Promised (One Night 1)

‘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 h*ps 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 cl**ax 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 na**d 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.