groan, shaking against me.
It does the job.
I convulse in his arms, my body becoming limp, my mind spacing out and my hands finally freeing their hold of his hair. I’m not trying to, but my internal wall is grabbing onto him with every pulse he delivers, elongating the waves of pleasure riding through me.
While I’m quite happy being held against the fridge, limp and useless, Miller decides he’s not so happy to hold me there. He folds down to the floor until I’m splattered on his chest, and then rolls over to get me beneath him. He watches me fighting to gain control of my short breath, then takes his mouth to my nipple and sucks hard, biting down and squeezing the surrounding flesh with his hand. ‘Glad you took me up on my offer?’ he asks, sounding confident of the answer I’ll give.
‘Yes,’ I exhale, drawing my knee up and willing some strength into my arm to lift and stroke the back of his head.
‘Of course you are.’ He kisses his way up my body until he’s at my lips, nibbling tenderly. ‘Shower time.’
‘Leave me here,’ I puff, my arms flopping to my sides. ‘I don’t have the energy.’
‘So I’ll do all the hard work. I said I’d worship you.’
‘You also said you’d f**k me,’ I remind him.
He releases my lip from his grip and pulls back, thinking hard. ‘I also said I’d break you in first.’
Surprisingly to me, I don’t even blush. ‘I think we can safely say you can tick that item off your list, so now you can f**k me.’ What the hell has gotten into me?
Obviously, Miller is wondering the very same thing because his eyebrows have just jumped up in shock, but he doesn’t say anything. Perhaps I’ve stunned him into silence. His brow furrows slightly as he starts to climb off me, and after disposing of the condom and wiping the bottoms of his feet, he quickly pulls me up and takes his customary hold of my nape. Then he starts guiding me towards his bedroom. ‘Trust me, you don’t want me to f**k you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because what we just shared was far more enjoyable.’
He’s right, and though I know it’s stupid of me, I don’t want to add Miller to my list of meaningless encounters. ‘Your kitchen is wrecked.’ I point to the chocolate-coated floor and fridge, but he doesn’t follow my indication to look, pushing me onward instead.
‘I can’t look.’ His eyes turn dark, and he shakes his head. ‘I won’t sleep.’
I can’t help smiling, even though I know it won’t be appreciated. He’s a clean freak. He has odd ways, with the constant repositioning of things, but after being here and seeing that immaculate wardrobe, I think he might even be a little obsessive about it.