He pushes me to my back and falls to his fists, one on each side of my head. He’s breathless, his hair falling forward, his eyes hungry. ‘This is what it’s all about.’ He rolls his h*ps and drives into me on a suppressed gasp, holding himself deep while he tries to stabilise his uneven breathing. I cry out. ‘This is pleasure.’ He retreats and pushes forward on another burst of air, coaxing another shout of gratification from me. ‘This is feeling.’ Back he draws before thrusting forward again. ‘This is how it’ll always be.’ His pace is meticulous, smooth and perfectly precise. ‘This is us.’
‘I want it to be,’ I breathe, meeting his advances with constant swivels of my hips. His eyes are smiling, and then like a sun breaking through the grey clouds on an overcast, smoggy day in London, his mouth smiles, too – his perfectly straight, white teeth on full display, his eyes sparkling wildly. He accepts me. All of me.
‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up, not that you had a choice.’
‘I don’t want a choice.’
‘You know it makes perfect sense.’ He drops to his forearms and gets our faces nose to nose, delivering delicious deep grinds over and over. My hands are all over his back, my knees bent and spread, and his shirt a creased-up mess, pooling my body. ‘I have a fascinating habit,’ he says, scanning my face.
‘Me too.’
‘She’s the most beautiful thing.’
‘My habit is mystifying.’ I groan and lift my head to capture his lips. ‘He’s in disguise.’
‘Disguise?’ he asks around my mouth, meeting my demanding tongue with his own.
‘He’s disguised as a gentleman.’
A cough of surprise falls past his lips. ‘If I wasn’t enjoying myself so much right now, I’d challenge you for your cheek. I am a gentleman.’ He jerks forward and bites my lip. ‘Bollocks!’
‘A gentleman doesn’t swear!’ I shout, linking my legs around his waist and tightening them, pushing into his rock-hard arse.
‘Fuck!’
‘Oh God! Faster!’ My hands push into his neck, forcing his lips harder to mine.
‘Savoured,’ he argues weakly. ‘I’ll enjoy you slowly.’
He might be enjoying me slowly, but I’m losing my mind fast. His control is beyond comprehension. How does he do it? ‘You want to go faster,’ I goad him, yanking at his dishevelled mop.
‘Wrong.’ He pulls his head away, making me lose my grip. ‘I didn’t before, and I especially don’t now.’
His harsh reminder of what came before the rightness of this moment halts my tempting tactic in their tracks. ‘Thank you for keeping me,’ I whisper.
‘Don’t thank me. This is happening.’ He abruptly pulls out and gently turns me over, pulling my h*ps upward before slowly sliding back into me. My face buries in the pillow, biting at the cotton as he continuously thrusts back and forth, painstakingly slowly. He’s wreaking havoc on my senses, and I find my body falling into his momentum, gliding back onto each of his drives. He’s moving again, flipping me back over and guiding my legs until they’re draped over his shoulders and he’s inside me once more, pushing deep.
He’s sweating, his waves a delightful mess of wet and his stubble glistening. ‘I love seeing your body move.’
I allow my eyes a glimpse of his chest, finding ripples of muscle riding up his torso with every push forward. I’m on the brink of detonation, but trying to rein it in so I can indulge in him some more. Finding his eyes again, I warm further when he blesses me with another one of his beautiful smiles.
‘I guarantee you, Livy. What you’re looking at isn’t a whisper of the beauty in my view.’
‘Wrong,’ I breathe seriously, reaching up to touch him. He exceeds perfection to the point of inflicting pain on my eyes.
‘We’ll agree to disagree, sweet girl.’ He grinds with purpose, making it impossible for me to argue with him. ‘Good?’
‘Yes!’
‘I concur.’ He drops a shoulder, letting my leg slide down his arm so he can lower his torso. ‘Put your hands above your head.’
‘I want to touch you,’ I complain, my wandering hands going off on a feeling frenzy.
‘Put your hands over your head, Livy.’ He reinforces his command with a sharp thrust, sending my head flying back, along with my hands. Lowering to his forearms, he rests his palms on the undersides of my arms and strokes to match the tempo of his hips. His blue eyes are wild with passion.
‘Are you ready, Livy?’
I nod, then shake my head, then nod again. ‘Miller!’
He groans, taking his rhythm up a level. ‘Livy, I’m going to send you crazy with pleasure daily, so you’re going to have to learn to control your body.’
Now my head is shaking, my body being attacked by persistent shots of pleasure. It’s becoming too much. ‘Please,’ I beg, looking up into eyes full of triumph. He loves making me crazy. He thrives on it. ‘You’re doing this on purpose.’
My other leg is released and he completely cages me in with his body, preventing me from wriggling, moving, or shaking. I can’t hold out any longer. I’ll pass out.
‘Of course I am,’ he agrees. ‘If you could see what I’m seeing, you’d drag it out, too.’
‘Don’t torture me,’ I groan, flicking my h*ps up.
He dips and kisses me. ‘I’m not torturing you, Livy. I’m showing you how it should be.’
‘You’re making me crazy,’ I breathe. He doesn’t need to show me. He’s done that every time he’s worshipped me.
‘And it’s the most satisfying sight.’ He bites at my lip. ‘Would you like to come?’
I nod and lift my arms from my head, and he doesn’t stop me. I find his shoulders, my hands slipping everywhere, and kiss the hell out of him. I’m relentless with my tongue as he pushes me higher and higher, and then it happens. He bucks on a yell, I scream on a violent arch of my body, and we both begin to shake and pulse. I’m utterly replete, and once my shakes have subsided, I’m totally limp. Useless. I can’t talk, I can’t move, and I can’t see straight. He’s twitching within me, still circling firmly.
‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’ he puffs into my neck, but I can’t answer him. I’m breathless, my mind scrambled, and I attempt a shrug that is executed as more of a spasm. ‘I’ll give you the bad news,’ he says when it becomes obvious that an answer is not forthcoming. ‘The bad news is I’m paralysed. I can’t bloody move, Livy.’
If I had the energy, I’d smile, but I’m a despondent pile of twitching nerve endings. So I hum my response and attempt a little squeeze of him. It’s feeble.
‘The good news is,’ he pants, ‘we haven’t got to go anywhere, so we can stay like this for ever. Am I heavy?’
He’s very heavy but I haven’t got the strength or inclination to tell him so. He’s all over me, covering every square inch, our sweaty skin rubbing everywhere. I hum my non-committal reply again, my eyes closing with exhaustion.
‘Livy?’ he whispers softly.
‘Hmmm?’
‘No matter what happened, you really are my sweet girl. Nothing will change that.’
My eyes open and I find the energy to respond. ‘I’m a woman, Miller,’ I say, needing him to realise I’m no girl. I’m a woman and I have needs, and one of those needs – the biggest one – is now Miller Hart.
Chapter 20
It was inevitable that he would abandon me. All his actions, reassuring words and comfort were far too good to be true. I should have known that from the guilt plaguing his face when he stopped me from leaving. I wish he’d never come after me. I wish he’d never let his compassion take over and force him into comforting me. It’s made it so much harder to bear. The darkness is constant and the agony relentless. Everything hurts – my brain for thinking too much, my body for missing his touch and my eyes for not seeing him. I’m not sure how long it has been since he left me. Days. Weeks. Months. It could be longer.
I dare not venture from my silent darkness. I dare not present my injured soul to the world, which puts me further into seclusion than I ever was before I met Miller Hart.
Tears start to pour from my eyes. Visions of my mother’s face morph into mine, and my head jerks from the lash of my nan’s palm slapping my face.
‘Livy?’
‘Leave me alone,’ I sob, pulling my numb body onto my stomach and hiding my tear-drenched face in the pillow.
‘Livy.’ Hands start to pull at my body and I fight them away, not wanting to face anyone or anything. ‘Livy, please.’
‘Get off me!’ I scream, thrashing my body aimlessly everywhere.
‘Livy!’
I’m suddenly pinned to the mattress, my flailing hands held firmly by my sides.
‘Livy, open your eyes.’
My head starts shaking and my eyes clench tighter. I’m not ready to face the world yet – probably never will be. My arms are released and my head held still, then the familiar softness of slow-moving lips are on my mouth, and I can hear the low hum that I love so much.
My eyes fly open and I scramble to sit up – shocked, disorientated and sweating. I’m having heart palpitations and I can’t see anything with my wild hair messy and falling all over my face. ‘Miller?’ My hair is pushed from my eyes and he slowly comes into my line of sight, concern etched all over his impossibly beautiful face.
‘I’m here, Livy.’
Awareness finally hits me and I launch myself onto his kneeling body, knocking him to his back. I’m deranged but relieved, terrified but calm.
It was just a dream.
A dream that made me feel all too vividly how it might be if he’s gone. ‘Promise me you won’t abandon me,’ I mumble. ‘Promise me you’re not going anywhere.’
‘Hey, whatever’s brought this on?’
‘Just say it.’ I sink my face into his neck, unwilling to let him go. I’ve had dreams before, I’ve woken up and wondered if they’ve really happened, but this was different. This was frighteningly real. I can still feel the ache in my chest and the panic engulfing me, even now when he’s got me firmly in his arms.
It takes some effort on his part, but he eventually prises my clawed fingers from his back and detaches me from his body. Sitting up and placing me between his thighs, he circles my neck completely with his palms and tilts my head until our gazes lock, mine brimming with tears, his with tenderness. ‘I’m not your mother,’ he says firmly.
‘It hurt so much.’ I’m sobbing, trying to reassure myself that it was just a dream – a stupid, stupid dream.
His face falls. ‘Your mother walked out on you, Livy. Of course it hurt.’
‘No.’ I shake my head in his hold. ‘That doesn’t hurt any more.’ This new fear has drowned any sense of abandonment that I felt before. ‘I’m better off without her.’ He winces, his eyes closing painfully at my harshness. I don’t care. ‘I’m talking about you,’ I whisper. ‘You left me.’ I’m aware that I sound needy and weak, but my desperation is crippling me. Compared to how I’m feeling now, coping with my mother’s abandonment seems like a breeze. Miller’s shown me comfort. He’s accepted me. ‘I’ve never felt pain like it.’
‘Livy—’
‘No.’ I cut him off. He needs to know. I move from his personal space, shifting myself across the bed so I’m out of touching distance.
‘Livy, what are you doing?’ he asks, reaching for me. ‘Come here.’
