Denied (One Night 2)

‘I might.’ I’m sounding cocky now, and deep down I know I’ll regret it.

‘I love your sass,’ he says on a shake of his head. ‘Take your best shot.’

‘As you wish.’ I quickly draw back my arm and throw it out, aiming straight for his jaw, but he pulls back stealthily, sending me on an uncontrolled spin on the spot, and before I know where I am, he has my back locked against his chest.

‘Good try, sweet girl.’ He bites at my ear and pushes his groin into my lower back, making me choke on a breath mixed with shock and desire. I heave against him, all disorientated; then I’m spun back around and released from his secure grasp. ‘Better luck next time.’

His cocky demeanour injects me with irritation and I immediately thrash out again, hoping to catch him off guard . . . and fail. ‘Oh!’ I cry, finding myself back in the hardness of his chest with his groin pushed into me, his stubbled cheek against mine.

‘Oh dear.’ His breath tickles my ear, and my eyes clench shut while I look for the poise I need to take him on. ‘You’re being driven by frustration. It’s the wrong fuel.’

Fuel? ‘What do you mean?’ I puff.

Releasing me, he places me back in position and brings my fists up to my face. ‘Frustration will make you lose control. Always maintain control.’

My eyes widen at his statement. I don’t remember seeing any element of control all of the times I’ve seen Miller’s fists flying, and judging by the fleeting look that passes over his face, he’s just considered that, too.

‘You don’t help,’ he says quietly, holding his hands out to the sides. ‘Again.’

Mulling over his words, I try to find some calming thoughts and my inner control, but it’s hidden deep and before I can locate it, my arm rockets forward again on impulse, doing nothing more than sending me into a physical tailspin, as well as a mental one. ‘Damn it!’ I curse, pushing my bum back when I feel his h*ps brush up against me again. There’s nothing controlled about this either, my body naturally reacting to the contact. ‘I can do it!’ I yell, annoyed, wriggling free of his grasp before I give in to temptation and turn to rip his shorts off. ‘Give me a minute.’ Taking some deep, calming breaths, I raise my fists to my face and my eyes to his. He’s regarding me thoughtfully. ‘What?’ I ask shortly.

‘I’m just thinking how lovely you look in boxing gloves, all sweaty and exasperated.’

‘I’m not exasperated.’

‘I beg to differ,’ he deadpans, widening his stance. ‘Ready when you are.’

His coolness is heating my annoyance. ‘Why are we doing this?’ I ask, thinking I desperately need to expel some of this pent-up frustration before I explode. My solo gym session was far more satisfying, even if I didn’t have Miller’s sharp physique to focus on.

‘I told you, because I love seeing you all exasperated by me.’

‘You always make me feel exasperated,’ I mutter, extending my arm fast and ending up, yet again, in the heated hardness of Miller’s chest. ‘Damn it!’

‘Frustrated, Olivia?’ he whispers, running his tongue up the edge of my ear. My eyes close, my breathing slowing to breathless gasps that have nothing to do with my exertion. His teeth bite lightly at my ear and shots of desire stab harshly in my groin, making my thighs clench.

‘What’s the point of this?’ I breathe.

‘You’re my possession and I have an appreciation for my possessions, which includes doing anything I can to protect them.’

The words are quite impersonal, but it’s my emotionally wrecked male who’s delivering them, and although it’s a peculiar way of communicating his feelings, I accept that it’s his way. ‘Does this help you?’ I ask, just locating the ability to voice my question through my fevered state that’s fast being diluted by anxiety. He has anger issues.

‘Immensely,’ he confirms, but doesn’t elaborate and instead escalates my fever by lifting me and carrying me across to a wall. I frown, not because I’d like an explanation, even though he’s confirmed my suspicions, but because I’m looking at dozens of coloured, plastic-moulded lumps protruding sporadically from the surface of the wall – starting from the base and staggering up to the ceiling.

‘What are they?’ I ask as he pushes me into a part of the wall that’s free from strange lumpy bits.

‘This’ – he reaches around me and takes my hands, removes the gloves, and slowly unravels the bandages – ‘is a climbing wall. Hold on.’ My hands are placed on two of the plastic moulds. I grip hard, and then I gulp as he gently takes my h*ps and pulls back. ‘Comfortable?’

I can’t speak. All previous pent-up, workout-related stress has made way for anticipation. So I nod.

‘It’s polite to answer someone when they ask you a question, Livy. You know that.’ He pulls my shorts aside, along with my knickers.

‘Miller,’ I gasp, slightly concerned by our location, feeling his fingers skimming my sex. ‘We can’t, not here.’

‘This room is booked out to me daily from six to eight. No one will disturb us.’

‘But the glass . . .’

‘We’re out of sight.’ His finger pushes forward and my forehead meets the wall on a deep inhale of shaky breath. ‘I’ve asked once.’

‘I’m comfortable,’ I answer reluctantly. I’m comfortable in my position, but not in my location.