Denied (One Night 2)

My eyes follow him up and we regard each other while he withdraws his fingers and wipes them across his bottom lip. Then he licks them slowly. Then he just gazes at me. For a long, long time. His close scrutiny doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable but, as always, it makes me wonder what’s running through that multilayered mind of his.

‘What are you thinking?’ I ask quietly, not resisting a little brush of my fingertip down the rippling muscles of his stomach.

He follows its path, letting me feel him for a time before taking my hand and lifting it to his lips. Each fingertip is kissed, my palm flattened, and my hand placed gently on my breast. ‘I’m thinking how lovely you look on my paint table.’

I smile mildly, and he starts to move my hand, encouraging me to follow his guidance and mould my breast. A moan trickles past my lips and I sigh, long and peacefully.

‘You look lovely everywhere.’ He moves his free hand down to his groin, gasping a little when he wraps his palm around the girth of his arousal. His jaw sharpens. ‘You’re just too f**king lovely.’ Looking down, he guides himself to my opening and brushes across my entrance. I start to pant, motivating him to deliver another teasing, feathery tickle. It’s too much.

‘No!’ I shock myself with my little outburst and Miller’s eyes flying to mine display his alarm, too. ‘Don’t drive me crazy, please!’

His stunned eyes drift into knowing.

‘I know it delights you, but please don’t torture me.’ I’m a desperate wreck and entirely unbothered by it. After today and everything that has happened, I don’t need to be tormented or teased.

He says nothing and slowly pushes into me, transferring his hands to my h*ps and lifting me slightly. My worry diminishes, being replaced immediately with a serene, blissful sensation of calmness. Taking my other breast, I relax and let him carry me to ecstasy – that place where our troubles and challenges don’t exist. That place I want to lose myself in for ever with Miller Hart. His worshipping. His mouth. His eyes. His thing.

His tall, powerful body pumps lazily into me, controlled, measured, his muscles rolling with each rotation of his hips, his lips parting as he watches me. There’s no strain right now, nothing but easy pleasure, but his talent for delivering such exquisite gratification will quickly send me delirious, the heaviness in my groin already beginning to fight its way to my epicentre. I want this to last. I want to go on and on, so I clench my teeth and squeeze my muscles to try and halt the inevitable, or at least delay it somewhat.

His concentrated gaze isn’t helping. Neither is the sight of the cut perfection of his body. Alone, each of Miller’s addictive qualities is powerful. Combined, they are deadly. ‘I love seeing this body trying to fight off the inescapable.’ His palm releases my waist and splays across my throat, slowly dragging down the centre of my chest to my stomach. I moan my pleasure, arching my back, as he continues to flow into me, seeming to find it easy to maintain his steady pace, whereas I’m on the brink of giving up fighting it off. ‘I love how every muscle tightens.’ He strokes soft circles over the tense muscles of my tummy, and I whimper, battling to keep my eyes on him when I want to throw my head back and scream his name. ‘Especially here.’ He pulls out and re-enters firmly, shifting his hand to my hip again and pausing while I rein in my shouts. He’s panting, too, now, his wavy hair damp with sweat. ‘Is it working, Livy?’ he asks cockily, knowing the answer.

‘Nothing works.’ I wriggle under his hold, my hands leaving my br**sts and beginning to flail to the side. I hit something again, but this time I feel a new wetness and I glance to the side to see my hand covered in paint and a pot of water tipped on its side, the murky paint-stained solution trickling down the table towards me. ‘Oh God! Miller!’ I throw my hands up and brace them on his forearms, digging my nails into his flesh. His jaw tightens, his face distorting, his head dropping back. But his eyes don’t shift. I hold my breath, the sparks winning and fighting their way to my core.

I get rewarded with his continued, neat rhythm. Lazy advances. Lazy retreats. Lazy grinds. Everything is slow and so purposeful.

‘How?’ I cry, the mystery spiking annoyance in my wanton state. ‘How can you remain so controlled?’

He moves, shifting his feet to gain more stability, and takes my hands, threading his fingers through mine and clamping down. ‘Because of you.’ His arms are used as leverage, pulling my body up slightly with each smooth thrust. I bite down on my lip, accepting drive after drive. ‘I want to treasure every moment I get to spend with you.’ His strong arms pull hard and hurl me up, sending him deeper on a shout, me on a cry. Our chests collide and he stills, letting me adjust to the inconceivably deep penetration. He breathes in my face, shallow, laboured, pleasure-filled gasps. ‘I taste you and I want to relish in every moment I get to indulge in you.’ His lips capture mine in a ravenous kiss, his groin swivelling, finding its earlier tempo. ‘Jesus, Olivia, I wish I could devote every moment of the day and night to worshipping you.’ The softness of his luscious mouth loses a bit of tenderness when he pushes further into me, his kiss now carnal.

My craving for my confounding part-time gentleman intensifies. But our reality dulls it. He can’t devote every moment of the day and night to me. He’s chained, and it makes me feel so incredibly helpless. ‘One day,’ I push the words through our sensual kiss, moving my mouth and biting at his lip before plunging my tongue back in, pushing my br**sts into his chest.