‘It’s coming,’ I shout, trying to concentrate on seizing the pleasure that’s about to send me dizzy while ensuring I maintain my strokes so Miller gets his release, too. ‘It’s coming!’
It’s all very urgent – my feet shifting to stabilise me, Miller pushing his body farther into me, our mouths clashing and working frantically. ‘Fucking come, Olivia!’
I do. His command sends me wild. I bite his tongue, dig my nails into his flesh, and squeeze his cock hard, feeling it throbbing harshly in my hold.
‘Ooooh, shiiiit,’ he groans, going limp and collapsing against me, pushing me into the wall. I feel the heat of his essence hitting my tummy even through the heat of the water. ‘Just hold it,’ he pants. ‘Don’t let go.’
I do as I’m bid, working him slowly down as I thrust my hips gently against his hand, my heart racing, my mind focused only on getting through my blitz of pleasure. He’s pinning me to the wall with his tall body and his face is buried in my neck. Our breathing is laboured and broken. Our hearts are clattering, bashing together from our compressed chests. And our worlds are perfect.
But just in this moment.
‘I’ve not touched us with any soap,’ he pants, rolling his fingers around my flesh, then slowly pushing into me. My eyes close and I squeeze my muscles around him. ‘Yet I feel we’re cleaner already.’
‘Take me to bed.’
‘And give you my thing?’ He nips at my throat and then sucks gently, nips and sucks.
I smile through my exhaustion and release my hold of his semi-erect cock, moving my arms to circle his shoulders. I muscle my face into his, until he’s forced to free my throat, and locate his lips. ‘I want every part of you touching me,’ I mumble past his lips. ‘Don’t let go of me all night.’
He groans and deepens our kiss, squashing me farther into the wall. The fluidity of our tongues circling softly together is effortless. I could kiss Miller Hart forever, and I know he feels the same. ‘Let me wash us down.’
My sense of loss is palpable when he pecks my lips and locates the shower gel. ‘Let’s see how fast you can do that,’ I tease.
He pauses from squirting the gel into his palm and flicks me a knowing look. ‘I like taking my time with you.’ The bottle is replaced in its rightful spot and he begins working some suds up in his palms. Standing before me, he breathes hot air into my face, then performs one of those lazy blinks of his blistering blue eyes. ‘You know that, Olivia.’
I hold my breath, slam my eyes shut, and brace myself for his hands. They start at my ankles – slow, tender rotations, swirling away the dirt of today. My mind spaces out as I absorb his heated touch leisurely working up my legs. No rush. And I’m happy with that.
‘What happens now?’ I finally ask the question I’ve been avoiding since we left Ice. We’re together, locked up safely in Miller’s flat, but it can’t stay this way forever.
‘I expect Sophia will be relaying to Charlie everything I said.’
‘Does Charlie know that Sophia is in love with you?’
He laughs lightly. ‘Sophia doesn’t have a death wish.’
‘Do you?’
He breathes in deeply and holds my eyes. ‘No, sweet girl. Now I have a fierce passion to live. You’ve given me that passion and not even the devil will stop me from having my eternity with my someone.’
I reach up and cup his cheek. ‘Is Charlie the devil?’
‘He’s close,’ he whispers.
‘And have you figured everything out?’
‘Yes.’ He sounds confident.
‘Will you tell me?’
‘No, baby. Just know that I’m yours and all this will be gone very soon.’
‘I’m sorry for making this harder.’ I say no more. He knows what I mean.
‘Knowing I have you at the end makes it easy, Olivia.’ Very tentatively, he reaches forward and pulls the tie loose from my hair, almost wincing when my once epic long hair only just falls past my shoulders. ‘Why?’ he whispers, combing through carefully, keeping his eyes on the hacked strands.
‘Don’t.’ I drop my head, feeling so incredibly remorseful, but not because I’m going to miss my masses of uncontrollable blonde but because I know Miller will miss them more.
‘How would you feel if I shaved my hair off?’
My head flies up, horrified. I love his hair. It’s longer now, the waves, when dry, all tousled and flicking out at his nape haphazardly and my favourite wayward curl that falls naturally onto his forehead . . . No, no, he can’t.
‘I’m being intuitive here,’ he breathes in my face. ‘And I’m going to suggest that by the look on your face, it would hurt deeply.’
‘Yes, it would.’ I can’t deny it, so I don’t. His beautiful hair is a part of this beautifully perfect man. Ruining any part of that would hurt. ‘But I wouldn’t love you any less,’ I add, wondering where he’s going with this.