Promised, p.10
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       Promised, p.10

         Part #1 of One Night series by Jodi Ellen Malpas
 

  ‘No, you make me want to leave,’ I counter. ‘The door has nothing to do with it.’

  ‘I make you uncomfortable?’ he asks. I can detect a little concern in his voice.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ I confirm. He makes me very uncomfortable, and on so many levels, which begs the question why I’m here.

  He walks forward and takes my hand, tugging gently until I allow him to pull me back into the lounge. ‘Sit,’ he orders, pushing me down onto the couch. He takes my bag and phone and places them neatly on the table before squatting in front of me. He has me with those eyes again. ‘I apologise for making you feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘Okay,’ I whisper, my eyes dropping to his parted lips.

  ‘I’m going to make you feel less uncomfortable.’

  I nod because I’m too rapt by the slow motions of his lips as he speaks, but my vision is broken when he rises and puts his glass on the table, tweaking it slightly before collecting his jacket and leaving the room. I follow his back, frowning, and hear a door open and close. What’s he doing? My puzzled face flicks around the room, admiring the art briefly and thinking his apartment is too neat and perfect to actually live in, before I’m back to wondering again. Then I hear the door open and close, and I nearly choke on my own tongue when he strolls back into the room, wearing a pair of black, loose sports shorts – nothing else, just some shorts. Yes, his suit-adorned perfection is a little intimidating, but bloody hell, this won’t help. Now I just feel even more inadequate and even more lustful, my hands mentally exploring the sharpness of his chest and stomach, my lips meeting the tanned smoothness of his defined shoulders, and my arms snaking around his tight waist.

  He’s back in front of me, lowering himself to the table and picking up his drink. ‘Better?’ he asks.

  I’m sure if I could manage to rip my enthralled eyes off his torso I would find a look of superiority, but I can’t knock him for it. He is by far superior. ‘No.’ I drag my eyes up his body until I see him tipping his drink to those lips. Slowly. ‘How would this make me feel comfortable?’ I ask.

  ‘Because I’m casual.’

  ‘No, you’re half naked.’ I take another glimpse, my eyes greedy for him.

  ‘I’m still making you feel uncomfortable?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He sighs and gets up, striding from the room again, but he doesn’t head towards his bedroom. He goes in the direction of the kitchen. I hear doors opening and closing for a few moments before he’s back with me, sitting on the table in front of me with a tray in his hand. He places it down next to him, and I note that it’s full of rocks and ice.

  ‘What are they?’ I ask, leaning forward to watch him. He swivels the tray, selects a rock and repositions his body forward, holding it out to me.

  ‘Let’s see if we can loosen you up, Livy.’

  ‘How? What are they?’ I nod to the rock in his hand, now noticing that it’s concave on one side and has some sort of jelly shimmering in the pearlescent shell.

  ‘Oysters. Open up.’ He inches forward and I inch back, my face screwing up in disgust.

  ‘No, thank you,’ I say politely. I don’t know much about the shellfish, but I do know they’re obscenely expensive and, supposedly, an aphrodisiac. I don’t plan on finding out, though, because they look repulsive.

  ‘Have you tried them before?’ he asks.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you must.’ He moves in closer, not giving me much more retreating space. ‘Open.’

  ‘You try first,’ I suggest, trying to buy myself some time.

  He shakes his head, a little exasperated. ‘As you wish.’

  ‘I do.’

  He watches me as he slowly tips the oyster to his mouth, his head falling back, but his eyes holding mine. His neck lengthens and his throat is taut and totally kissable. Then he swallows painfully slowly and an unfamiliar bang lands between my thighs, making me shift. Oh fuck, he looks too sexy. I feel hot.

  He dumps the rock, grabs the front of my T-shirt in his fist and yanks me forward onto his mouth, catching me by complete surprise, but there is nothing I can or want to do to stop him. His hungry invasion is met with equal intent from me. I find his naked shoulders and relish in my first experience of his bare flesh under my palms. It’s better than I imagined. His tongue is working through my mouth fervently, and I can do nothing more than accept, tasting the saltiness of the oyster, until he breaks our kiss and removes my hands from his shoulders, him panting, me gasping.

  ‘That wasn’t a result of the oyster,’ he heaves, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, pulling me forward, his nose meeting mine. ‘That was a result of you sitting here in front of me with a look of pure desire in your exquisite eyes.’

  I want to tell him that he has that look too, but I quickly stop myself, considering, perhaps, that he may just look at all women like that, or maybe it’s just the way he looks full stop. I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing, instead choosing to continue with my fitful breaths as he holds me in place.

  ‘I’ve just paid you a compliment.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I murmur.

  ‘You’re welcome. Are you ready to let me worship you, Olivia Taylor?’

  I nod as he slowly moves forward, his blues flicking from my mouth to my eyes constantly until his lips are lightly brushing over mine, but this time he’s relaxed and tender with his taking, gently seducing my mouth as he rises, encouraging me to stand with him, before he holds my nape once more and starts walking forward, forcing me to step back. I let him guide me until we’re entering his bedroom and I’m feeling his bed at the back of my knees, and the whole time he holds our mouths together. He’s an extraordinary kisser, overwhelmingly good, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. If this is a sign of things to come, then I hope the next twenty-four hours last for ever. I’m bursting at the seams with desire, matching him. Sensibility has vanished again.

  His hand leaves my neck and grasps the hem of my T-shirt, lifting it and breaking our mouth contact to get it past my head so I’m forced to release his shoulders and lift my arms. My lingering concern for my lack of sexy underwear is long forgotten. I can’t seem to focus on anything except him, his passion and his energy. It’s all-consuming, leaving no room for anxiousness or hesitation. Or, more importantly, that sensible gene that seems to have disappeared into thin air under his attention.

  ‘Do you feel better?’ he asks, breathing down on me, his groin pressing into my stomach.

  ‘Yes,’ I gasp, clenching my eyes shut, trying to comprehend what’s happening.

  ‘Don’t deprive me of your eyes, Livy.’ His hands encase my cheeks. ‘Open.’

  I do. I open my eyes, my line of sight leading me straight to shimmering blues.

  Leaning in, he kisses me sweetly. ‘I have to keep reminding myself that I need to take this slowly.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I assure him, reaching up and resting the flats of my hands on his torso. He’s being a gentleman, and I’m grateful, but I’m not sure that I want him to take it slowly. The desire ripping through me is getting hard to control.

  He pulls away and smiles, and I fall some more. ‘I’m looking forward to indulging in you slowly.’ He reaches down and starts to unbutton the fly of my jeans. ‘Really slowly.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask, stupidly or not.

  ‘Because something as beautiful as this should be savoured, not rushed. Kick your shoes off.’

  I do as I’m bid and watch as he drops to his knees and peels the denim from my legs, tossing my jeans to the side before he hooks his fingers in the top of my knickers. I’m looking down at him as he draws them from my legs slowly, prompting me to lift each leg in turn so he can rid me of my white cotton. Reaching forward with his mouth, he kisses me softly, just north of the apex of my thighs, and I noticeably tense, but not because I’m nervous. I don’t feel any worries. He’s being so careful with me, but the heavy ache, low in my stomach, is intensifying with every second that passes.


  He rises to his feet and reaches around my back, finding the clasp of my bra, his mouth resting by my ear. ‘Are you on birth control?’

  I shake my head no, hoping it won’t deter him. My periods are regular and light and I’ve not exactly been sexually active.

  ‘Okay,’ he whispers, pulling my bra from my body. ‘Take my shorts off.’

  His instruction makes me hesitate, the potential of him fully naked unearthing a little bit of nervousness, which is crazy when I’m completely nude myself.

  His hands are suddenly on mine and guiding them to the waistband of his shorts. ‘Stay with me, Livy.’ His words drive me into action and I slowly, carefully, push his shorts down his muscled thighs, not daring to look down. I keep my eyes on his superb face, finding it comforting. I can’t, however, avoid the feel of him when he’s free from his shorts and skimming my stomach. I quietly gasp, involuntarily stepping back from him, but he moves with me, his hand sliding around my waist and cupping my bum. ‘Easy,’ he whispers. ‘Relax, Livy.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I drop my head, feeling stupid and frustrated with myself. Those doubts are creeping in again, and he must sense it too because I’m lifted to his chest and walked to the bed, then laid down carefully before he takes something from the top drawer of the bedside table and positions himself over me, astride my waist, his hard, hot penis directly in my line of sight. I’m fixated, even more so when he rises to his knees and clasps himself. I flick my eyes briefly to his face, seeing him looking down, his lips parted and that wave loose on his forehead. It’s a pleasurable sight, but watching him rip the packet of the condom open with his teeth and slowly roll it down his shaft with ease is a light year past pleasurable, which only leaves me wondering what’s to come.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, planting his palms on either side of my head and nudging my thighs open with his knee.

  ‘Yes.’ I nod as I speak, not quite certain what to do with my hands, which are redundant by my sides, but then I feel him at my opening and they fly up to his chest on a gasp.

  He’s staring at me, and my eyes refuse to leave him, even though I desperately want to clench them shut and hold my breath. ‘Ready?’

  I nod again, and he pushes forward gently, slowly breaching my entrance and sliding into me on a loud exhale of air. Pain sears through me, making me quietly whimper and dig my short nails into his shoulders. I know my face is etched with discomfort, and there’s nothing that I can do to stop it. It hurts.

  ‘Jesus,’ he gasps. ‘Jesus, Livy, you’re tight.’ The strained expression on his face tells me he’s in pain, too. ‘Am I hurting you?’

  ‘No!’ I yelp.

  ‘Livy, tell me so I can fix it. I don’t want to hurt you.’ He’s braced on his arms, holding still, waiting for me to respond.

  ‘It hurts a little,’ I admit on a despairing rush of breath.

  ‘I can tell.’ He eases back gently but doesn’t pull out completely. ‘I have puncture wounds in my shoulders to prove it.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I immediately release him from my vicious grip, and he pushes forward again, only halfway this time.

  ‘Don’t be. Save your biting and scratching for when I fuck you.’ He smirks, and my eyes widen. ‘Come on, Livy.’ He retreats slowly and rocks gently back in. ‘Don’t be bashful. We’re sharing the most intimate act together.’

  I find my hips lifting, wanting him to plunge deeper, now that the pain has subsided a little.

  ‘You’re egging me on.’ He drops to his elbows and gets mouth to mouth with me, easing back and pushing in a little further, circling his groin. ‘Tell me how it feels.’

  ‘Good!’ I breathe, inviting him to increase his pace with another tip of my hips.

  ‘I concur.’ He rests his lips over mine and teases my mouth with a brief dash of his tongue. It’s too much. I attempt to capture his lips but he pulls away. ‘Slowly,’ he murmurs, swaying in and out perfectly, gazing down at me and blinking lazily to match his gentle thrusting. This really is intimate, and he’s breaking me in, just like he promised. The quietness surrounding us is only slightly pierced by our matching, quiet, irregular puffs of air. Right now, I’m wondering why I’ve deprived myself of this feeling. This is nothing like I remember. This is how sex should be – two people sharing in each other’s pleasure, not sprinting to the finish line with no consideration for the other person, which is just how I remember my drunken encounters to be. This is worlds away. This is special. This is what I want. I know I shouldn’t be thinking that, especially since I’ve agreed to twenty-four hours and nothing more, but if I’ll have this to remember – him staring down at me, him feeling me, him worshipping me, then I think that I can cope with the aftermath.

  I feel internal muscles that I never knew existed contract around him, sensitising me to each delicious drive, pushing me onward to . . . something. I don’t know what, but I know it’s going to be good.

  He leans down and kisses my nose, then moves to my lips. ‘You’re tensing inside. Are you going to come?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know?’ he gasps. ‘You’ve never come?’

  I shake my head under his mouth, not feeling in the slightest bit embarrassed. I’m too distracted by the lush heaviness weighing down between my thighs, getting heavier with each gentle thrust of his hips. I’ve never climaxed when I’ve slept with a man. Each encounter disgusted me, made me wonder what my mother found so hard to resist. I couldn’t see what pleasure could come of it – I never realised it could be like this. I feel like all rationality is being stripped away.

  ‘Oh, fucking hell!’ His face pulls away from mine, his hips jerking forward, a little less controlled. ‘You’ve never had an orgasm?’

  ‘No!’ I grapple at his shoulders, my head shaking despairingly. The pain has completely gone now. Oh God, it’s gone and in its place is something else – something . . . ‘Miller!’

  ‘Oh, you sweet thing.’ His drives are controlled again, but slightly firmer – more precise and consistent. ‘Livy, you’ve just made me a very happy man.’

  My nails dig in again. I can’t help it. I’m being bombarded with hot sparks stabbing at my epicentre. ‘Oh!’

  He drops his face to mine and kisses me softly. I’m not soft, though. I’m hungry, and my frantic mouth action is proof of it. ‘Slow down,’ he mumbles, sounding desperate, trying to guide me by kissing me purposely slow.

  I’m turning light-headed; my eyes are rolling and my hands are now grasping his mass of dark waves. But I don’t slow down. I can’t. I feel a sense of urgency as the pressure builds and builds with every wonderful push of his hips.

  ‘Here it comes.’ He breaks away from my mouth and re-braces himself on his arms, pumping firmly, leaving me with no mouth to devour and no hair to knot my fingers in. ‘How does it feel, Livy? Tell me.’ His jaw is tense, his eyes suddenly deadly serious.

  ‘Good!’

  ‘How good?’ He pleasures me with more and more and more.

  ‘Too good!’

  ‘Are you ready to come?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Is that what this is? I feel out of control, almost out of my mind.

  ‘Oh, sweet girl, you’ve not lived.’ His pace picks up and so does the pressure down below. My hands brace on his forearms and push, taking me further up the bed, and my head starts to urgently shake from side to side.

  ‘Oh God!’ I yelp. ‘Oh shit!’

  ‘That’s it, Livy!’ It’s becoming frantic – our breathing, the shouting, the sweating and tensing and bracing. But he still maintains that steady, easy pace. ‘Let it go.’

  I have no idea what happens. The room starts spinning, a nuclear bomb goes off between my thighs and I scream. I can’t stop it. My arms flop behind my head and Miller lowers himself on top of me, barking his climax into my hair, panting and slipping over my wet skin. The throb, him inside me and me around him is comforting and so is his fitful breathing in my ear.

  ‘Thank you,’ I gasp
, not even feeling stupid for showing my appreciation. He’s the one who keeps reminding me of my manners and what he’s just done to me deserves some gratitude. Bloody hell, that was past even my highest expectations.

  ‘No, thank you,’ he breathes, biting at my ear. ‘The pleasure was all mine.’

  ‘Trust me, it was mine,’ I insist, smiling when I feel him grinning against my ear. I’m desperate to see it, so I turn my face into him, finding the most amazing sight – a full-blown, boyish grin, making his eyes sparkle like crazy and revealing a dimple that I’ve never noticed before. What I’m seeing right now is a million miles away from the coffee-hating, clipped, refined, powerful man who has utterly captivated me. ‘You look cute when you grin.’

  It disappears from his face immediately, a heavy frown replacing it. ‘Cute?’

  That probably wasn’t the best choice of a word for such a manly man, but he did look cute. Not now, because he’s not grinning any more, but that tip of his lips, the revealing of that dimple and the sparkling of his blue eyes showed me a completely different man, a man who I can tell doesn’t appear very often. ‘You don’t smile very much,’ I say, feeling a little brave. ‘You should make the effort. You look less intimidating when you smile.’

  ‘So I’ve gone from being cute to being intimidating?’ He shifts onto his forearms and brings his face to mine, nose to nose, forehead to forehead.

  I nod my head, making his nod, too. ‘You’re a little intimidating.’

 
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