My jaw loosens automatically, mainly because I’m gaping at his close beauty, and he holds my eyes as he brings the fruit to my mouth until I feel it skimming my lip. My mouth closes around it and my teeth sink in, biting a small piece from its plump flesh. ‘Hmmm,’ I hum happily and reach up to catch a trail of strawberry juice on my chin, but my wrist is seized before I get to wipe it away.
‘Allow me,’ he whispers, edging further into me, his lips homing in on my chin and slowly licking away the juice before he slips the remaining piece past his lips. My chewing has slowed right down, matching the precise motions of his mouth. He swallows. ‘Good?’
My mouth is full, so I nod – knowing Miller’s compulsion for manners – and hold my finger up to indicate a second as I chew quickly. I lick my lips and lean towards the bowl again. ‘You need to feed me another.’
His eyes twinkle as he selects another strawberry and dips and swirls again. ‘It would be even better with champagne,’ he muses, flicking his eyes to mine.
I ignore him and place my water on the table. ‘What chocolate is that?’
‘Ah.’ He brings the strawberry to my mouth, but this time he brushes the runny chocolate across my bottom lip, and my tongue instantly leaves my mouth to clear it up. ‘No.’ He shakes his head and slides his palm around my neck, pulling me in. ‘I get to do that,’ he whispers in my face, moving in.
I don’t fight him off. I let him clean up the mess that he’s made and take the opportunity to rest my palms on his thighs, on either side of my knees. I smooth across the dark hairs of his legs, enjoying the feel of him, while he finishes up at my mouth, kissing the corner of my lips, the centre, and then the other corner.
‘What chocolate is it?’ I repeat quietly, wanting to forget all sweet-tasting things and taste Miller instead.
‘Green and Black’s.’ He offers me the strawberry and I take it, holding it between my teeth. ‘It has to be a minimum of eighty per cent cocoa.’ The strawberry that I’m holding is preventing me from asking why, so I frown instead, prompting him to go on. ‘The bitterness of the chocolate coupled with the sweetness of the strawberry is what makes it so special. Add champagne and you have a perfect combination. And the strawberries simply have to be British.’ He leans in and bites the strawberry that’s wedged between my teeth and juice explodes between us.
I don’t care about the juice all over my chin, or that my mouth is full. ‘Why?’
He finishes chewing and swallows. ‘Because they’re the sweetest you can buy.’ He slips his hands under my thighs and lifts, pulling me forward so I’m astride him on the chair. He takes excruciatingly long to clean me up. It makes my skin heat and my breath catch constantly in my throat as I try to contain the urge to pounce on him. The sheet is yanked away, exposing my full nakedness to him. ‘Bath time.’
‘You don’t need to bathe me,’ I object, wondering how far he’ll take this worshipping business. I’m feeling extremely special, but I can wash myself.
He takes my hands and rests them on his shoulders, then gathers the masses of honey locks framing my face. ‘I absolutely do need to bathe you, Livy.’
‘Why?’
He stands, holding my bum cheeks, and takes me to the mirrored fridge. I’m placed on my feet and turned away from him so my front is facing the mirror. I’m staring at myself. I feel uncomfortable, especially when I flick my eyes to Miller behind me and see his gaze journeying the length of my body. My eyes fall to the floor, but quickly snap up again when his chest is pressed against me and I feel his hard length pressed into my lower back – hot and moist. His shorts are gone.
‘Feeling better?’ he asks, holding my eyes in the mirror and reaching around to gently cup my breast.
I nod, when I really mean to say no. He intimidates me on every level, but it’s all very addictive.
He moulds my breast gently. ‘Mouth-watering,’ he whispers, his lips moving slowly. ‘Perfectly plump.’ He tweaks my nipple lightly and kisses my ear. ‘And incredibly tasty.’
My eyes close and I lean back onto him, but my blissful state is interrupted when I’m lightly pushed forward and pressed against the cold mirror of the fridge, my modest boobs squished to the glass and my face turning in to rest my cheek on the cool surface.
‘Don’t move.’ He disappears from behind me, but is back within a few seconds, his knee pushing between my thighs and spreading them before he takes my hands, one at a time, and lifts them, flattening my palms on the mirror above my head. I’m spreadeagled against the front of the fridge, pushed up to the glass, and I can only just see him in my peripheral vision. He’s holding the bowl of chocolate, and before I can even stop to consider his next move, he tips the whole contents across my shoulders, the warm chocolate making my shoulders jump up in shock, the sensation of it trickling down my back, over my bottom, and down my legs, making me pray for help. It’s going to take time to lick all that away, and I’ve had his tongue on me before. I’ll never make it through without screaming or turning to devour him. I start to tremble.
I hear the bowl being placed on the worktop behind me, and I also definitely hear the drag of glass on marble, indicating the repositioning of it. He’s just tipped melted chocolate all over me and now he’s worried about the positioning of a bowl?
Lifting my face from the mirror, I look for him in the reflection, finding him approaching me. His penis is solid and bouncing freely as he paces, and he has a foil packet in his hand. I gulp and rest my forehead against the glass, mentally preparing myself for the sweet torture that I’m about to endure.
‘See? Now I really do need to bathe you.’ The warmth of his palms lands on the outside of my thighs and skate over my hips, my waist, my ribs – until his hands are sitting on my shoulders, massaging me, his big hands slipping over the chocolate. My head rolls back, a moan rolls from my lips, and my stomach rolls in anticipation.
Gliding his touch down the column of my spine, his finger slips over the cheeks of my bum and to the top of my thighs, down, down, down, until he’s kneeling on the floor behind me and reaching up to stroke down my body once more. I’m on high alert. I’m docile, but aware – calm but frenzied . . . alive but fading.
‘Livy, I’m not sure twenty-four hours is going to be enough,’ he whispers, his fingertip circling my anklebone. My eyes close and I try to divert my mind from sending the words that I want to say to my mouth. It won’t help. He’s turned on, that’s all – caught up in the moment.
The tip of that damn finger burns a trail up the side of my lower leg until it’s at the back of my knee. My legs wobble.
‘Miller,’ I breathe, my palms sliding over the mirrored glass.
‘Hmmm,’ he hums, replacing his finger with his tongue, licking a wickedly teasing stroke up the back of my thigh and onto my bum. He bites down on my cheek, his teeth sinking into my flesh and sucking . . . hard.
‘Please.’ I’m begging. I’m doing what I swore I’d never resort to. ‘Please, please, please.’
‘Please, what?’ He’s on my back now, working up the centre of my spine, licking, sucking and biting as he makes his journey. ‘Tell me what you want.’
‘You,’ I pant. ‘I want you.’ I’m shameless, but that luscious heaviness is building again, heat racing through my veins, leaving no room for shyness.
‘As I want you.’
‘You can have me.’ I turn my head when he clasps my nape and twists his grip, finding clear eyes that could rival the bluest of tropical waters.
‘I don’t understand how something so beautiful can be so pure.’ His eyes skate all over my face, wonder gushing from the heat of his stare. ‘Thank you.’ He kisses me so delicately, his hands roaming everywhere, until they’re spreading chocolate up my arms and encasing my balled fists with his palms.
I know the answer to his question, but he’s not directly asked, so I should avoid enlightening him. That’s not what this is about. For him, it’s fulfilling his fascination. For me, it’s about remedying a problem that I’ve inflicted on myself – I have to keep telling myself that.
‘Turn around so I can see you,’ he says against my lips, helping me swivel. When my chocolate-drenched back is pushed up against the fridge, slipping and sliding, he steps back and gives me an all-over visual assessment. I’m not shy because I’m too busy absorbing the mountain of chocolate-covered perfection before me – wide shoulders, tight h*ps and strong thighs . . . a thick, long column protruding from his groin. My mouth waters, my eyes fixed on that one area, despite the copious amounts of other hard perfection for my eyes to feast on. I want to taste him.
My eyes shoot to his when he steps forward, seeing a straight face, as usual, giving nothing away. ‘Where is that mind wandering to?’ he asks, reaching down and taking a firm grip of his cock, pulling my eyes downward and my breath backward. I choke on a gasp.
Now I’m nervous, and my lack of response is a clear sign of this. Stupidly, I don’t want to disappoint him. I’m sure he’ll have had plenty of sweet lips wrapped around him, but I bet they all knew what they were doing. ‘I’m . . . can . . . it’s . . .’ I stutter and stammer all over the place, prompting him to relieve me of my awkwardness by burying his face under my neck and pushing up until my head’s forced back and I’m looking up at the ceiling.
‘You need to loosen up some more. I thought we were getting somewhere.’
‘We are.’
He drops me, leaving me weak and wobbly while he rips open the condom and makes quick work of rolling it on. I don’t like it. I feel like it’s a crime for him to be covering his beauty. ‘I really wish we could do this flesh on flesh,’ he muses, glancing up at me. ‘But I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I knocked you up, would I?’
No, he wouldn’t, but whatever’s gentlemanly about keeping me as a sex toy for a day? Or telling me that I’ll get the best f**k of my life? He’s contradicted that promise. There has been nothing close to f**king since I arrived. He’s been a gentleman through and through – a caring, attentive, considerate lover.
I’m falling fast – too fast. And his gentlemanly approach is not helping.
‘Livy?’ His soft rasp pulls my eyes open. I hadn’t realised they were shut. ‘Are you okay?’ He moves in and gets his face level with mine, stroking my cheek.
‘Yes.’ I shake my head mildly, offering a small smile.
‘I’ll stop. We don’t have . . .’ He pauses and slips into thought for a few moments. ‘I’ll have to accept it if you’ve had enough.’
‘No!’ I blurt, a little panicked. I’m fighting off unwanted hesitance. I’m having flashes of reluctance, despite my craving for this man. But he’s too tempting. He’s forbidden fruit. I’ve experienced him worshipping me, and even though I know it’ll be bad for me, I want more. ‘I don’t want you to accept it.’ Did I just say that out loud?
The wave of confusion on his dark stubbled face, mixed with a little relief, tells me I did. ‘You want to go on?’
‘Yes,’ I confirm, more calmly, more controlled, even if I’m not feeling it. I’m still sizzling with heat and want, and it’s all for this beautiful, respectful man before me. I gather some confidence, my hesitancy irritating me, and lift my chocolate-coated arms to place my hands on his smooth chest. ‘I want you again.’ I take a deep breath and drop my mouth to the flesh between my palms. ‘I want you to make me feel alive.’
That’s exactly what he does.
‘Thank God,’ he exhales, grasping me under my thighs and lifting me to his h*ps where my legs seem to automatically curl around his tight waist. ‘I would’ve accepted it, but I wouldn’t have been particularly happy about it.’ He gently pushes me up against the fridge and takes his hand between our bodies. ‘I can’t seem to get enough of you, Olivia Taylor.’
