Promised

Miller’s cheeks puff, letting out a rush of air, and he takes his empty glass and frowns at it.

‘Shocked?’ I ask, thinking I could do with one of those shorts.

He looks at me like I’m daft, then stands and paces back to the drinks cabinet, pouring more whisky into his tumbler, this time halfway as opposed to the usual two fingers. And then he surprises me by pouring another glass before resuming his position opposite me. He hands me the fresh glass. ‘Have a drink.’

I’m a little stunned at the glass being waved under my nose. ‘I told you—’

‘Olivia, you can have a drink without getting mindlessly drunk.’

Cautiously reaching forward, I take the glass. ‘Thank you.’

‘Welcome,’ he practically grunts before knocking back his drink. ‘Your father?’

I have to stop myself from spilling a sardonic laugh and shrug my answer instead, making him exhale over the rim of his glass.

‘You don’t know?’

I shake my head.

‘I hate your mother.’

‘What?’ I ask, shocked, considering I may have just misheard him.

‘I hate her,’ he repeats, venom dripping from his voice.

‘So do I.’

‘Good. Then we both hate your mother. I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.’

Not knowing quite what to say, I sit quietly, watching him drift in and out of thought, taking breaths as if intending to say something, but thinking better of it. There’s nothing that he can say. It’s ugly, and no reassuring words will pretty it up. That’s my history. I can’t change who my mother was, what she did, and I can’t change how I’ve allowed it to impact on my life.

He eventually speaks, but it’s not a question I expected. ‘So I’m your only sober lover?’

I nod and rest back on the couch, putting space between us but finding it impossible to look away from him.

‘And did you enjoy it?’

This is a stupid question. ‘It scares me.’

‘I scare you?’

‘How you make me feel scares me. I don’t know myself around you,’ I whisper, slowly showing him all my cards.

He places his glass accurately on the table and lowers to his knees in front of me. ‘I make you feel alive.’ He slides his hands around my back and pulls me forward until our faces are close, our breaths mingling in the small space between our mouths. ‘I’m not a tender or gentle kind of man, Olivia,’ he says, like he’s trying to make me feel better by sharing a little piece of him. ‘Women want me for one thing alone, and that’s because I’ve given them no reason to expect anything more.’

A million words dance on my lips, all desperate to form a sentence and spill from my mouth, but I don’t want to be hasty. ‘Expect nothing more than the best f**k of their life,’ I state quietly.

‘Precisely.’ He rids me of my glass and takes my hands, draping them over his shoulders.

‘You promised me that,’ I remind him.

The lids of his eyes slowly drop. ‘I don’t think I can fulfil that promise.’

‘What are you saying?’ I ask, willing him to confirm that I’m not imagining things, or that he’s saying this out of sympathy. His shoulders drop a little with a tired exhale, but he keeps his eyes down, keeping quiet, too. ‘It’s polite to answer someone when they ask you a question,’ I murmur, making his head lift in surprise. I don’t shy away. I want him to confirm what’s happening.

‘I’m saying I want to worship you.’ His head tilts and moves forward, capturing my lips as he rises, taking me with him. He’s the one being cagey now, but I won’t rush an admission from him. I can wait, and in the meantime, he’ll worship me.

I’m surprised when he takes us down to the couch and manoeuvres until he’s on his back, positioning me between his spread thighs so I’m sprawled up the centre of his body. Our clothes are all still in place and he doesn’t attempt to remove them, seemingly content with just kissing the living daylights out of me. His dark stubble is coarse on my skin, counteracting the subtle movements of his lips, but through my absolute blissful state I hardly register the scratchy feel. With Miller, things just happen naturally. He leads and I follow. I don’t need to think, I just do, which is why I’m now unbuttoning his shirt so I can feel the heat of his flesh under my palms. Moaning around his lips, I get the first spark of his heat mixed with mine as my hands slip across his stomach, rising and falling subtly with the ripples of his abdominals.

‘There’s that sweet sound again,’ he says on a murmur, gathering my masses of blond that is pouring all around his head. ‘It’s addictive. You are addictive.’

His pleasure spurs me on, my mouth visiting everywhere on his stunning face until I’m at his neck, taking a hit of that intoxicating, manly scent. ‘You smell so good.’ I work my way down to his chest, my movements just happening without thought or instruction. His ni**les are tight, and my tongue homes in, circling and licking, making him shift and moan beneath me. His sounds of pleasure only embolden me and his solid length pushing into my stomach reminds me of where I want to be. I want to taste him. I want to feel him in my mouth.

‘Oh shit, Livy. Where are you going?’ He raises his head and looks down at me, then clasps his head in his hands. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘I want to.’ I run my palm over his trousers, clasp his zip and gently tug it down as I watch him watching me.

‘No, please, it’s okay, Livy.’

‘I. Want. To.’

His eyes are unsure, his hands visibly tightening on his head as he flops back down to the pillow. ‘Take it easy.’

I smile to myself, feeling confident, loving his vulnerability and loving how right this feels. He hasn’t run away from my shameful history. I undo his button and tug down his trousers, sitting up on my knees to rid him of them. It leaves him in a fine pair of black boxer shorts that cling everywhere. They look too good to remove, but what’s underneath spurs me on. I chuck his trousers on the floor and tuck my fingers into the waistband before slowly drawing them down his muscular thighs, glancing up at his face, and then focusing on his thick, solid cock, resting on his lower stomach. My tongue involuntarily leaves my mouth and swipes across my bottom lip as I admire him in all of his magnificent masculinity. I don’t feel intimidated by the pulsing solidness of him. I feel excited.

Throwing his boxers to join his trousers on the floor, I scoot down and make myself comfortable, my hands lying on his hips, my nose practically resting on the underside of his penis. I’m staring down, watching him twitch, my mouth dropping open as I breathe heavily onto him. His h*ps lift slowly, pushing himself towards me, making me pull in a steady breath of air.

‘Livy, sweet Jesus, I can feel the heat of your breath.’ He lifts his head and hits me with hungry eyes. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m sorry, it’s just . . . I glance back down.

‘It’s fine.’ His acceptance is easy. It makes me feel stupid, and with those words, my tongue leaves my mouth and I get my first taste of Miller Hart. I follow my instincts and lick straight up his shaft lightly, climbing onto my knees as I do. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it.

‘Oh, f**kkkkkkk.’ His head falls back and his palms cover his face, which I take as a good sign, so I take him in my hand and pull him up, noting a pearl of white liquid beading on the very tip. I lick it off, really getting a good taste.

I gasp a little, working hard to keep my confidence. He looks so thick and long. I’ll never take it all. My earlier poise is slipping but I’m desperate not to look like a complete idiot. I curse silently to myself, hating my hesitance, and take him into my mouth, plunging until he hits the back of my throat.

‘Fuck!’ His h*ps fly up, pushing him further into me, making me gag and retreat quickly. ‘Sorry!’ he blurts on a suppressed bark. ‘Shit, Livy, I’m sorry.’

Frustrated with myself, I don’t delay getting him back into my mouth, this time only taking him halfway before pulling back and working my way down again. The smoothness of him is a surprise. It feels nice – his heat, his hardness beneath the smooth skin.

I’m working up into a comfortable rhythm, his moans of pleasure encouraging me as my hand roams freely, feeling his chest, his thighs, his stomach.

‘Livy, stop now.’ His stomach muscles tense as he rises into a sitting position, his knees rising too, and dropping outwards, leaving me kneeling between his spread legs, my head in his lap. ‘Stop.’ His hands are in my hair, gently guiding me up and down slowly, patiently. He’s telling me to stop, but seeming to encourage me too. ‘Oh, Jesus,’ he chokes as I feel one hand leave my head, feeling the zip of my dress being slowly drawn down my spine. ‘Lift up,’ he says, pulling at the hem of my dress.

Feeling a little cheated, I do as I’m told and drop him from my mouth, lifting my backside from the backs of my feet and my hands into the air. My dress is pulled up as I look down at him, loving the mess of his hair, all falling freely, the waves enhanced from his sexed-up state. He disappears from sight for just a few seconds while he gets my dress past my face before throwing it carelessly on the floor and reaching around my back to unfasten my bra. He slowly drags it down my arms and drops it before taking my h*ps gently and leaning forward to place his lips on my stomach. Reaching down, I start to push his shirt from his shoulders, keen to get him fully na**d and feel all of him, and he obliges, releasing one hand from my body at a time to allow the removal of his remaining clothes, but keeping his mouth on my stomach, nibbling lazily across to my hip.

‘Your skin is exquisite, Livy.’ His voice is rough and low. ‘You are exquisite.’

My hands find his hair, and I look down at the back of his head as he takes his time working his mouth all over my navel. As always, it’s slow, soft and precise, making my body hum and my eyes close dreamily. Nothing about our intimacies suggests that this is just sex – not one thing. I may not be au fait with sexual relationships, but I know this is more than sex. This has to be more than sex.

I’m happy enough to kneel in front of his sitting body and let him indulge himself for as long as he likes. His hands are everywhere, cupping my bottom, trailing delicately up my spine and drifting down to the backs of my thighs. I feel his thumbs slip into the sides of my knickers and tug, pulling them down until they’re at my knees, unable to go any further. Dropping my head and opening my eyes, I find him looking up at me. His eyes are screaming desire as he lazily blinks, like his dark lashes are too heavy and it’s an effort to reopen them.

‘How about I lock the door and we stay here for ever?’ he suggests on a low murmur, encouraging me to shift one leg at a time to allow him to remove my knickers. ‘Forget about the world outside those doors and stay here with me.’

I settle back down on my knees, my bum resting on my heels. ‘For ever would be much longer than one night.’

His lips twitch and he extends his hand, rubbing his thumb across my nipple. I look down, reminding myself of my lack of br**sts, not that he seems at all bothered. ‘So it would,’ he muses, keeping his focus on his thumb circling the dark rim around my hard nub. ‘It was a stupid deal.’

My heart skips too many beats, my spirits lifting to crazy heights. ‘We didn’t shake on it,’ I remind him. ‘And we definitely haven’t f**ked on it.’

He sends me dizzy when he smiles at my breast, and then lifts his blue gaze to mine. ‘I concur.’ He reaches up and pulls me down so we’re nose to nose. I’m powerless to prevent the small smile plaguing my lips as a result of those words and the look on his face. ‘I don’t think you’re quite broken in enough yet.’