Miller looks edgy, which isn’t surprising, but the woman in his kitchen looks interested as she relaxes back in her chair and holds her wine glass to her deep-red lips. ‘So we’re entertaining at home now?’ she purrs.
Miller ignores her question and approaches me quickly, turning me in his arms and pushing me gently from the kitchen. ‘Let me put you in bed,’ he whispers.
‘Is she one of them?’ I ask, letting him lead me away. I already know she is. I can tell by the air of superiority surrounding her confident persona and her designer clothes.
‘Yes,’ he answers tightly. ‘I’ll get rid of her and come and join you.’
‘Why is she here?’
‘Because she takes liberties.’
‘She has,’ I agree.
‘Darling!’ Her cocky, self-assured voice has the same effect as the last time one of Miller’s clients spoke. I tense under Miller’s hold, and he tenses, too. ‘Don’t hide her away for my benefit.’
‘I’m not hiding her,’ he spits over his shoulder, striding on. ‘I’ll be back in a minute, Sophia.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’
It’s only at the mention of her name and the follow-up of her overconfident words that I realise she has an accent. European, definitely. It’s mild but detectable. She’s like the woman from Quaglino’s, except brasher and more confident, and I wouldn’t have thought that possible.
When I’ve been directed into his room, he pulls back the neat covers and lifts me into bed, gently laying me down and resting his lips on my forehead. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘How long will you be?’ I ask, uncomfortable with him going back out to that woman. She’s arrogant. I don’t like her, and I definitely don’t like the potential of her drooling all over Miller.
‘You’re in my bed and you’re naked.’ He pushes my hair from my face and nuzzles into my cheek. ‘I want to have my thing with my habit. Please let me deal with this. I’ll be as quick as I can, I promise.’
‘Okay.’ I resist latching on to him with my arms because letting go when he leaves will be too hard. ‘Stay calm, please.’
He nods his acknowledgment. One more kiss on the lips and he slips out of the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving me with only the darkness and my thoughts – unwanted thoughts, thoughts that if I give too much time to will drive me positively insane.
Too late.
I’m tossing and turning, burying my head under the pillow, sitting up and listening for a commotion and deliberating returning to Miller, my anger bubbling. But when I hear the door handle shift, I’m lying back down again, pretending I haven’t just spent the last ten minutes driving myself nuts with thoughts of rules, restraints, hard cash and worrying about Miller’s temper.
Dusky light floods into the room and within only moments he’s pressed up against my back, moving my hair from my neck and saying hello with a wet lick up the column of my throat.
‘Hi,’ I whisper, shuffling over until I’m happy to have his face close to mine.
‘Hello.’ He kisses my nose tenderly and strokes my hair.
‘Has she gone?’
‘Yes,’ he answers swiftly and assertively, but says no more, which is fine by me. I want to forget she was ever here.
‘What are you thinking about?’ I ask when a long silence has stretched between us, him seeming happy to keep it that way but me breaking it to try and drag my mind away from night visitors.
‘I’m thinking how lovely you look in my bed.’
I smile. ‘You can barely see me.’
‘I can see you just fine, Livy,’ he argues quietly. ‘I see you everywhere I look, whether it’s dark or light.’
His words and warm breath on my face settle me completely. ‘Messy?’
‘A little.’
‘Hum to me.’
‘I can’t hum on demand,’ he objects, looking a little shy.
‘Can you try?’
He thinks for a few moments and then tucks me further into his chest, resting his chin on top of my head. ‘You’ve put too much pressure on me.’
‘Pressure to hum?’
‘Yes,’ he confirms simply, kissing my hair instead. It’s a good compromise, but as the silence stretches and we’re lost in a world of peace and comfort, holding each other, he overcomes the pressure of my request and begins to hum quietly, sending me into a deep, peaceful slumber.
‘Livy.’ His quiet whisper stirs me, and I try to roll over but go nowhere. ‘Olivia.’
My eyes creep open, finding sparkling blues and his signature shadow covering his jawline, now even longer. ‘What?’
‘You’re awake.’ He lifts onto his forearms and rubs his groin into mine, indicating his current hard condition. ‘Shall we?’ he asks, the potential of some Miller-style worshipping waking me up as if Big Ben were ringing from the side of the bed.
‘Condom,’ I breathe.
‘Done.’ His hand wanders down my hip until he’s at my entrance spreading my heated wetness on a little gasp of gratification. ‘Were you dreaming of me?’ he asks surely, replacing his hand on the mattress and rearing back.
‘Might have.’ I’m nonchalant, but then he’s pushing into me and my attempts to appear casual diminish with one smooth thrust. ‘Ooh,’ I groan, lifting my arms and linking my fingers around his neck, the delicious fullness of him within me taking me to places beyond pleasure – just as Miller has promised.
I really was dreaming of him. I was dreaming that this was for ever, and not just a lifetime, but beyond that, too – a life of perfect preciseness in everything, especially when he makes love to me. I’m over his finicky nature. It’ll always fascinate me but, more significant than that, I’m irrevocably head over heels, painfully and utterly in love with him – no matter who he was, what he did, and how damn obsessive he is.
The gliding of our bodies together exceeds pleasurable. He’s looking down at me with total devotion, bolstering my feelings more and more with each and every careful pump of his hips. I’m ablaze, rippling, breathing sharp gasping breaths in his face as my palms dampen from the sweat riddling his nape.
‘I’m desperate to kiss you,’ he mumbles, pushing deep, holding himself as he reins in his laboured breathing. ‘So desperate, but I can’t deprive my eyes of your face. I need to see your face.’
I squeeze my internal muscles instinctively, feeling him pulse steady and slow.
‘Jesus, Livy, you put perfection to shame.’
I want to counter his claim, but all of my concentration is going into matching the meticulous tempo of his dreamy hips, each drive firm and flawless, each retreat steady and controlled. The stirrings in the pit of my tummy are preparing to travel further down, preparing to erupt and send me wild with overwhelming sensations, and not just of the physical kind. My heart is bursting, too.
I’m suddenly moving, being pulled up carefully to his kneeling lap and guided around time and time again. ‘You fit me just right,’ he groans, slowly closing his eyes. ‘The only thing in my life that has ever been truly perfect is you.’
In my blissed-out state, I manage to comprehend what that means, especially for a man who craves exactness. ‘I want to be perfect for you,’ I pledge, pushing my body into his, planting my face in his neck. ‘I want to be everything you need.’ I have no issue with admitting that. In moments like this, I see a man who’s relaxed and content, not uptight and broody or unpredictable and dangerous. If I can help to shift some of these attributes from the bedroom into Miller’s life when he’s not worshipping me, then I will, every day for the rest of my days. The middle part of yesterday was a perfect start.
Miller ignores her question and approaches me quickly, turning me in his arms and pushing me gently from the kitchen. ‘Let me put you in bed,’ he whispers.
‘Is she one of them?’ I ask, letting him lead me away. I already know she is. I can tell by the air of superiority surrounding her confident persona and her designer clothes.
‘Yes,’ he answers tightly. ‘I’ll get rid of her and come and join you.’
‘Why is she here?’
‘Because she takes liberties.’
‘She has,’ I agree.
‘Darling!’ Her cocky, self-assured voice has the same effect as the last time one of Miller’s clients spoke. I tense under Miller’s hold, and he tenses, too. ‘Don’t hide her away for my benefit.’
‘I’m not hiding her,’ he spits over his shoulder, striding on. ‘I’ll be back in a minute, Sophia.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’
It’s only at the mention of her name and the follow-up of her overconfident words that I realise she has an accent. European, definitely. It’s mild but detectable. She’s like the woman from Quaglino’s, except brasher and more confident, and I wouldn’t have thought that possible.
When I’ve been directed into his room, he pulls back the neat covers and lifts me into bed, gently laying me down and resting his lips on my forehead. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘How long will you be?’ I ask, uncomfortable with him going back out to that woman. She’s arrogant. I don’t like her, and I definitely don’t like the potential of her drooling all over Miller.
‘You’re in my bed and you’re naked.’ He pushes my hair from my face and nuzzles into my cheek. ‘I want to have my thing with my habit. Please let me deal with this. I’ll be as quick as I can, I promise.’
‘Okay.’ I resist latching on to him with my arms because letting go when he leaves will be too hard. ‘Stay calm, please.’
He nods his acknowledgment. One more kiss on the lips and he slips out of the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving me with only the darkness and my thoughts – unwanted thoughts, thoughts that if I give too much time to will drive me positively insane.
Too late.
I’m tossing and turning, burying my head under the pillow, sitting up and listening for a commotion and deliberating returning to Miller, my anger bubbling. But when I hear the door handle shift, I’m lying back down again, pretending I haven’t just spent the last ten minutes driving myself nuts with thoughts of rules, restraints, hard cash and worrying about Miller’s temper.
Dusky light floods into the room and within only moments he’s pressed up against my back, moving my hair from my neck and saying hello with a wet lick up the column of my throat.
‘Hi,’ I whisper, shuffling over until I’m happy to have his face close to mine.
‘Hello.’ He kisses my nose tenderly and strokes my hair.
‘Has she gone?’
‘Yes,’ he answers swiftly and assertively, but says no more, which is fine by me. I want to forget she was ever here.
‘What are you thinking about?’ I ask when a long silence has stretched between us, him seeming happy to keep it that way but me breaking it to try and drag my mind away from night visitors.
‘I’m thinking how lovely you look in my bed.’
I smile. ‘You can barely see me.’
‘I can see you just fine, Livy,’ he argues quietly. ‘I see you everywhere I look, whether it’s dark or light.’
His words and warm breath on my face settle me completely. ‘Messy?’
‘A little.’
‘Hum to me.’
‘I can’t hum on demand,’ he objects, looking a little shy.
‘Can you try?’
He thinks for a few moments and then tucks me further into his chest, resting his chin on top of my head. ‘You’ve put too much pressure on me.’
‘Pressure to hum?’
‘Yes,’ he confirms simply, kissing my hair instead. It’s a good compromise, but as the silence stretches and we’re lost in a world of peace and comfort, holding each other, he overcomes the pressure of my request and begins to hum quietly, sending me into a deep, peaceful slumber.
‘Livy.’ His quiet whisper stirs me, and I try to roll over but go nowhere. ‘Olivia.’
My eyes creep open, finding sparkling blues and his signature shadow covering his jawline, now even longer. ‘What?’
‘You’re awake.’ He lifts onto his forearms and rubs his groin into mine, indicating his current hard condition. ‘Shall we?’ he asks, the potential of some Miller-style worshipping waking me up as if Big Ben were ringing from the side of the bed.
‘Condom,’ I breathe.
‘Done.’ His hand wanders down my hip until he’s at my entrance spreading my heated wetness on a little gasp of gratification. ‘Were you dreaming of me?’ he asks surely, replacing his hand on the mattress and rearing back.
‘Might have.’ I’m nonchalant, but then he’s pushing into me and my attempts to appear casual diminish with one smooth thrust. ‘Ooh,’ I groan, lifting my arms and linking my fingers around his neck, the delicious fullness of him within me taking me to places beyond pleasure – just as Miller has promised.
I really was dreaming of him. I was dreaming that this was for ever, and not just a lifetime, but beyond that, too – a life of perfect preciseness in everything, especially when he makes love to me. I’m over his finicky nature. It’ll always fascinate me but, more significant than that, I’m irrevocably head over heels, painfully and utterly in love with him – no matter who he was, what he did, and how damn obsessive he is.
The gliding of our bodies together exceeds pleasurable. He’s looking down at me with total devotion, bolstering my feelings more and more with each and every careful pump of his hips. I’m ablaze, rippling, breathing sharp gasping breaths in his face as my palms dampen from the sweat riddling his nape.
‘I’m desperate to kiss you,’ he mumbles, pushing deep, holding himself as he reins in his laboured breathing. ‘So desperate, but I can’t deprive my eyes of your face. I need to see your face.’
I squeeze my internal muscles instinctively, feeling him pulse steady and slow.
‘Jesus, Livy, you put perfection to shame.’
I want to counter his claim, but all of my concentration is going into matching the meticulous tempo of his dreamy hips, each drive firm and flawless, each retreat steady and controlled. The stirrings in the pit of my tummy are preparing to travel further down, preparing to erupt and send me wild with overwhelming sensations, and not just of the physical kind. My heart is bursting, too.
I’m suddenly moving, being pulled up carefully to his kneeling lap and guided around time and time again. ‘You fit me just right,’ he groans, slowly closing his eyes. ‘The only thing in my life that has ever been truly perfect is you.’
In my blissed-out state, I manage to comprehend what that means, especially for a man who craves exactness. ‘I want to be perfect for you,’ I pledge, pushing my body into his, planting my face in his neck. ‘I want to be everything you need.’ I have no issue with admitting that. In moments like this, I see a man who’s relaxed and content, not uptight and broody or unpredictable and dangerous. If I can help to shift some of these attributes from the bedroom into Miller’s life when he’s not worshipping me, then I will, every day for the rest of my days. The middle part of yesterday was a perfect start.
