My mouth is busy lapping at his fingers, so I find some strength to stabilise my legs and use it to push my bottom into his groin. He inhales sharply. I bite down on his finger.
‘Olivia?’ He wants an answer.
I relax my bite and find my voice. ‘Move. Please move.’
‘Oh Jesus.’ His hand is in my hair, yanking my hair tie out, before strong fingers are combing through it, sending my waves tumbling freely. Then his palm encases my throat and tugs until the back of my head meets his shoulder. My lips part and I keep my eyes shut tight, my face pointing up to the ceiling. He’s still unmoving, yet my flesh is quivering incessantly with a tidal wave of crippling sensations that are getting set to send me delirious with pleasure the moment he begins to pump into me. I’m teetering on the edge already, Miller’s steady, pulsing c**k sending my internal muscles into spasm. Heavy breathing invades my ears. ‘I’m so happy that you’re my someone, Olivia Taylor.’
‘And I’m so happy that I am your habit,’ I murmur, finding it easy to utter those words amid my mind-numbing bliss.
‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.’ His face falls into my neck and he begins a lazy pump of his hips, making all air leave my lungs on a satisfied rush of quiet breath.
I smile through my pleasure and I feel him smile against my neck as he kisses me delicately while maintaining his precise pace, keeping his palm spread across my throat.
‘You taste divine,’ he whispers hoarsely.
‘You feel divine.’
‘You’re tightening around me, sweet girl.’
‘I’m close.’ I can feel all of the present signs intensify – the tenseness, the pulsing, the heaviness. ‘Oh God!’
‘Shhhh, Livy,’ he chokes, his h*ps taking on a mind of their own, bucking briefly before he locks his teeth on my neck and takes some steadying breaths. He stops moving.
Sweat beads spring onto my forehead. The heat of his mouth on my flesh is spreading through my clammy body, burning deep into my very centre.
‘How close?’ he asks on a strangled gasp. ‘How close are you, Livy?’
‘Close!’
His h*ps seem to start vibrating, a clear sign of his fight to refrain from bucking wildly.
‘Shit!’ I cry when he advances quickly but carefully, my knuckles turning white from my despairing grip. Out he draws again before striking intently. My lungs drain of air and my surging heart rate escalates to dangerous levels. I feel faint. ‘Miller,’ I gulp, making my arms rigid against the wall. I’m buzzing, feeling out of control, the heights of pleasure sending my mind spiralling into meltdown. I don’t know what to do to cope with him. Nothing changes and I hope it never does. ‘Miller, please, please, please.’ I’m on the cusp of tumbling over the edge, but he’s holding me there, teasing me. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
‘Beg,’ he grunts, hitting me calmly with another burst forward of his hips. ‘Beg me for it.’
‘You’re doing it on purpose!’ I yell, thrusting back onto him in an attempt to catch the rush of pressure and let it explode, earning a bark from Miller and a shocked yelp from me. My face is yanked to his and I’m eaten alive, our kiss spurring on my imminent cl**ax.
‘Beg,’ he repeats against my lips. ‘Beg me to devote the rest of my life to you, Olivia. Make me see that you want us as much as I do.’
‘I do.’
‘Beg.’ He bites my lip and lets it drag through his teeth gently before his blue eyes are burning into me, searing my soul. ‘Don’t deny me.’
‘I beg you.’ My eyes hold his and absorb the need seeping from them. Need for me. It’s reassuring. We’re in desperate need of each other.
‘And I beg you.’ A delicious swivelling of his h*ps begins, reminding me of my previous explosive state. He pecks my lips and finds his rhythm again, plunging deep and retreating slowly, crippling me with his expert worshipping. ‘I beg you to love me for ever.’
My face falls into his neck and nuzzles. ‘You don’t need to beg me,’ I murmur. ‘There’s nothing more natural to me than loving you, Miller Hart.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Can you stop driving me crazy now?’ My cl**ax is still being held in limbo. It’s screaming for release.
‘God, yes.’ He drives into me firmly and holds himself deep, grinding his hips. I rocket on a cry and the built-up pressure gushes from my being, sending me dizzy and useless in his arms. ‘Fuck, f**k, f**k!’
‘Don’t drop me!’ My body is quivering, my head shaking from side to side.
‘Never.’
‘Oh . . .’ I breathe, the twinges showing no sign of receding as I relax into him. My world is a haze of distorted sounds and blurred images as I fight my way through the intensity of my orgasm. I can’t feel my limbs, only Miller biting lightly on my cheek and his erection pulsing within me. Vivid images are flashing through my mind, each one of Miller and me, some past, some very much present, and some of our future together. I’ve found my someone – a damaged someone, a someone who displays his emotions in the most unusual fashion and conducts himself in a way to mostly repel affection. But he’s my damaged someone. I understand him. I know how to ease him, handle him, and most importantly, I know how to love him. Despite his lifelong mission to reject the potential of feeling and caring, he’s let me fight my way past his harsh, cold exterior – helped me do it, to a certain extent – and I’ve allowed him to have the same effect on me. How I’m feeling right now, safe, cherished, loved, was worth every modicum of heartache we’ve both endured to this point. He accepts me and my history. We’re worlds apart but utterly perfect for each other. He’s beautiful from afar, and he’s equally beautiful up close. And beneath that external beauty, he’s even more beautiful. It goes deep, and the deeper I look, that beauty only strengthens. I’m the only person who sees it, and that’s because I’m the only person who Miller has allowed to see it. Just me. He’s mine. All of him. Every beautiful piece.
Miller’s teeth sinking into my shoulder and his pulsing length still buried within me brings me back down to earth, where I’m staring at the ceiling and my fingers are numb and set in place from my fierce grip of the wall’s gripper things. I’m exhausted but energised, weak at the knees but strong within. ‘I watched you once,’ I whisper. I’m not sure why I’m compelled to tell him this.
He sucks my flesh into his mouth and pecks his bite mark lightly before sweeping my hair into his fist and turning my face into him. ‘I know you did.’
He doesn’t ask what I mean or where I watched him. He knows. ‘How?’
‘My skin tingled.’
My smile is one of confusion as I search his eyes, looking for anything more than those three confounding words. I see sincerity, total belief in his statement. ‘Your skin tingled?’
‘Yes, like subtle fireworks exploding under my skin.’ His face remains straight.
‘Fireworks?’
His lips meet my forehead and his h*ps retreat, his semi-arousal slipping free. My knickers and shorts also slip back into place, leaving me resentful and bitter for my loss. I’m gently turned in his arms, my hair arranged neatly down one side and my arms draped over his na**d shoulders. He’s damp and warm, and his skin is glistening under the harsh artificial light of the studio. My affronted body and lack of Miller inside me is forgotten when my eyes and mind are met by the hard planes of his torso – tight ni**les, smooth skin and chiselled muscles. It’s truly a sight to behold.
I watch him scan the wall behind me before edging me a fraction to the left, and then that masterpiece of a physique moves in and barricades me against the coolness behind me, every inch of his semi-nakedness coating my gym-clad body. His forefinger rests under my chin and directs my face up to his. ‘Up here.’ He smiles and kisses my cheek tenderly. ‘Share with me your tell.’
‘My tell?’ The confusion in my voice isn’t concealable. I have no idea what he’s talking about. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’
He gives me a dimple smile, cute and almost shy. ‘When you’re near, even out of touching distance, my skin lights up. Like fireworks. Every inch of my flesh tingles deliciously. That’s my tell.’ His palm cups my cheek, his thumb ghosting over the surface of my lips. ‘That’s how I know you’re close by. I don’t need to be able to see you. I feel you, and when we physically touch’ – he blinks lazily and pulls a long, steadying breath – ‘those fireworks explode. They make me dizzy. They’re beautiful, bright, and consuming.’ Leaning in, he kisses the tip of my nose. ‘They represent you.’
My lips part, my hold moving to the back of his head. I spend a few silent moments absorbing his gaze and his body pressed hard to mine. I also absorb his words. There’s nothing confounding about that statement. I know just what he’s talking about now, except my tell is a little different.
‘I have fireworks, too.’ I kiss the pad of his finger, and his side-to-side drag across my bottom lip stops as he regards me quietly. ‘Except mine implode.’
‘That sounds dangerous,’ he murmurs, dropping his gaze to my mouth. I disregard William’s caution of rising neck hair, certain my mind was working overtime, probably because of my messed-up mind and loss of Miller. Or it could be part of my tell.
‘It is dangerous,’ I confess.
‘How?’
‘Because every time I look at you, feel you, or even sense you, those fireworks shoot straight for my heart.’ I feel emotion grip me from every direction as I watch his eyes drag up my face until they’re locked with mine. ‘I fall in love with you a little bit more each time that happens.’
He slowly nods his acknowledgement. It’s almost undetectable. ‘We’re going to see and touch each other a lot,’ he murmurs. ‘You’re going to be incredibly in love with me.’
‘Already am.’ I close my eyes when his thumb moves and his lips replace it. And I fall that little bit more. Our mouths move gingerly together, purposely slow, our wild abandon of a few moments ago being replaced with cautious motions and complete aching tenderness. He’s speaking with this kiss. He’s acknowledging his understanding. He feels that way, too, except he calls it fascination.
‘To my bones?’ he asks into my mouth, making me smile.
‘Deeper than that.’
‘And I’ll pray for that continued love every day.’
‘It’s a given.’
‘Nothing in this world is a given, Olivia.’
‘That’s not true,’ I argue, detaching myself from his mouth, my contentment of a few moments ago vanishing. I’m under his close scrutiny as I form my next words in my mind. I’m not sure what other way I can say it. ‘Why won’t you accept it?’
‘It’s hard to accept something that shouldn’t be.’ His palm works its way to the back of my head and nestles into my hair. ‘I’m not worthy of your love.’
‘Yes, you are.’ I can feel heated anger rising into my cheeks, replacing my post-orgasm flush.
‘We’ll agree to disagree.’
‘No, we won’t.’ My body reacts to his blindness, my hands shifting to his chest and shoving him gently back. ‘I want you to accept it. Not just tell me you do to keep me happy, but really accept it.’
‘Okay.’ He doesn’t hesitate to agree, but there’s no conviction.
My shoulders sag, defeated, all of the dazzling hope that’s shone since our reunion dulling too fast. ‘What’s made you so negative?’
‘Reality.’ His tone is flat and lifeless, and my mouth snaps shut. I have no counter for that – no words or sense of encouragement. At least not off the cuff. Given a few moments, I’ll think of something and I’ll make sure it’s valid and logical. But my sprinting mind is interrupted in mid-construction when the door to the studio swings open.