He’s still rock-hard. His cock begins to twitch and he groans, his head dropping back onto his shoulders.
Then he comes.
And he whimpers dejectedly.
White liquid spurts up his stomach, across his thighs, seeming to pour from the tip forever. ‘No,’ he murmurs to himself, his hands raking through his hair, his eyes clenching shut. ‘No!’ he bellows, slamming his hands down to the floor, making me recoil in shock.
I don’t know what to do. I’m still sitting away from him, my hand still clenching my jaw, and now my mind is sprinting. Flashbacks are stamping all over my mind. He’s let me take him in my mouth once. It was brief and he didn’t come. He moaned his pleasure, assisted me, guided me, but quickly withdrew. The other times I’ve ventured into that area with my mouth, I’ve been intercepted. He let me work him with my hand in his office once, and I remember him clarifying that it should only be with my hand. And I also remember him telling me that he doesn’t touch himself privately.
Why?
He reaches and grabs a tissue from the box on the nearby table, then sets about frantically wiping himself up.
‘Miller?’ I say quietly, breaking into the sounds of his rushed breath and mad actions. I can’t close the distance, not until he registers I’m here. ‘Miller, look at me.’
His arms drop, but his eyes dart everywhere on my body, except to my face.
‘Miller, please look at me.’ I inch forward a little, cautious, desperate to comfort him when he so obviously needs it. ‘Please.’ I wait, impatient, yet knowing I have to approach this carefully. ‘I beg you.’
Tortured blues blink slowly and eventually reopen, seeping into the deepest part of my heart. His head begins to shake. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he almost chokes, his palm wrapping around his throat, like he’s struggling to breathe. ‘I’ve hurt you.’
‘I’m fine,’ I counter, even though my jaw feels like it needs cracking back into place. I release my hold of it and edge my way closer to him, slowly crawling onto his lap. ‘I’m fine,’ I repeat, sinking my face into his damp neck, feeling relieved when I feel him embrace the comfort I’m offering. ‘You OK?’
He lets out a short spurt of breath, almost laughing. ‘I’m not sure what happened.’
My brow wrinkles, realising in an instant that he’s going to evade any questions I pose. ‘You can tell me,’ I press.
The swift detachment of my chest from his and his eyes boring into mine make me feel small and useless. His impassive face isn’t helping either. ‘Tell you what?’
My shoulders jump up on a little shrug. ‘Why such a violent reaction?’ I’m uncomfortable under the intensity of him watching me. I’m not sure why when I’ve been the sole focus of this penetrating gaze since I’ve met him.
‘I’m sorry.’ His eyes soften and are quickly laced with concern as he directs them to my jaw. ‘You startled me, Olivia. Nothing more.’ A smooth palm runs the length of my cheek, then circles gently.
He’s lying to me. But I can’t force him to share something that will be too painful for him. I’ve learned that now. Miller Hart’s dark past needs to remain in the dark, away from our light.
‘OK,’ I say, but I don’t mean it at all. I’m not OK, and neither is Miller. What I want to do is tell him to elaborate, but instinct is stopping me. The instinct that has guided me since the day I met this confounding man. I keep telling myself that, yet I wonder where I’d be had I not followed all of the natural reactions to him and responses to the situations he’s presented me with. I know where. Still dead. Lifeless. Pretending to be happy with my solitary existence. My life may have taken an about-face, been injected with drama to make up for the lack of it in recent years, but I won’t falter in my determination to help my love through his battle. I’m here for him.
I’ve discovered many dark things about Miller Hart, and deep down, I know there are more. More questions are rising. And the answers, whatever they may be, won’t make an iota of difference to how I feel about Miller Hart. It’s painful for him, which makes it painful for me, too. I don’t want to cause him more suffering, and forcing him to tell will do that. So curiosity can go screw itself. I ignore the niggling corner of my brain that’s pointing out that maybe, in fact, I don’t want to know.
‘I love your bones,’ I whisper in an attempt to distract us from the awkwardness of the moment. ‘I love your fucked-up, obsessive bones.’
A full beam breaks the serious expression on his face, revealing his dimple and sparkling blue eyes. ‘And my fucked-up, obsessive bones are deeply fascinated by you, too.’ He reaches up to feel my jaw. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘Not really. I’m used to wallops in the head these days.’
He winces, and I realise immediately that I’ve failed in my endeavour to lighten the mood.
‘Don’t say that.’
I’m about to apologise when the loud screech of Miller’s phone rings in the distance.
I’m removed from his lap and set neatly to the side, and he kisses my forehead as he rises before striding over to the table and scooping it up. ‘Miller Hart,’ he says with the usual detachment and coldness as his naked body paces towards the study. He has shut the door behind him every time he’s taken a call since we’ve been here, yet this time he leaves it open. I use the gesture as a sign and jump up, following his path until I’m hovering on the threshold, looking at a naked Miller reclined in the office chair, his fingertips working circles into his temple. He looks irritated and stressed, but as his eyes lift and find mine, all negative emotion falls away and is replaced with smiling, shimmering blues. I put my hand up and turn to leave.
‘One minute,’ he speaks into the phone abruptly and pulls it away, laying it on his bare chest. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Sure, I’ll leave you to work.’
He taps the phone lightly and thoughtfully on his chest, his eyes running slow trails up and down my naked body. ‘I don’t want you to leave me.’ His stare finds mine, and I sense a double meaning to his statement. He cocks his head, and I pad gingerly over to him, surprised by his demand, but not so surprised by the need blooming within me.
Miller looks up at me, a hint of a smile on his face, then takes my hand and kisses the top of my new ring. ‘Sit.’ He tugs me forward until I land on his naked lap, every muscle I possess tensing when his semi-erect cock wedges itself between my bum cheeks. I’m encouraged to recline, and my back finds his chest, my head nuzzled in the crook of his neck.
‘Continue,’ he orders down the phone.
I smile to myself and Miller’s ability to be so tender and sweet with me and then so obnoxious and curt to whoever is on the other end of the phone. A muscled arm snakes around my waist and holds on tight.
‘It’s Livy,’ he hisses. ‘I could be speaking with the fucking queen, but if Olivia needs me, then the queen will have to fucking wait.’
My face bunches in confusion, mixed with a little satisfaction, and I turn to look up at him. I want to ask who it is, but something halts me. It’s the muffled sound of a smooth, familiar, very accepting voice down the line.
William.
‘Glad we’ve cleared that up,’ Miller huffs, landing a chaste kiss on my lips before nudging my head back into the crook of his neck and shifting in his chair, pulling me even closer.
He falls silent and starts playing idly with a lock of my hair, twisting it repeatedly until it starts to pull at my scalp and I indicate my discomfort with a gentle nudge to his ribs. I can hear the mellow tones of William’s voice, yet can’t make out what’s being said, as Miller unravels the lock before starting to twist all over again.
‘Did you establish anything regarding that?’ Miller asks.
I know what they must be speaking of, but being here on his lap, listening to his even, detached tone, amplifies that curiosity. I should have stayed away from the study, but now my mind is racing, wondering what William might have found.
‘One minute,’ he breathes, and I see his hand hol
ding the phone in my peripheral vision fall to the arm of the chair. My hair is released, probably leaving behind a mountain of knots, my cheek clasped in his hand and turned to face him. Staring deeply into my eyes, he clicks a button on his phone and blindly rests it on the desk, never leaving my eyes. He doesn’t even break the contact to check where it’s landed or to tweak it.
‘William, say hello to Olivia.’
I shift nervously on Miller’s lap, a million feelings drowning out the serenity I was feeling locked in Miller’s hold.
‘Hello, Olivia.’ William’s voice is comforting. Yet I don’t want to hear anything he has to say. He’d warned me away from Miller from the moment he knew of our relationship.
‘Hi, William.’ I quickly turn to Miller and tense my muscles, ready to lift from his lap. ‘I’ll let you work in peace.’ But I go nowhere. Miller slowly shakes his head at me and firms up his grip.
‘How are you?’ William’s question was easy to answer . . . half an hour ago.
‘Fine,’ I squeak, chastising myself for feeling awkward, but worst of all for acting it. ‘I’m just going to make some breakfast.’ I make to stand again . . . and go nowhere.
‘Olivia’s staying,’ Miller announces. ‘Continue.’
‘As we were?’ William sounds shocked, and that notches my awkwardness up the scale to plain panic.
‘As we were,’ Miller breaths, finding my nape and working into my tenseness with firm, purposeful kneads. He’s wasting his time.
There’s silence down the line, then the odd sound of movement, probably William fidgeting uncomfortably in his big office chair before he speaks. ‘I’m not sure—’
‘She’s staying,’ Miller cuts him off, and I brace myself for a counterattack from William . . . but it doesn’t come.
‘Hart, I question your morals daily.’ William chuckles. It’s a dark, sardonic chuckle. ‘But I’ve always been certain of your sanity, however in-fucking-sane some of your exploits have been. I’ve always known you were perfectly lucid.’
I want to jump in to put William straight. There’s nothing lucid about Miller when he loses his temper. He’s wild, unreasonable . . . a complete, certifiable maniac. Or is he? I slowly turn in his hold to find his face. Piercing blue eyes are immediately singeing my skin. His face, although impassive, is angelic. My mind twists as I try to figure out whether what William is saying could be true. I can’t agree. Maybe William hasn’t seen Miller touch the kind of rage he has unleashed since he met me.
‘I always know exactly what I’m doing and why I’m doing it.’ Miller speaks slowly and concisely. He knows what I’m thinking. ‘I may lose rationality for a split second, but only for a split second,’ he whispers, so quietly William couldn’t have possibly heard him. And just like that, he answers another question that I was silently deliberating. ‘My actions are always valid and warranted.’
William hears that part. I know this because he laughs. ‘In whose world, Hart?’
‘Mine.’ He turns his attention back to his phone and tightens his grip on me. ‘And now yours, too, Anderson.’
His words are cryptic. I don’t understand them, but the fear biting its way up my spine and the long eerie silence that settles tells me to be wary of them. Why did I come in here? Why didn’t I head straight for the kitchen and get something to eat? I was hungry when I woke. Not now, though. Now my stomach feels like an empty void filling rapidly with anxiety.
‘Your world will never be mine.’ William’s tone is rampant with rage. ‘Never.’
I need to leave. This could be one of those times when their two worlds collide, and I don’t want to be anywhere near when that happens. The Atlantic between them may mean no physical clash is possible, but just the tone of William’s voice, his words, and Miller’s vibrating body beneath me is a good enough sign that it still won’t be pretty.
‘I’d like to leave,’ I say, trying in vain to pry Miller’s hand from my tummy.
‘Stay where you are, Olivia.’ My attempts prove fruitless and Miller’s unreasonable insistence that I hang around for the unpleasant show sees my sass flying to the surface.
‘Let. Go. Of. Me.’ My jaw is pulsing, my pissed off eyes stabbing at his straight features. I’m shocked when I’m immediately released. I hastily stand, and not knowing whether to dart out or leave calmly, I begin brushing down my non-existent clothes while I deliberate my quandary.
‘I’m sorry,’ Miller speaks up, reaching for one of my busy hands and squeezing it gently. ‘Please, I’d like you to stay.’
There’s a brief, uneasy silence before William’s genuine, amused laugh breaks our private moment, reminding me that he’s still technically in the room with us. ‘Yes, we’re done,’ he confirms. ‘I apologise also.’
‘I don’t understand why you want me here,’ I confess. This is already too much to process.
‘William has been trying to figure out a few things, that’s all. Please, stay and hear what he has to say.’
I’m relieved he wants to let me help share the burden, but I’m frightened, too. Nodding a little, I take my place on his lap and allow him to negotiate my body into the position of his liking, which is to the side, my legs dangling over the arm of the chair, my cheek on his chest.
‘OK. So, Sophia?’
My blood runs cold, just from the mention of her name.
‘She’s insisting she never breathed a word to Charlie.’
Charlie? Who’s Charlie?
‘I believe her,’ Miller says. It’s a reluctant admission and it surprises me, even more so when William agrees. ‘Did you sense any indication that she could have been following Olivia?’
‘I couldn’t tell for sure, but we all know how that woman feels about you, Hart.’
I certainly know how Sophia feels about Miller, mostly because she was kind enough to tell me herself. She’s a former client who fell in love with him. Or became obsessed with him, is more accurate. Miller was worried she’d tried to abduct me. Does she love him that much? Enough to get rid of me?
‘Sense anything with Sophia Reinhoff?’ William scoffs. ‘The only thing I feel when in her presence is cold. You were careless. Taking Livy to Ice was a stupid move. Taking her to your home is beyond that. I bet she’s relishing in the knowledge that she can expose you, Hart.’
I cringe, feeling Miller look down at me. I know what’s coming. ‘Both Olivia and I have played our relationship down. I’ve only taken Livy to Ice when the club has been closed.’
‘And when she turned up without your prior knowledge, did you have her escorted out? Did you remove yourself from her vicinity to lessen the risk of association?’ There’s humour in William’s serious tone. I want to hide. ‘Well?’ he prompts, despite knowing damn well what the answer is.
‘No,’ Miller spits the word through a clenched jaw. ‘I realise my stupidity.’
‘So, what we have is a club full of people who witnessed various incidents involving the aloof, notoriously closed-off Miller Hart losing his rag with a beautiful young woman. Do you see where I’m heading with this?’
I roll my eyes at William’s unreasonable need to belittle Miller. I also feel a mountain of guilt settle on my shoulders. My obliviousness to the consequences of my actions and behaviour has accelerated the situation, pushed Miller into a corner.
‘It’s all being noted, Anderson.’ Miller sighs, seeking out my hair again and beginning to twist a lock. Silence falls. It’s an uncomfortable silence – one that’s just increasing my need to escape the study and leave these two men to continue their surmising of our diabolical situation alone.
It’s a long while before William eventually speaks, and when he does, I don’t like what he says. ‘You must have anticipated the repercussions of your resignation, Hart. You know that’s not your call to make.’
I curl into Miller’s side, as if making myself smaller and attempting to crawl inside of him might make our reality go away. Not much of my brain space has been dedicated to Mil
ler’s invisible chains or the immoral bastards who hold the keys. The ghost of Gracie Taylor has monopolised my mind, and in a weird sense, now that seems so much more appealing than this. This really is reality, and hearing William’s voice, feeling Miller’s torment, and suddenly being consumed with defeat has flung me to the frontline of anxiety. I’m not wholly certain what will greet us in London when we arrive there, but I know it’s going to test me, test us, more than ever before.
The sensation of soft lips on my temple brings me back into the room. ‘I didn’t much care at the time,’ Miller admits.
‘Do you now?’ William’s question and the curt delivery clearly indicate there should be only one answer.
‘Now I care only about protecting Olivia.’
‘Good answer,’ William retorts sharply, and I look up at Miller, finding him lost in thought, gazing blankly across the study.
I hate that he appears so defeated. I’ve seen this look too many times, and it worries me more than anything. I feel blind, useless, and with no words of comfort to offer him, I reach up and slide my palm onto his neck, pulling him in tighter to me and pushing my face into the stubble on his throat. ‘I love you.’ My whispered declaration falls naturally from my mouth, like my instinct is telling me that a constant reinforcement of my love for him is all I have. Reluctantly, I silently acknowledge that it is.
William continues. ‘I can’t believe you were stupid enough to quit.’
Lean muscles go rigid beneath me in a heartbeat. ‘Stupid?’ Miller hisses, shifting me on his lap. I can practically feel his emotions heating through our naked contact. ‘Are you suggesting I should continue fucking other women when I’m involved with Olivia?’ His crass angle makes my face contort in disgust, as do the mental images of belts and—
Stop!
‘No.’ William doesn’t back off. ‘I’m suggesting you should never have touched what you can’t have. This will all go away if you do the right thing.’
The right thing. Leave me. Go back to London and be the Special One.
I can’t hold back the rage that embeds itself deeply within me as a result of William’s words, especially if he insists on being such an arsehole. ‘He can have me.’ My sass fights its way forward, and I wrestle with Miller’s hold, sitting myself up, getting as close to the phone as possible, just so he can hear me loud and clear. ‘Don’t you dare start with this again, William! Don’t make me stick a knife in and twist it!’