The car park feels like miles away, when it is only around the corner. The journey feels like hours when it’s probably only minutes. The stairs to Miller’s apartment feels like thousands, but there are probably only a few hundred. And as soon as the door is shut behind us, my dress is pulled impatiently from my body, my underwear discarded, and I’m lifted up to his carelessly dressed physique and carried across his apartment, while he indulges me in his mouth the whole way, except we don’t enter his bedroom. He takes me to his studio and places me on the sofa, where I sit awkwardly and a little bewildered by his mounting desperation as he hurries out of his clothes, leaving them a pile of expensive material on the floor. Bringing his body down over mine, he engulfs me completely and pins me to the old worn sofa beneath me. His face is in my neck, taking a long inhale of my hair, and then his mouth is on mine, working through delicately with his tongue, humming and moaning as his kiss gets harder, completely defeating the whole purpose of our reunion. It is always me driving things forward and Miller insisting on calm, and now I know why. But worry is getting the better of him.
I try to slow our kiss, bring it down a few levels, but he’s blinded by purpose to make me forget. It’s not incredibly hard, not at all, yet it’s not what I want or need. ‘Slow down,’ I gasp, breaking away from his lips, but he homes in on my neck, resuming the force there. ‘Miller, please!’
At my short plea, he bolts upright in shock, his hands delving into his waves. The fear in his eyes is more than I can cope with, and it’s in this moment I realise he’s two entirely different people – physically and emotionally. At least he is now that I’m in his life. I suspect before me he was simply the man disguised as a gentleman and the punishing lover – or escort.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask, inching myself up into a sitting position.
‘I apologise.’ He stands and walks to the huge window. His na**d back in the night glow looks almost ethereal. I feel the overwhelming need to be close to him, but he’s lost in thought and I should let him have those thoughts. For so long, I’ve thought it was just me who’s the damaged half of this relationship. I was so wrong. Miller’s more broken. I’ve seen the result of this lifestyle. I saw the effect it had on my mother and the lifelong impact it’s had on my grandmother. And on me, too. I’ve done some stupid things. Except Miller has no family to affect. There’s only him, no matter how I ask the question. And he isn’t on his way to hell. I’ve pulled him back, but that sobering claim strengthens my hope. Miller has spent too many years doing something he didn’t want to.
‘Miller?’
He slowly turns, and I don’t like what I see.
Defeatism.
Sorrow.
Sadness.
His head drops. ‘I’m f**ked up, Olivia. I’m sorry.’
‘You’ve apologised enough. Stop saying you’re sorry.’ I can feel the panic flaring in me. ‘Please, come here.’
‘I don’t know what I’ll do if you choose to, but you really should run a mile, sweet girl.’
‘No!’ I snap, worried by his change in approach to our reunion. ‘Come here.’ I’m about to physically fetch him myself when he starts to make his way over. He sits at the other end of the couch, too far away. ‘Don’t say things like that,’ I warn, lying down on my back and resting my head in his na**d lap so I’m looking up at him.
He drops his head so his eyes meet mine, his hands stroking through my hair. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘If you say that one more time,’ I warn, reaching up to feel his neck out. I pull him down, forcing him to bend so we’re forehead to forehead. ‘I’ll . . .’
‘You’ll what?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admit, ‘but I’ll do something.’ So I kiss him, because that is all there is left to do. And he lets me. It is me setting the delicate pace, me who’s guiding Miller. I’m the strong one right now. Me. It doesn’t matter what has come before me. What matters is that we have both found each other and finally accepted each other. I feel it’s like the blind leading the blind, but my determination is now fierce. I’ve let him break down my barriers and, in the process, I’ve innocently bashed down his, too. This feeling of his lips isn’t something I’m prepared to surrender. This sense of belonging isn’t going to be given up. This is where I’m supposed to be. I’m not prepared to fight against this any more. I have the strength to help him. He gives me that strength.
He halts our kiss abruptly and breathes heavily in my face, making a deliberate show of stroking my cheeks and hair so very tenderly. ‘Was that you telling me off?’ he asks seriously, dropping a light peck on my nose. ‘Because if so, then I’m sorry.’
‘Stop it.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’re being silly.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’ll do something,’ I warn, pulling a little on his hair.
He shifts my head from his lap and lays himself down, repositioning me so I’m spread all over him, my face level with his. ‘Please do,’ he whispers, putting his lips close to mine and blinking teasingly slowly.
‘You want me to kiss you?’ I ask quietly, keeping the distance between our mouths minimal and resisting the urge to capture the temptation within licking distance.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He brushes our lips, and I lose all resistance, the enticement of him impossible to fight off. ‘I’m so sorry.’