One Night: Promised Part 10

'No, we'll eat, then bathe.'

'Together?'

'Yes, together.' He doesn't give my concerned tone the attention it deserves. I can shower or bathe myself. I don't need him to wors.h.i.+p me to that extent.

I'm taken into his kitchen and placed on a chair at a huge dining table, and I thank the cotton G.o.ds for the bed sheets separating my backside from the cold seat beneath me. 'What time is it?' I ask, silently hoping that I've not wasted too much of my twenty-four hours sleeping.

'Eleven o'clock.' He opens the mirrored door of the huge double fridge and starts s.h.i.+fting things aside and placing things on the counter next to him. 'I was allowing you two hours' sleep, then I was going to poke you.' He places a bottle of champagne on the side and turns to face me. 'You came round just in time.'

I smile, pulling my sheet in, thinking how much nicer it would've been to wake up to those eyes glistening down at me. 'Do you mind if I get dressed?' I ask.

His head c.o.c.ks to the side, his eyes slightly narrowed. 'Are you not comfortable in your skin?'

'Yes,' I answer confidently, although I've never found myself asking that question before now. I know that I'm a little on the slender side, Nan reminds me daily, but am I really comfortable? Because the way I'm holding the sheet to me would indicate otherwise.

'Good.' He turns back toward the fridge. 'Then that's settled.' A gla.s.s bowl appears, piled high with big, juicy strawberries, and then he opens a cupboard which reveals row after row of precisely placed champagne flutes. He grabs two and places them in front of me, then the bowl of strawberries all washed and hulled before he's in another cupboard pulling down a cooling bucket and loading it with ice from the dispenser on the front of the fridge. The bucket gets placed in front of me, the champagne nestled into the ice, and then he's at the hob, putting on an oven mitt. I watch in fascination as he moves around the kitchen with complete ease, every motion precise and neat, and all done so very carefully. Nothing that he moves or puts down stays in the same position for very long. It gets turned a fraction or repositioned before he's happy and continuing with something else.

Right now he's walking towards me, holding a metal pan which is billowing steam from the gla.s.s bowl that's resting on the rim. 'Would you please pa.s.s me that trivet?'

I look in the direction of his pointed finger and get up as quickly as the sheet covering me will allow, retrieving the metal pan stand and placing it next to the bowl of strawberries, champagne and gla.s.s flutes. 'There,' I say, taking my seat again and watching as he s.h.i.+fts the stand a few millimetres to the right before easing the hot pan onto it. I crane my neck over the pan and spy a deep puddle of melted chocolate. 'That looks delicious.'

He's next to me now, pulling a chair near and resting his backside on the seat. 'It tastes delicious, too.'

'Can I dip?' I ask, getting my finger ready to plunge.

'Your finger?'

'Yes.' I look to him, finding dark, raised, disapproving eyebrows.

'It'll be too warm.' He grabs the champagne and starts peeling away the foil. 'And that's why we have strawberries, anyway.'

His frowning face and abrupt words make me feel childlike. 'So I can dip a strawberry, but not my finger?' I see him look at me out of the corner of his eye while he works the cork.

'I guess so.' He brushes off my sarcasm and pours the champagne, but not before neatly placing the rubbish that he's just acc.u.mulated into a tidy little pile on a small plate.

He pa.s.ses me a gla.s.s, and I start shaking my head. 'No, thank you.'

His gasp is barely contained. 'Livy, this is Dom Perignon Vintage 2003. You don't say no to that. Take it.' He thrusts it forward, and I pull back.

'I don't want it, but thank you.'

The look of shock morphs into thoughtfulness. 'You don't want this particular drink or any drink?'

'Water would be good, please.' I'm not going into this. 'I appreciate what you've done with the strawberries and champagne, but I'd rather have some water, if you don't mind.'

He's clearly stunned by my refusal to drink the expensive liquid, but he doesn't push it, and I'm grateful. 'As you wish.'

'Thank you.' I smile as he leaves me to replace the champagne with water.

'Tell me you like strawberries,' he pleads, fetching a bottle of Evian and joining me again.

'I love strawberries.'

'That's a relief.' He unscrews the lid and pours my water into the other flute. 'Humour me,' he says when he catches sight of my furrowed brow. I accept the drink and watch as he takes his time selecting a strawberry before he dips it in the bowl and swirls carefully, coating the ripe fruit with dark chocolate. 'Open.' He clasps the seat of my chair with his spare hand and drags me closer so I'm snugly fit between his thighs. His bare chest is slightly distracting.

My jaw loosens automatically, mainly because I'm gaping at his close beauty, and he holds my eyes as he brings the fruit to my mouth until I feel it skimming my lip. My mouth closes around it and my teeth sink in, biting a small piece from its plump flesh. 'Hmmm,' I hum happily and reach up to catch a trail of strawberry juice on my chin, but my wrist is seized before I get to wipe it away.

'Allow me,' he whispers, edging further into me, his lips homing in on my chin and slowly licking away the juice before he slips the remaining piece past his lips. My chewing has slowed right down, matching the precise motions of his mouth. He swallows. 'Good?'

My mouth is full, so I nod knowing Miller's compulsion for manners and hold my finger up to indicate a second as I chew quickly. I lick my lips and lean towards the bowl again. 'You need to feed me another.'

His eyes twinkle as he selects another strawberry and dips and swirls again. 'It would be even better with champagne,' he muses, flicking his eyes to mine.

I ignore him and place my water on the table. 'What chocolate is that?'

'Ah.' He brings the strawberry to my mouth, but this time he brushes the runny chocolate across my bottom lip, and my tongue instantly leaves my mouth to clear it up. 'No.' He shakes his head and slides his palm around my neck, pulling me in. 'I get to do that,' he whispers in my face, moving in.

I don't fight him off. I let him clean up the mess that he's made and take the opportunity to rest my palms on his thighs, on either side of my knees. I smooth across the dark hairs of his legs, enjoying the feel of him, while he finishes up at my mouth, kissing the corner of my lips, the centre, and then the other corner.

'What chocolate is it?' I repeat quietly, wanting to forget all sweet-tasting things and taste Miller instead.

'Green and Black's.' He offers me the strawberry and I take it, holding it between my teeth. 'It has to be a minimum of eighty per cent cocoa.' The strawberry that I'm holding is preventing me from asking why, so I frown instead, prompting him to go on. 'The bitterness of the chocolate coupled with the sweetness of the strawberry is what makes it so special. Add champagne and you have a perfect combination. And the strawberries simply have to be British.' He leans in and bites the strawberry that's wedged between my teeth and juice explodes between us.

I don't care about the juice all over my chin, or that my mouth is full. 'Why?'

He finishes chewing and swallows. 'Because they're the sweetest you can buy.' He slips his hands under my thighs and lifts, pulling me forward so I'm astride him on the chair. He takes excruciatingly long to clean me up. It makes my skin heat and my breath catch constantly in my throat as I try to contain the urge to pounce on him. The sheet is yanked away, exposing my full nakedness to him. 'Bath time.'

'You don't need to bathe me,' I object, wondering how far he'll take this wors.h.i.+pping business. I'm feeling extremely special, but I can wash myself.

He takes my hands and rests them on his shoulders, then gathers the ma.s.ses of honey locks framing my face. 'I absolutely do need to bathe you, Livy.'

'Why?'

He stands, holding my b.u.m cheeks, and takes me to the mirrored fridge. I'm placed on my feet and turned away from him so my front is facing the mirror. I'm staring at myself. I feel uncomfortable, especially when I flick my eyes to Miller behind me and see his gaze journeying the length of my body. My eyes fall to the floor, but quickly snap up again when his chest is pressed against me and I feel his hard length pressed into my lower back hot and moist. His shorts are gone.

'Feeling better?' he asks, holding my eyes in the mirror and reaching around to gently cup my breast.

I nod, when I really mean to say no. He intimidates me on every level, but it's all very addictive.

He moulds my breast gently. 'Mouth-watering,' he whispers, his lips moving slowly. 'Perfectly plump.' He tweaks my nipple lightly and kisses my ear. 'And incredibly tasty.'

My eyes close and I lean back onto him, but my blissful state is interrupted when I'm lightly pushed forward and pressed against the cold mirror of the fridge, my modest b.o.o.bs squished to the gla.s.s and my face turning in to rest my cheek on the cool surface.

'Don't move.' He disappears from behind me, but is back within a few seconds, his knee pus.h.i.+ng between my thighs and spreading them before he takes my hands, one at a time, and lifts them, flattening my palms on the mirror above my head. I'm spreadeagled against the front of the fridge, pushed up to the gla.s.s, and I can only just see him in my peripheral vision. He's holding the bowl of chocolate, and before I can even stop to consider his next move, he tips the whole contents across my shoulders, the warm chocolate making my shoulders jump up in shock, the sensation of it trickling down my back, over my bottom, and down my legs, making me pray for help. It's going to take time to lick all that away, and I've had his tongue on me before. I'll never make it through without screaming or turning to devour him. I start to tremble.

I hear the bowl being placed on the worktop behind me, and I also definitely hear the drag of gla.s.s on marble, indicating the repositioning of it. He's just tipped melted chocolate all over me and now he's worried about the positioning of a bowl?

Lifting my face from the mirror, I look for him in the reflection, finding him approaching me. His p.e.n.i.s is solid and bouncing freely as he paces, and he has a foil packet in his hand. I gulp and rest my forehead against the gla.s.s, mentally preparing myself for the sweet torture that I'm about to endure.

'See? Now I really do need to bathe you.' The warmth of his palms lands on the outside of my thighs and skate over my hips, my waist, my ribs until his hands are sitting on my shoulders, ma.s.saging me, his big hands slipping over the chocolate. My head rolls back, a moan rolls from my lips, and my stomach rolls in antic.i.p.ation.

Gliding his touch down the column of my spine, his finger slips over the cheeks of my b.u.m and to the top of my thighs, down, down, down, until he's kneeling on the floor behind me and reaching up to stroke down my body once more. I'm on high alert. I'm docile, but aware calm but frenzied . . . alive but fading.

'Livy, I'm not sure twenty-four hours is going to be enough,' he whispers, his fingertip circling my anklebone. My eyes close and I try to divert my mind from sending the words that I want to say to my mouth. It won't help. He's turned on, that's all caught up in the moment.

The tip of that d.a.m.n finger burns a trail up the side of my lower leg until it's at the back of my knee. My legs wobble.

'Miller,' I breathe, my palms sliding over the mirrored gla.s.s.

'Hmmm,' he hums, replacing his finger with his tongue, licking a wickedly teasing stroke up the back of my thigh and onto my b.u.m. He bites down on my cheek, his teeth sinking into my flesh and sucking . . . hard.

'Please.' I'm begging. I'm doing what I swore I'd never resort to. 'Please, please, please.'

'Please, what?' He's on my back now, working up the centre of my spine, licking, sucking and biting as he makes his journey. 'Tell me what you want.'

'You,' I pant. 'I want you.' I'm shameless, but that luscious heaviness is building again, heat racing through my veins, leaving no room for shyness.

'As I want you.'

'You can have me.' I turn my head when he clasps my nape and twists his grip, finding clear eyes that could rival the bluest of tropical waters.

'I don't understand how something so beautiful can be so pure.' His eyes skate all over my face, wonder gus.h.i.+ng from the heat of his stare. 'Thank you.' He kisses me so delicately, his hands roaming everywhere, until they're spreading chocolate up my arms and encasing my balled fists with his palms.

I know the answer to his question, but he's not directly asked, so I should avoid enlightening him. That's not what this is about. For him, it's fulfilling his fascination. For me, it's about remedying a problem that I've inflicted on myself I have to keep telling myself that.

'Turn around so I can see you,' he says against my lips, helping me swivel. When my chocolate-drenched back is pushed up against the fridge, slipping and sliding, he steps back and gives me an all-over visual a.s.sessment. I'm not shy because I'm too busy absorbing the mountain of chocolate-covered perfection before me wide shoulders, tight hips and strong thighs . . . a thick, long column protruding from his groin. My mouth waters, my eyes fixed on that one area, despite the copious amounts of other hard perfection for my eyes to feast on. I want to taste him.

My eyes shoot to his when he steps forward, seeing a straight face, as usual, giving nothing away. 'Where is that mind wandering to?' he asks, reaching down and taking a firm grip of his c.o.c.k, pulling my eyes downward and my breath backward. I choke on a gasp.

Now I'm nervous, and my lack of response is a clear sign of this. Stupidly, I don't want to disappoint him. I'm sure he'll have had plenty of sweet lips wrapped around him, but I bet they all knew what they were doing. 'I'm . . . can . . . it's . . .' I stutter and stammer all over the place, prompting him to relieve me of my awkwardness by burying his face under my neck and pus.h.i.+ng up until my head's forced back and I'm looking up at the ceiling.

'You need to loosen up some more. I thought we were getting somewhere.'

'We are.'

He drops me, leaving me weak and wobbly while he rips open the condom and makes quick work of rolling it on. I don't like it. I feel like it's a crime for him to be covering his beauty. 'I really wish we could do this flesh on flesh,' he muses, glancing up at me. 'But I wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I knocked you up, would I?'

No, he wouldn't, but whatever's gentlemanly about keeping me as a s.e.x toy for a day? Or telling me that I'll get the best f.u.c.k of my life? He's contradicted that promise. There has been nothing close to f.u.c.king since I arrived. He's been a gentleman through and through a caring, attentive, considerate lover.

I'm falling fast too fast. And his gentlemanly approach is not helping.

'Livy?' His soft rasp pulls my eyes open. I hadn't realised they were shut. 'Are you okay?' He moves in and gets his face level with mine, stroking my cheek.

'Yes.' I shake my head mildly, offering a small smile.

'I'll stop. We don't have . . .' He pauses and slips into thought for a few moments. 'I'll have to accept it if you've had enough.'

'No!' I blurt, a little panicked. I'm fighting off unwanted hesitance. I'm having flashes of reluctance, despite my craving for this man. But he's too tempting. He's forbidden fruit. I've experienced him wors.h.i.+pping me, and even though I know it'll be bad for me, I want more. 'I don't want you to accept it.' Did I just say that out loud?

The wave of confusion on his dark stubbled face, mixed with a little relief, tells me I did. 'You want to go on?'

'Yes,' I confirm, more calmly, more controlled, even if I'm not feeling it. I'm still sizzling with heat and want, and it's all for this beautiful, respectful man before me. I gather some confidence, my hesitancy irritating me, and lift my chocolate-coated arms to place my hands on his smooth chest. 'I want you again.' I take a deep breath and drop my mouth to the flesh between my palms. 'I want you to make me feel alive.'

That's exactly what he does.

'Thank G.o.d,' he exhales, grasping me under my thighs and lifting me to his hips where my legs seem to automatically curl around his tight waist. 'I would've accepted it, but I wouldn't have been particularly happy about it.' He gently pushes me up against the fridge and takes his hand between our bodies. 'I can't seem to get enough of you, Olivia Taylor.'

My back straightens, my arms finding the back of his neck when I feel the blunt head of his impressive manhood push against my entrance. 'You can have as much as you like,' I whisper quietly.

'And I will while you're here.' The words kill me, but only very briefly because I'm distracted from his sobering declaration when he pushes into me on a hiss. 'Oh Jesus, you've moulded to me already.' His face falls into my hair while he gathers himself and I adjust to him inside me. He's right. Every muscle and void seems to shape around him like liquid. There's absolutely no pain, just crippling pleasure, more so when he draws back and pushes forward slowly, keeping his face buried in my neck. 'You feel too f.u.c.king good.'

My heart is in my mouth. I can't speak. My body seems to react mechanically to him, creating feelings, sensations and thoughts, none of which I can prevent. 'Please, just f.u.c.k me,' I beg, hoping a lack of sentiment and intimacy might cure my building problem. 'You've broken me in.'

'Savoured, not rushed.' He reveals his face to me, and I notice chocolate coating his chin. 'I've already explained that to you.' His words are reinforced with a slow, continuous, meticulous pumping of his hips, over and over and over. 'This is good, yes?'

I nod.

'I concur.' His grip on my thighs increases, and he lowers his mouth to mine. 'I'm dragging this out for as long as possible.'

I accept his kiss, falling into the steady flow of his tongue's delicate sweeps. This is easy. I have no reluctance. Following him is the easiest thing that I've ever done. Our mouths are moving like we've practised this kiss over and over, like this is the most natural thing in the world. It feels like it is. He feels so right to me, despite the fact that we're worlds apart in every element of our lives him, the powerful, confident, abrupt businessman, and me, the boring, unsure, sweet waitress. Opposites attract has never been so appropriate. My direction of thought is valid and should probably be of concern, but not now, not when he's making me feel like this. My blood is heated, I'm crippled by pleasure, and I feel more alive than ever before.

He's patient, thorough. His gyrating hips are going to be the death of me. My hands are wildly feeling him everywhere they can reach, my legs are aching and heavy, but I don't care. 'Miller,' I say into his mouth, 'it's coming.'

He bites my lip and sucks, throwing me into sensation overload. 'I can feel it.'

'Hmmm . . . I attack his mouth forcefully, my hands moving to his hair and pulling. I need to loosen my iron grip of his hips, but with the pulsations between my thighs hammering violently, I can't concentrate on anything else. My body movements are spontaneous. No instructions are filtering through. Everything is happening, but I'm not telling it to. 'Please, please, please,' I beg. 'Faster.' The need for him to tip me over the edge has lowered me to more shameless begging that and the desperate need to make this something other than tender lovemaking. He's holding me in limbo. I need to let go.

'No, Livy.' He pacifies me softly but adamantly. 'I'm not ready yet.'

'No!' This is torture. Pure, evil torture.

'Yes,' he counters, pus.h.i.+ng into me, upholding his balanced rhythm. 'This is too good. You don't call the shots.'

My temper surfaces and I brazenly tighten my fists in his hair and yank his head from my lips. I'm panting, and so is he, but it doesn't hamper those hip movements. His hair is wet, his lips parted and the usual stray wave has been joined by a few more. I want him to slam me into the fridge. I want him to swear and curse at me for my viciousness. I want him to f.u.c.k me.

'Livy, this isn't stopping anytime soon, so rein it in.'

I gasp at those words and silently will him to follow them up with a powerful smash of his body into mine, but he doesn't, d.a.m.n him; he keeps his control. I yank his hair again, attempting to pull some fierceness from him, but he just smiles his full-on beautiful beam . . . so I pull some more.

'Vicious,' he mouths, still not giving me what I want, still easing gently into me.

I throw my head back and yell in frustration, ensuring I keep my fist clenched in his hair.

'Livy, you can mistreat me all you like. We're doing this my way.'

'I can't take any more,' I cry.

'Would you like me to stop?'