I pause devouring him and bring my face slowly up. I know I’m frowning. Miller Hart is the last person in the world I would expect to want a bruise on his neck. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Suck . . . harder.’ His eyebrows rise a touch, backing up his repeated order. ‘Are you going to make me ask a third time?’
Slightly bemused, I fall back to his neck and nibble at him a little, wondering if he’ll retract his command, but after a good few minutes of gentle biting, I only get that third time.
‘Suck!’
My lips latch on to his neck immediately and suck. Hard.
‘Harder, Livy.’ His palm meets the back of my head and pushes me to him, making it slightly difficult to breathe. But I do as I’m told, sucking his flesh deeply into my mouth, drawing all of the blood to the surface. This will be seen loud and proud over the collar of his posh shirt. What the hell is wrong with him? I can’t stop, though. For one, Miller’s locked palm on the back of my head won’t allow me to, but two, I’m getting an unreasonable thrill at the thought of everyone seeing such a defacement on my well-mannered gentleman.
I’m not sure how much time passes. The only indication is how sore my lips are and how achy my tongue is. When I’m finally released from his harsh hold, I pull away, a little breathless, and stare down at the monstrosity I’ve just created on his perfect neck. I flinch. It isn’t perfect now. It looks hideous, and I’m sure Miller will agree when he sees it. I can’t rip my eyes away from the ugliness.
‘Perfect,’ he sighs. He yawns and clasps my neck, then rolls us until I’m held snuggly under him and he’s straddling my hips, sitting up on me. I’m still dazed and confused, and Miller lightly tracing the contours of my breasts with the tip of his finger doesn’t distract me from that.
‘It looks horrible,’ I confess, wondering at what point he’s going to check out the damage I’ve done.
‘Maybe,’ he muses, not giving my concern the concern it deserves. He just happily continues to delicately trail his finger all over my torso.
I mentally shrug to myself. I’m certainly not going to get myself all worked up – something Miller does best – if the king of stress isn’t even bothering. So instead I ask the question I planned on asking the moment I found him . . . before he laid his hands on me and distracted me with a little Miller-style worshipping, albeit a little harder this time. Little? I smile. That was a proper good fucking, and surprisingly I loved every single moment. ‘What was in that envelope?’ I begin carefully, knowing this needs to be broached sensitively.
He doesn’t even look at me, nor does he falter in his task of drawing invisible lines all over me. ‘What happened with you and Gregory?’ He looks at me, eyes full of knowing. I can’t even breathe. Gregory was right to be worried. ‘Gregory didn’t look too comfortable when I inquired.’
My eyes close and I remain silent, failing to prevent the guilty signs from charging forward.
‘Tell me it meant nothing.’
I swallow hard, furiously debating my best angle. Confess. Or deny. My conscience gets the better of me. ‘He was trying to comfort me,’ I blurt quietly. ‘It went too far.’
‘When?’
‘After you took me to the hotel.’
He winces, pulling in a calming stretch of air.
‘We didn’t have sex,’ I continue nervously, keen to clear that little bit of suspicion up. I’m not liking the shakes that his body has developed. ‘A silly fumble, that’s all. We both regret it. Please don’t hurt him.’
His nostrils flare, like it’s taking every modicum of his waning strength not to explode. It undoubtedly is. ‘If I hurt him, I hurt you. I’ve hurt you enough already.’ His teeth clench. ‘But it won’t happen again.’
That is a statement, not a question or request for confirmation. It won’t be happening again. So I remain quiet until I eventually see his chest heaves begin to subside. He’s calming, but I still posed a question before we slipped off course, and I want an answer. ‘The envelope.’
‘What about it?’
I chew on the inside of my mouth, deliberating whether to continue. He’s slipping into detachment. ‘What was inside?’
‘A note from Charlie.’
I kind of knew that, but his willing reply surprises me. ‘What did it say?’ The follow-up question slips out without hesitation this time.