Denied (One Night 2)

‘Are you comfortable?’ he asks.

‘Perfect.’ It’s the only word I can think to use. I smile into his shoulder and pull back, getting his perfect face, all wet and dazzling, into my sight. ‘Can I stay with you tonight?’

‘Of course.’

‘Thank you.’ I show my appreciation by nibbling at his rough chin.

‘It wasn’t really up for discussion,’ he informs me, taking me to the wall and encouraging me to rest my back against it. ‘Too cold?’

I suck in a shocked breath as the coolness of the mosaic tiles spreads across my back. ‘A little.’ He goes to peel me away but I stiffen, stopping him. ‘No, I’m used to it now.’

He eyes me doubtfully but doesn’t challenge my little white lie. ‘You’re all slippery and wet,’ he muses, widening his stance and moving his palms to the rear of my thighs. His intentions are clear and longed for, and my hitching breath tells him so. ‘I want to slide myself into your core and bathe in the fulfilment that you reward me with.’

I wheeze shallow breaths of anticipation. ‘Fulfilment by worshipping.’

‘By acceptance,’ he corrects me, rearing back and taking a hold of his arousal. ‘You give me the greatest pleasure by accepting me in my entirety, not just by accepting me into this beautiful body.’

I’m at serious risk of breaking down on him again, his reverent words immobilising me. ‘There’s nothing more natural to me.’

‘My gorgeous, sweet girl.’ He takes my lips as he slips past my swelling folds, pushing deep and high on a strangled groan.

The instant sensation of his thickness submerged to capacity within me pulls my back straight and I whimper, trying to meet the steady rhythm of his tongue as it seduces my mouth while he holds himself inside me, unmoving, twitching, and groaning.

‘Am I hurting you?’

‘No.’ I’m adamant, regardless of the fact that there’s mild discomfort.

‘Still scope for breaking in?’

It will determine whether I f**k you hard immediately, or break you in first.

‘Always.’ I smile and pull away, resting the back of my head against the wall to lose myself in Miller and his wondrous eyes, rather than savour the attention of his addictive mouth.

On a subtle nod, he withdraws slowly, making my eyes flutter and my stomach furl, too many gratifying elements attacking me at once – the feel of him, his worshipping, the sight of him, his smell, his attentiveness, and my favourite wayward curl – all giving me glorious, inexorable pleasure. I brace myself for his advance and when it happens, exact and expertly, a shallow cry of gratification gushes past my lips. I pant, refusing to shut my eyes and miss a moment of his face contorting with heady craving. It sharpens his features. I could pass out just at the sight of him.

‘How does that feel?’ He chokes the words out and retreats again, slipping out almost all the way before tilting his h*ps up, sending him plunging on a shaky exhale of breath.

‘Good.’ I grasp his shoulders and clench my teeth, soaking up each delicious drive. He’s into his stride now, pumping his h*ps continuously, each thrust as controlled and measured as the last.

‘Just good?’

‘Amazing!’ I yelp, catching a dash of friction on my clitoris that sends me wild. ‘Shit!’

‘That’s more like it,’ he muses to himself, repeating the move that had me cursing a second before.

‘Oh God! Oh shit! Miller!’

‘Again?’ he teases, not waiting for the answer he knows I’m going to give, delivering hastily instead.

I’m out of my mind. His rigorous flow is crippling me, but he’s as controlled as ever, watching me fall apart against him. ‘I need to come,’ I breathe, feeling desperation setting in. I need to release all of the day’s stress and trauma on a satisfied moan, maybe even a scream, as I cl**ax.

I bear down onto him when his momentum remains slow and defined, bunching his sodden hair in my fingers. The onslaught of pressure is becoming too much to handle and Miller’s expanding and throbbing length buried deep is a massive relief. He’s close, too.

‘It feels too good, Olivia.’ His eyes clench shut and his h*ps judder forward, pushing me a little closer. I’m teetering on the edge, half my body dangling, waiting for the rest to follow and send me into an abyss of exploding stars.

‘Please,’ I plead, as always never opposed to begging during these moments. ‘Please, please, please!’

‘Bollocks!’ His curse signals his surrender and he pulls back, takes a long, disciplined breath, then fixes me in place with darkening eyes as he surges forward on a harsh shout. ‘Jesus, Olivia!’

My eyes close as my orgasm takes hold, my head going lax but my body rigid as it strives to cope with the flashes of pressure stabbing harshly at the very tip of my sex. I’m pinned against the tiles, our bodies compressed together, vibrating and slipping, and fitful breathing sings around my fuzzy mind. He’s stealing nibbles and sucks of my throat as I pant up to the ceiling, and my arms refuse to play ball any longer, dropping to my sides, my palms slapping against the wall. The only thing holding me in place is Miller’s body. My world has clicked back into place and is turning steadily on its axis, and an intoxicating cocktail of sweat, sex and alcohol is rife, reminding me that he’s still drunk.

‘You okay?’ I wheeze, letting my head drop to bury my nose in his sopping hair. That’s the only action I can muster, leaving my arms hanging lifelessly by my sides.