‘Good.’ He breaks our kiss and shifts me back slightly before reaching over to the cabinet and grabbing a condom. ‘Your period must be due soon,’ he observes, and I nod, reaching to help him, taking it from his hand and ripping the packet open, just as eager to commence worshipping as Miller. ‘Good. Then we can get rid of these.’ It’s rolled on, I’m reclaimed, lifted, and then he clenches his eyes shut as he guides his arousal to my damp opening. I slip down, taking him to the hilt.
My moan of satisfaction is broken and low. Our joining sends every trouble away, leaving room for nothing but unrelenting pleasure and undying love. He’s buried deep, holding still, and my head has dropped back as I dig my nails into his solid shoulders for support. ‘Move,’ I beg, grinding down into his lap, my breath stuttering with need.
His mouth finds my shoulder and his teeth grip gently as he begins guiding me meticulously on his lap. ‘Feel good?’
‘Better than anything I can imagine.’
‘I concur.’ His hips drive up as he grinds me down, pulling pleasure from both of our heaving bodies. ‘Olivia Taylor, I’m so fucking fascinated by you.’
His measured rhythm is beyond perfection, working us both up slowly and lazily, every rotation edging us closer to explosion. The friction against his groin on the tip of my clitoris when he brings me to the end of each swivel has me whimpering and panting, before my body is journeying back around, relieving the delicious pressure, only briefly, until I’m back at that wondrous pinnacle of pleasure. The knowing in his gaze tells me it’s all so very purposeful, the constant slow blinks and the parting of his lush lips only intensifying my desperate condition.
‘Miller,’ I gasp, dropping my face into his neck, losing the ability to keep myself upright on his lap.
‘Don’t deprive me of that face, Olivia,’ he warns. ‘Show it to me.’
I pant, licking and biting at his throat, his stubble scratching at my sweaty face. ‘I can’t.’ His expert worshipping never fails to render me useless.
‘For me you can. Show me your face.’ His command is harsh and delivered on an upward bolt of his hips.
I yelp at the sudden deep penetration and fly upright again. ‘How?’ I cry out, frustrated and delighted all at once. He’s holding me in that place – the one between torture and otherworldly pleasure.
‘Because I can.’ He flips me onto my back and re-enters me on a shout of satisfaction. His pace is increasing, and so is the force. Our lovemaking has become harder in recent weeks. It’s like a light has switched on and Miller’s realised that taking me with a little more aggression and force doesn’t make our intimacies any less worshipful. He’s still making love to me. I can touch him and kiss him, and he reciprocates, responds, says continuous loving words as if reassuring himself and me that he’s in full control. It’s unnecessary. I trust him with my body as much as I now trust him with my love.
My wrists are seized and held firmly above my head, and he braces himself on his toned forearms, blinding me with the acres of cut muscle on his torso. His teeth are clenched, but I can still detect that mild beam of victory. He’s happy. He’s delighted by my clear desperation for him. But he’s equally desperate for me. My hips rise and begin to meet his firm pumping, our centres clashing as he withdraws and sinks back in, over and over.
‘You’re clenching around me, sweet girl,’ he pants, his wayward curl bouncing on his forehead with each collision of our bodies. Every nerve ending I possess begins to twitch at the onslaught of pressure accumulating at my core. I’m trying desperately to fight it back, anything to prolong the stunning sight of him above me, dripping wet, his face etched in a pleasure so intense it could be confused with pain.
‘Miller!’ I shout, frenzied, my head beginning to shake but my eyes still holding his. ‘Please!’
‘Please what? You need to come?’
‘Yes!’ I gasp, and then suck in air when he pelts forward, pushing me up the bed. ‘No!’ I don’t know what I want to do. I need release, but I need to stay in this faraway place of raw abandon.
Miller groans, allowing his chin to drop to his chest and his fierce grasp to release my wrists, prompting them to shoot to his shoulders. My short nails dig in. Hard. ‘Fuck!’ he roars, his pace picking up further. This is the hardest he’s taken me, but there’s no room amid my earth-shaking pleasure to be concerned by it. He’s not hurting me, although I suspect I am him. My fingers are instantly aching.
I let off my own little round of expletives, absorbing every pound until he abruptly stops. I feel him swell within me, and then he rears back slowly and pushes forward smooth and slow on a groan. It sends us both tumbling into an abyss of indescribable, wonderful sensations.