Denied
Page 90
‘Boom,’ he whispers onto the back of my neck, making every nerve ending explode. Firm hands slide beneath my T-shirt and take my na**d waist, turning me in his arms. I come face to face with a nude, sleepy Miller. ‘Morning.’ His lips move sleepily, too, hypnotising me momentarily.
‘Morning.’
He smiles, swooping down to claim my mouth. ‘I just had quite a shock,’ he says against my lips, nibbling between words.
‘Why?’
‘Because I just ventured into my wardrobe.’ He pulls back and eyes me while I press my lips together, shame and guilt attacking me. Oh God, he’s . . . calm. I relax but feel wary of his reaction to his shredded wardrobe. His head tilts. ‘Or I suppose rag shop is more apt now.’
‘I’ll replace them,’ I promise sincerely, thinking my mother’s mass of stored cash probably won’t even cover it. ‘I’m sorry.’
His palm slips into my locks at the back of my head and I’m pulled forward until his lips meet my forehead. ‘I’ve already forgiven you. Looking for something?’
‘A kettle,’ I answer, lifting my eyes to his, staggered by his calm persona.
‘I don’t have one.’
‘How do you make hot drinks, then?’ My hands slide up his arms to his shoulders as he lifts me onto his worktop.
He doesn’t answer, instead leaving me on the counter and moseying over to the sink. I’m curious, but not enough to convince my eyes to watch what he’s doing, rather than watch the incredible vision of his backside tensing with each step. My head cocks thoughtfully on a satisfied smile, and then he turns and I’m suddenly not focused on his buns any longer.
‘Earth to Olivia.’ His soft tone has my line of sight diverting up his torso slowly, eventually arriving at a knowing hint of a smile. He flicks his head in indication for me to look, and I see him press a button on a chrome, state-of-the-art tap. Steam immediately billows from the head. ‘Instant boiling water.’
I roll my eyes and rest my hands in my lap. ‘How very tidy,’ I muse mockingly. ‘I bet you peed your pants with excitement when that was invented.’
His lips purse in an attempt to prevent his smile. ‘It’s a damn good idea, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Yes, for obsessive-compulsives like you, who hate clutter, it’s perfect.’
‘There’s no need for insolence.’ He flips it off and immediately gets a cloth from under the sink to wipe away the water drops that his little demonstration has left behind. It doesn’t escape my notice that he fails to challenge my reference to OCD, and I don’t bother telling him that there really is a need for insolence, choosing to goad him further instead.
‘I’m proud of you,’ I tell him, casually casting my eyes around his kitchen with interest, knowing he’ll be studying me curiously.
‘You are?’
‘Yes. You’ve placed me on your work surface, making it look a little messy, and exposed yourself to some risks.’ My eyes arrive back at Miller’s naked, inquisitive form.
‘I’m good at assessing and mitigating risks.’ He takes a few steps towards me, his eyes turning hungry. ‘But I need to know what the risks are in order to do so.’
‘Good point.’ I nod agreeably, stopping my stare from dropping below his neck. I can see from the smoke in his eyes that he’ll be firming up. Catching a glimpse will toss me into surrender mode and I’m having too much fun poking fun at him. ‘I’ll tell you the risk.’
‘Please do,’ he whispers, low, deep and seductively. My ni**les pucker.
I slowly remove my T-shirt and swing my bare legs onto the counter, lying flat on my back, my body spread along the length of marble. Maintaining my nonchalance is difficult with a na**d Miller in such close proximity, and even harder when the cold of the marble spreads across my skin. I hold on to my gasp of shock and turn my head to the side to see him.
He’s smiling, and it punches the stored air from my lungs fast so I can mirror his happiness. ‘I don’t see this as a risk.’ His eyes skate from my face, all the way to my toes and work slowly up my horizontal body again. The lust in his gaze hits me between the thighs like a sledgehammer. I’m squirming under his obvious intent that’s seeping from his every na**d pore. ‘I see this as an opportunity.’
I grip my bottom lip between my teeth and follow his remaining steps until he’s looming over me.
‘Raise your knees,’ he orders gently, his instruction making the pressure of my teeth increase on my lip. ‘Now, Olivia.’ That authoritative tone is all it takes. I have no shyness, no reluctance or holding back. My knees lift until the soles of my feet are flat on the counter, anticipation for his touch consuming me. I’m zinging from head to toe. He slips his fingers into the top of my knickers and lazily draws them down my thighs, encouraging me to lift my feet when he reaches them. The small, cotton garment is folded neatly and placed accurately on the side before his palms rest on my thighs and pull them apart. I gulp down air and close my eyes, waiting for his next move. ‘Fingers or tongue?’
‘I don’t care,’ I exhale on a breathy gasp. I’ll take anything. ‘Just touch me.’
‘You sound desperate.’
‘I am,’ I admit, unashamed. He winds me up into a coil of desire and desperation, then teases and tortures me with his expert worshipping ways. It’s excruciating and wonderful all wrapped into one.
‘Fingers,’ he decides, tickling my entrance with a skim of his thumb across my heated flesh. My back bows violently, and I cry out. ‘That way I get to kiss you if I choose.’
My eyes open and I find him braced on one arm over me, his face hovering close to mine and his wayward wave of hair tickling his forehead. I remain quiet and endure the agonising wait for another dash of contact as he scans my face. And then it happens and I find my head lifting without thought to capture his lips. Only one finger is half submerged within me, and my greedy muscles try their hardest to hold on to it, tensing harshly, but he pulls out and separates our mouths. I moan despairingly, letting my head rest back down as I pant and twitch.
‘You don’t call the shots, sweet girl,’ he warns cockily, stirring my impatience.
‘You always say you’ll do anything I want.’ I’m using his own promise against him, even though I know full well he wasn’t referring to sexual acts.
‘I concur.’ He gets his lips as close to mine as they can be without touching. ‘But you haven’t told me what you want.’
‘You.’ I don’t hesitate.
‘You have me already. Tell me what you want me to do to you.’ He’s just as speedy with his counter, making my cheeks flush as I grasp his intention. He wants instructions? ‘Come on, Livy. Think of it as a method statement to support our assessing and mitigating of risks.’ There’s an element of mocking to his tone, which both deepens my blush and sparks a bit of sass. So on a long, confidence-boosting inhale of oxygen, I locate that sass and mentally grab it with both hands, ensuring it can’t disappear on me.
‘Enter me.’
‘With what?’ he deadpans.
‘Your fingers,’ I breathe, seeing instantly that he doesn’t just want instructions. He wants exact, step-by-step commands.
‘Morning.’
He smiles, swooping down to claim my mouth. ‘I just had quite a shock,’ he says against my lips, nibbling between words.
‘Why?’
‘Because I just ventured into my wardrobe.’ He pulls back and eyes me while I press my lips together, shame and guilt attacking me. Oh God, he’s . . . calm. I relax but feel wary of his reaction to his shredded wardrobe. His head tilts. ‘Or I suppose rag shop is more apt now.’
‘I’ll replace them,’ I promise sincerely, thinking my mother’s mass of stored cash probably won’t even cover it. ‘I’m sorry.’
His palm slips into my locks at the back of my head and I’m pulled forward until his lips meet my forehead. ‘I’ve already forgiven you. Looking for something?’
‘A kettle,’ I answer, lifting my eyes to his, staggered by his calm persona.
‘I don’t have one.’
‘How do you make hot drinks, then?’ My hands slide up his arms to his shoulders as he lifts me onto his worktop.
He doesn’t answer, instead leaving me on the counter and moseying over to the sink. I’m curious, but not enough to convince my eyes to watch what he’s doing, rather than watch the incredible vision of his backside tensing with each step. My head cocks thoughtfully on a satisfied smile, and then he turns and I’m suddenly not focused on his buns any longer.
‘Earth to Olivia.’ His soft tone has my line of sight diverting up his torso slowly, eventually arriving at a knowing hint of a smile. He flicks his head in indication for me to look, and I see him press a button on a chrome, state-of-the-art tap. Steam immediately billows from the head. ‘Instant boiling water.’
I roll my eyes and rest my hands in my lap. ‘How very tidy,’ I muse mockingly. ‘I bet you peed your pants with excitement when that was invented.’
His lips purse in an attempt to prevent his smile. ‘It’s a damn good idea, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Yes, for obsessive-compulsives like you, who hate clutter, it’s perfect.’
‘There’s no need for insolence.’ He flips it off and immediately gets a cloth from under the sink to wipe away the water drops that his little demonstration has left behind. It doesn’t escape my notice that he fails to challenge my reference to OCD, and I don’t bother telling him that there really is a need for insolence, choosing to goad him further instead.
‘I’m proud of you,’ I tell him, casually casting my eyes around his kitchen with interest, knowing he’ll be studying me curiously.
‘You are?’
‘Yes. You’ve placed me on your work surface, making it look a little messy, and exposed yourself to some risks.’ My eyes arrive back at Miller’s naked, inquisitive form.
‘I’m good at assessing and mitigating risks.’ He takes a few steps towards me, his eyes turning hungry. ‘But I need to know what the risks are in order to do so.’
‘Good point.’ I nod agreeably, stopping my stare from dropping below his neck. I can see from the smoke in his eyes that he’ll be firming up. Catching a glimpse will toss me into surrender mode and I’m having too much fun poking fun at him. ‘I’ll tell you the risk.’
‘Please do,’ he whispers, low, deep and seductively. My ni**les pucker.
I slowly remove my T-shirt and swing my bare legs onto the counter, lying flat on my back, my body spread along the length of marble. Maintaining my nonchalance is difficult with a na**d Miller in such close proximity, and even harder when the cold of the marble spreads across my skin. I hold on to my gasp of shock and turn my head to the side to see him.
He’s smiling, and it punches the stored air from my lungs fast so I can mirror his happiness. ‘I don’t see this as a risk.’ His eyes skate from my face, all the way to my toes and work slowly up my horizontal body again. The lust in his gaze hits me between the thighs like a sledgehammer. I’m squirming under his obvious intent that’s seeping from his every na**d pore. ‘I see this as an opportunity.’
I grip my bottom lip between my teeth and follow his remaining steps until he’s looming over me.
‘Raise your knees,’ he orders gently, his instruction making the pressure of my teeth increase on my lip. ‘Now, Olivia.’ That authoritative tone is all it takes. I have no shyness, no reluctance or holding back. My knees lift until the soles of my feet are flat on the counter, anticipation for his touch consuming me. I’m zinging from head to toe. He slips his fingers into the top of my knickers and lazily draws them down my thighs, encouraging me to lift my feet when he reaches them. The small, cotton garment is folded neatly and placed accurately on the side before his palms rest on my thighs and pull them apart. I gulp down air and close my eyes, waiting for his next move. ‘Fingers or tongue?’
‘I don’t care,’ I exhale on a breathy gasp. I’ll take anything. ‘Just touch me.’
‘You sound desperate.’
‘I am,’ I admit, unashamed. He winds me up into a coil of desire and desperation, then teases and tortures me with his expert worshipping ways. It’s excruciating and wonderful all wrapped into one.
‘Fingers,’ he decides, tickling my entrance with a skim of his thumb across my heated flesh. My back bows violently, and I cry out. ‘That way I get to kiss you if I choose.’
My eyes open and I find him braced on one arm over me, his face hovering close to mine and his wayward wave of hair tickling his forehead. I remain quiet and endure the agonising wait for another dash of contact as he scans my face. And then it happens and I find my head lifting without thought to capture his lips. Only one finger is half submerged within me, and my greedy muscles try their hardest to hold on to it, tensing harshly, but he pulls out and separates our mouths. I moan despairingly, letting my head rest back down as I pant and twitch.
‘You don’t call the shots, sweet girl,’ he warns cockily, stirring my impatience.
‘You always say you’ll do anything I want.’ I’m using his own promise against him, even though I know full well he wasn’t referring to sexual acts.
‘I concur.’ He gets his lips as close to mine as they can be without touching. ‘But you haven’t told me what you want.’
‘You.’ I don’t hesitate.
‘You have me already. Tell me what you want me to do to you.’ He’s just as speedy with his counter, making my cheeks flush as I grasp his intention. He wants instructions? ‘Come on, Livy. Think of it as a method statement to support our assessing and mitigating of risks.’ There’s an element of mocking to his tone, which both deepens my blush and sparks a bit of sass. So on a long, confidence-boosting inhale of oxygen, I locate that sass and mentally grab it with both hands, ensuring it can’t disappear on me.
‘Enter me.’
‘With what?’ he deadpans.
‘Your fingers,’ I breathe, seeing instantly that he doesn’t just want instructions. He wants exact, step-by-step commands.
