My gaze roams the contours of his face, taking in every perfect detail of him. It’s all here – his piercing blue eyes swimming with emotion, his soft lips parted just so, his dark stubble, his wavy hair, the errant lock sitting perfectly in place . . . everything. It’s all too good to be true, so I reach up to touch him, the tip of my finger taking its time to feel it all, just to check I’m not imagining things.
‘I’m real,’ he whispers, taking my fingers gently to stop my quiet exploring. He kisses my knuckles and takes my hand to the back of his neck where my fingers delve into the masses of locks flicking from his nape. ‘I’m yours.’ His lips drop to mine and I’m hoisted up to his body, held tightly in his arms as we unite – taste each other, feel each other, remind each other of our powerful bond.
My thighs snake around his waist and constrict. I know I’m not imagining anything now. My insides are a riot of heat, sparks, and blazing flames. They are all consuming me, taking over me, rejuvenating me. It’s so very needed. For both of us. Right now nothing else exists, only me and Miller.
Us.
The world is shut safely outside.
‘Worship me,’ I plead between our lapping tongues, pushing his jacket from his shoulders impatiently. I’m desperate to be skin on skin. ‘Please.’
He moans, releasing me one arm at a time to rid himself of the expensive material. My hands are at his tie, yanking at the knot frantically, though he doesn’t complain. He’s as desperate as me to remove everything between us. As he holds me to him with one hand sitting under my bum, he uses the other to help me, pulling hard and taking his silk tie over his head and his waistcoat off. I make a very bold move when I grab the top of his shirt and wrench it open. I brace myself for his gasp of shock, which I’ve already decided I’ll ignore, but it doesn’t come. Buttons fly in every direction, the sounds of the tiny pieces meeting the floor around us, and I start pushing at the fine material, yanking it down one arm at a time. The heat of his bare chest against my dress is one step closer to skin. The shirt joins his jacket, waistcoat, and tie on the floor and my hands slap against his shoulders while our kiss becomes more and more urgent. There’s not his usual demand. He doesn’t try to slow me down or stop me. I’m allowed to kiss him madly and glide my hands everywhere they can reach as I whimper and moan my desperation for him.
I manage to kick off my Converse and push my body higher so he has to drop his head back to maintain our kiss. ‘I want to be inside you,’ Miller gasps, starting to pace across the lounge. ‘Now.’ He stops and reaches behind him to push my legs down from his back, all the while going at my mouth like a starved lion. I find my feet and move my hands to his belt, making fast work of removing it and tossing it aside. His trousers are next. They’re undone and I work them as far down his thighs as I can manage while keeping my mouth attached to his. Miller does the rest, taking over and pushing his boxers down. Then he kicks everything off – trousers, boxers, shoes, and socks. My desire to remind myself of his full naked perfection doesn’t overwhelm me enough to break our kiss, but when the hem of my dress is grabbed and pulled up my body, leaving me no option but to pull away from him, I take the interruption to drink him in. The material of my dress going past my face only hinders my studying momentarily, and I get a little extra time when Miller lazily reaches behind me to unclasp my bra, pulling it slowly down my arms. My nipples harden into tight, sensitive nubs, and my core starts to throb, begging for his touch. My eyes flick to his, my short pants being matched, as my bra is cast aside blindly before warm thumbs slip into the waistband of my knickers. But he doesn’t remove them immediately, seeming content with watching me becoming more desperate by the second. He can’t start with the torturous control. Not now.
I shake my head a little, watching as the corner of his mouth lifts just the tiniest bit. Then he moves forward, keeping his thumbs in place, encouraging my backward steps until my back’s pushed up against the cold paint of a wall. I inhale a shocked rush of air, letting my head fall back. ‘Please,’ I beg, starting to feel him drawing my knickers down my thighs. The pulsing between my legs moves up a gear, transforming into a consistent thud. My knickers land at my feet.
‘Step out of them,’ he orders gently, and I do as I’m bid, trying to focus on what’s likely to come next. I don’t have to wonder for long. Heat meets me between the thighs. The source? Miller’s fingers.
‘Oh God!’ I clench my eyes shut as he strokes up my centre. It makes me push myself farther into the wall in a pointless attempt to escape his teasing tactics.
‘So fucking wet,’ he growls, taking his finger back down and pushing into me, applying pressure on my front wall. My palms slap into his shoulders and push until my arms are braced at full length between us. ‘Turn around.’
I swallow hard and try to filter his instruction, but his fingers are still inside me, motionless, and moving will instigate friction, which will instigate crumbling to the floor in a pile of want and lust. So I stay where I am, frightened to enhance my craving.