Promised (One Night 1)

He stands, lowers me to my feet, and grabs my cheeks. ‘The woman you thought was my girlfriend.’ He hits me with a long, moist kiss, sending me dizzy.

‘Why is she coming here?’ I ask around his lips.

He doesn’t break our kiss. ‘Because she’s a pain in the arse.’ He pecks up my cheek to my ear. ‘And because she thinks that holding shares in my club gives her a right to dictate what happens here.’

I gasp and pull away. ‘So she really is a business associate?’

He almost scowls before yanking me back to his chest. ‘Yes. How many times do I need to tell you? I said trust me.’

This knowledge doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m not completely stupid and I’ve seen the way she looks at him. And me, for that matter.

‘I’ve had a terrible day.’ Miller kisses my cheek softly, distracting me with those soft lips. ‘But you’re going to de-stress me when I get you home.’

I let him take my hand and lead me around his desk. ‘What are we doing?’

He sits me in his chair and turns me to face his desk, and then takes a remote control from the top drawer and crouches beside me, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair. ‘I want to show you something.’

‘What?’ I ask, noting Miller’s desk is as empty as the last time I saw it, the phone its only adornment.

‘This.’ He presses a button and I jump back in my chair on a gasp when his desk starts to shift in front of me.

‘What the . . .’ I’m open-mouthed and gawking like an idiot as five flat screens start to rise from the back section. ‘Bloody hell!’

‘Impressed?’

I might be a little stunned, but there is no denying the proud edge to his tone. ‘So you just watch TV in here?’

‘No, Livy,’ he sighs, pressing another button which prompts the screens to jump to life, revealing image after image of his club.

‘It’s CCTV?’ I ask, letting my eyes travel over the screens, each one sectioned into six images, except the middle screen. That screen is just one large image.

And I’m on it.

I lean forward, seeing myself on Ice’s launch night drinking with Gregory, then the image changes to us walking up the stairs, me looking around in awe. Then I’m on the dance floor. And Miller is on the prowl behind me. I see Gregory whisper in my ear, and me going to turn, and then I watch as he homes in, giving me a thorough inspection before he has his hands on me. The footage is clear, but when Miller reaches forward and touches the centre of the screen, it gets bigger, clearer, and the look on his face makes me instantly wet. I’m tingling, too, and it’s right now I wonder why the hell I’m staring at a screen when the real thing is crouched next to me.

I slowly turn to face him. ‘You sat here and watched me.’ I don’t ask it as a question because it’s obvious. I knew it, but I didn’t consider a club littered with cameras.

He regards me thoughtfully and cocks his head a little. ‘My gorgeous, sweet girl, are you turned on?’

I don’t want to, but I squirm in his big office chair, my cheeks flushing terribly. ‘You’re here. Of course I am.’ I need to try and meet his poise – try being the operative word. I could never match Miller in the intensity stakes or the brooding stakes or the hot stakes or the sexy stakes. I might in the sass stakes, though.

My chair is slowly turned to face him, the remote control placed neatly on the table, and his palms slide under my thighs, pulling me to him until there are only a few inches between our faces. ‘When I watched you on Saturday night,’ he whispers in my face, ‘I was turned on, too.’

An image of Miller reclined in this chair, short in hand, watching quietly as I drank, chatted and wandered around his club, invades my lust-filled mind. The mental visual makes the heat drop from my face, straight into my groin. I’m saturated, and he knows it. ‘Are you turned on now?’ I breathe, moving my face a little closer so our noses meet.

‘Find out for yourself.’ He pushes his lips to mine and rises, forcing my head to drop back to accommodate our kiss. His hands are braced on the arms of his office chair, caging me in, and the satisfied moan that seeps from his mouth into mine is the most pleasurable sound I’ve ever heard.

I waste no time getting my hands on him. I blindly yank his belt undone while our mouths work each other frantically, the softly-softly approach a distant memory in this moment in time. He seems harassed and if I can fix it, then I will.

‘Just your hand,’ he mumbles desperately.

I unzip his fly, unbutton him and slide my hand into his trousers, finding hard heat immediately.

I grasp it loosely, and he gasps, prompting me to flick my eyes up. I’m looking into blinding blues as I pull a slow, smooth stroke, his parted lips letting his shallow pants warm my face. ‘Did you do this to yourself when you watched me?’ I ask quietly, his desperation powering me on, boosting my confidence.

‘I never do this to myself.’

His response shocks me, making my rhythm falter. ‘Never?’

‘Never.’ His h*ps gently push forward.

‘Why not?’ I’m shocked to the core, and even though it sounds unbelievable, I believe him.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ He swoops down and takes my lips, halting any further questioning. I’m focusing on working him gently, but with his mouth action getting unusually firm, it seems to influence my hands too, the thrusts of my fist speeding up, coaxing continuous groans from him. ‘Keep it steady,’ he almost begs.