Denied
Page 91
‘Ooh, I see.’ He conceals his amusement well, glancing down at his hand hovering between my thighs. ‘Hadn’t I ought to check your’ – he pouts and thinks for a second – ‘condition?’
Damn him! I’m growing aggravated, my own fingers prepared to do the job if he doesn’t get on with it. ‘Miller, please.’ I immerse myself in darkness, closing my eyes in desolation. I’m bursting at the seams with need, the heaviness between my thighs pushing deep and starting to throb eagerly.
‘Focus, Livy.’ He pushes my thighs apart again when I attempt to close them to suppress the pulsing.
‘You make it too hard!’ I shout on a futile thrash of my body. Two big palms press into my shoulders, holding me still, and I open my lids to come nose to nose with a triumphant glimmer in deep, satisfied blues. My hand instinctively reaches up and grabs his hair, giving it a bold yank in frustration.
It has zero effect. He prises my fingers from his dark waves and places my hand on my tummy, giving it a little warning squeeze on a serious face. ‘I love your sass,’ he whispers, ghosting his lips across mine, flirting, and though I know I won’t get blessed with a heart-stopping kiss, my body responds and lifts in a vain attempt to catch them anyway.
‘You want to taste me?’ he mumbles, only allowing a slight friction of our mouths, denying me the full-on contact. ‘Do you want to swallow me up and lose yourself in me for ever?’
‘Yes!’ My frustration grows as he continues to refuse me the contact I’m demanding.
‘Do you remember who can sate this unyielding need?’
‘You,’ I moan as I squirm beneath the brief contact of his fingers at my entrance.
He pulls away from me quickly, his sanctimonious expression morphing into something else. I’m not sure what. But I can only compare it to glory. He looks like he’s struck gold. To anyone else, his face is expressionless, blank . . . untelling, but to me it’s spelling a million words of happiness. Miller Hart is happy. He’s content. And I know for sure that that has never happened in the history of Miller. ‘I don’t just want to be the man who can give you mind-blowing orgasms.’
My pleasure and musing is interrupted by his statement, and I immediately notice the glory in his eyes has fallen away. I’m a trifle confused. ‘You always say it,’ I argue quietly, my fizzing settling under his uncertainty. I’ve vowed to make him feel like more than a walking, talking pleasure machine, yet he seems to be happy with the praise he’s rewarded with when we’re intimate. He demands it, working me up into a frenzy and basking in the begging he draws. He deserves it, by God, he needs a medal, but I never considered for a moment that I might be making him feel used. He likes me pleading for his touch. It makes him feel wanted. Needed.
Everything dies within me when I consider the horrific thought of him pinning the same statement to every woman he’s taken. Does he deliver such compelling words to them? Probably. It’s his job. Does he make them feel as amazing as he makes me feel? I know he does.
Miller is brooding when in the heat of the moment, and he’s flaming hot when armed with a belt and a four-poster bed. ‘Do you express this much passion to every woman you’ve ever taken?’ My question shocks me, especially since I only planned on considering it silently. My subconscious wants an answer.
‘Everything you get from me is natural instinct, Olivia Taylor. I’ve never been fascinated before. I’ve never given all of me before. You get all of me. Every f**ked-up little piece. And I pray every second of every day that you’ll never give up on me, even if I do.’ He pushes his lips gently to mine and leaves them lingering for what seems like for ever, injecting me with strength, intensifying my love. ‘Keep me in this beautiful light place with you.’ He releases me and hits me with pleading eyes. ‘Don’t let me fall back into darkness, I beg you.’
I absorb his words, immobilised under his clear blue gaze. Hearing him reaffirm his feelings, express himself so well, should hold my contentment firm. But I heard the negative line in his statement. Even if I do.
I’m too aware of Miller’s recent actions. The right words from the wrong people could send him spiralling back into that dark place and only my strength can pull him back.
‘Stroke me,’ I order softly, ‘with your fingers.’ I take his hand and guide it to the apex of my thighs. ‘Then enter me and thrust gently.’
He nods in wordless acknowledgment and braces his hand on the counter as his touch finds me. My breath catches. ‘Let me taste you,’ he whispers, bringing our faces closer together.
My response is mechanical, no thoughts necessary, and I lift and seal our mouths on a groan, wrapping my arms around his neck. Every muscle I possess hardens in preparation, my thighs dropping further open, inviting more of him into me. His efforts are lazy and measured, two fingers gliding perfectly across my flesh and working me up deliciously. I’m breathless, my kiss becoming predictably harder as my pleasure builds.
I gasp, sucking at his bottom lip before letting my head fall back to the worktop.
His eyes are hooded, his laboured breathing matching mine, as he maintains the steady slipping of his fingers over my throbbing flesh. ‘Jesus, Olivia.’ His head drops limply as he finally breaches the threshold of my entrance with his fingers and puts some weight behind his caresses, pushing into me on a low moan.
My chest flies up on a delirious shout. ‘Miller!’
‘Fuck! I love hearing you scream my name.’ He withdraws and thrusts forward again, the power of his drive not just evident by my continued moans and cries, but clear on the cut edges of his strained face. I’m fighting the urge to squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to lose myself in dark pleasure, but more desperate to watch him. There’s wonder past the dark desire of his addictive eyes, but I lose the glorious sight when he dips and encases my tingling nipple with the heat of his mouth. It catapults me into sensory overload. I start to shake.
‘Oh God!’ My hands in his hair apply pressure, pushing him onto my breast, and my h*ps start lifting, meeting the pumping of his fingers. Every nerve ending is buzzing uncontrollably, my head shaking, my thoughts scattered. I begin to feel my cl**ax take hold, the pleasure dominating every inch of me shifting to one spot, set to explode. And with a nip of my nipple and a deep rotation of strong fingers within me, it happens.
The world ceases to rotate on its axis. Life stops. My mind goes blank. There’s a distant sound of groaning and once I’ve overcome the initial onslaught of harsh pleasure, I drop my head to the side in exhaustion and peel my eyes open to find Miller at full height, looking down at me as he strokes me softly between the thighs, easing me lightly down. His arousal is thick, pulsing and protruding proudly from his groin.
I don’t speak, mainly because I haven’t the energy, but I do find a little strength to reach to the side and take a gentle hold of him, wiping my thumb across the swollen head to smear the bead of cum that’s leaking from the tip. Miller hisses, the muscles of his chest quivering aggressively while he battles to cope with my touch. He’s pulsing incessantly, and I can see his heart pounding in his chest. It takes just one delicate swipe of my fisted hand around him to tip him. He knocks my hand out of the way and lifts to rest his iron length on my tummy, groaning, his head rolling as he spills all over me. The warmth of his essence coating me has my body relaxing back into the marble on a lengthy, gratifying sigh. I’m floating in a magical land of perfection.
Damn him! I’m growing aggravated, my own fingers prepared to do the job if he doesn’t get on with it. ‘Miller, please.’ I immerse myself in darkness, closing my eyes in desolation. I’m bursting at the seams with need, the heaviness between my thighs pushing deep and starting to throb eagerly.
‘Focus, Livy.’ He pushes my thighs apart again when I attempt to close them to suppress the pulsing.
‘You make it too hard!’ I shout on a futile thrash of my body. Two big palms press into my shoulders, holding me still, and I open my lids to come nose to nose with a triumphant glimmer in deep, satisfied blues. My hand instinctively reaches up and grabs his hair, giving it a bold yank in frustration.
It has zero effect. He prises my fingers from his dark waves and places my hand on my tummy, giving it a little warning squeeze on a serious face. ‘I love your sass,’ he whispers, ghosting his lips across mine, flirting, and though I know I won’t get blessed with a heart-stopping kiss, my body responds and lifts in a vain attempt to catch them anyway.
‘You want to taste me?’ he mumbles, only allowing a slight friction of our mouths, denying me the full-on contact. ‘Do you want to swallow me up and lose yourself in me for ever?’
‘Yes!’ My frustration grows as he continues to refuse me the contact I’m demanding.
‘Do you remember who can sate this unyielding need?’
‘You,’ I moan as I squirm beneath the brief contact of his fingers at my entrance.
He pulls away from me quickly, his sanctimonious expression morphing into something else. I’m not sure what. But I can only compare it to glory. He looks like he’s struck gold. To anyone else, his face is expressionless, blank . . . untelling, but to me it’s spelling a million words of happiness. Miller Hart is happy. He’s content. And I know for sure that that has never happened in the history of Miller. ‘I don’t just want to be the man who can give you mind-blowing orgasms.’
My pleasure and musing is interrupted by his statement, and I immediately notice the glory in his eyes has fallen away. I’m a trifle confused. ‘You always say it,’ I argue quietly, my fizzing settling under his uncertainty. I’ve vowed to make him feel like more than a walking, talking pleasure machine, yet he seems to be happy with the praise he’s rewarded with when we’re intimate. He demands it, working me up into a frenzy and basking in the begging he draws. He deserves it, by God, he needs a medal, but I never considered for a moment that I might be making him feel used. He likes me pleading for his touch. It makes him feel wanted. Needed.
Everything dies within me when I consider the horrific thought of him pinning the same statement to every woman he’s taken. Does he deliver such compelling words to them? Probably. It’s his job. Does he make them feel as amazing as he makes me feel? I know he does.
Miller is brooding when in the heat of the moment, and he’s flaming hot when armed with a belt and a four-poster bed. ‘Do you express this much passion to every woman you’ve ever taken?’ My question shocks me, especially since I only planned on considering it silently. My subconscious wants an answer.
‘Everything you get from me is natural instinct, Olivia Taylor. I’ve never been fascinated before. I’ve never given all of me before. You get all of me. Every f**ked-up little piece. And I pray every second of every day that you’ll never give up on me, even if I do.’ He pushes his lips gently to mine and leaves them lingering for what seems like for ever, injecting me with strength, intensifying my love. ‘Keep me in this beautiful light place with you.’ He releases me and hits me with pleading eyes. ‘Don’t let me fall back into darkness, I beg you.’
I absorb his words, immobilised under his clear blue gaze. Hearing him reaffirm his feelings, express himself so well, should hold my contentment firm. But I heard the negative line in his statement. Even if I do.
I’m too aware of Miller’s recent actions. The right words from the wrong people could send him spiralling back into that dark place and only my strength can pull him back.
‘Stroke me,’ I order softly, ‘with your fingers.’ I take his hand and guide it to the apex of my thighs. ‘Then enter me and thrust gently.’
He nods in wordless acknowledgment and braces his hand on the counter as his touch finds me. My breath catches. ‘Let me taste you,’ he whispers, bringing our faces closer together.
My response is mechanical, no thoughts necessary, and I lift and seal our mouths on a groan, wrapping my arms around his neck. Every muscle I possess hardens in preparation, my thighs dropping further open, inviting more of him into me. His efforts are lazy and measured, two fingers gliding perfectly across my flesh and working me up deliciously. I’m breathless, my kiss becoming predictably harder as my pleasure builds.
I gasp, sucking at his bottom lip before letting my head fall back to the worktop.
His eyes are hooded, his laboured breathing matching mine, as he maintains the steady slipping of his fingers over my throbbing flesh. ‘Jesus, Olivia.’ His head drops limply as he finally breaches the threshold of my entrance with his fingers and puts some weight behind his caresses, pushing into me on a low moan.
My chest flies up on a delirious shout. ‘Miller!’
‘Fuck! I love hearing you scream my name.’ He withdraws and thrusts forward again, the power of his drive not just evident by my continued moans and cries, but clear on the cut edges of his strained face. I’m fighting the urge to squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to lose myself in dark pleasure, but more desperate to watch him. There’s wonder past the dark desire of his addictive eyes, but I lose the glorious sight when he dips and encases my tingling nipple with the heat of his mouth. It catapults me into sensory overload. I start to shake.
‘Oh God!’ My hands in his hair apply pressure, pushing him onto my breast, and my h*ps start lifting, meeting the pumping of his fingers. Every nerve ending is buzzing uncontrollably, my head shaking, my thoughts scattered. I begin to feel my cl**ax take hold, the pleasure dominating every inch of me shifting to one spot, set to explode. And with a nip of my nipple and a deep rotation of strong fingers within me, it happens.
The world ceases to rotate on its axis. Life stops. My mind goes blank. There’s a distant sound of groaning and once I’ve overcome the initial onslaught of harsh pleasure, I drop my head to the side in exhaustion and peel my eyes open to find Miller at full height, looking down at me as he strokes me softly between the thighs, easing me lightly down. His arousal is thick, pulsing and protruding proudly from his groin.
I don’t speak, mainly because I haven’t the energy, but I do find a little strength to reach to the side and take a gentle hold of him, wiping my thumb across the swollen head to smear the bead of cum that’s leaking from the tip. Miller hisses, the muscles of his chest quivering aggressively while he battles to cope with my touch. He’s pulsing incessantly, and I can see his heart pounding in his chest. It takes just one delicate swipe of my fisted hand around him to tip him. He knocks my hand out of the way and lifts to rest his iron length on my tummy, groaning, his head rolling as he spills all over me. The warmth of his essence coating me has my body relaxing back into the marble on a lengthy, gratifying sigh. I’m floating in a magical land of perfection.
