Promised, p.12Part #1 of One Night series by Jodi Ellen Malpas
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 boobs squished to the glass 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 pushing 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 glass, 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 glass 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 penis 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 glass, 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, massaging me, his big hands slipping over the chocolate. My head rolls back, a moan rolls from my lips, and my stomach rolls in anticipation.
Gliding his touch down the column of my spine, his finger slips over the cheeks of my bum 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 damn 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 glass.
‘Hmmm,’ he hums, replacing his finger with his tongue, licking a wickedly teasing stroke up the back of my thigh and onto my bum. 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 gushing 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 assessment. 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 cock, 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 pushing 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.’
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 sex toy for a day? Or telling me that I’ll get the best fuck of my life? He’s contradicted that promise. There has been nothing close to fucking 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 worshipping 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 God,’ 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 again
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 fucking 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 fuck 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 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, pushing 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 fuck 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, damn 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?’
‘Does it hurt?’
‘So I’m just driving you crazy?’
I drop my head, accepting his careful pumping, still bubbling, and now sweating. I find his eyes, noting that familiar degree of arrogance. ‘Yes,’ I grate.
‘Is it wrong for me to be delighted by that?’
‘Yes.’ My teeth are clenching now.
His faint smile transforms into a sly smirk, and his eyes glisten. ‘I’m not going to apologise, but lucky for you, now I’m ready.’
And with that, he lifts me, gains more leverage and eases back before gliding smoothly into me and holding himself deep and high on a strained groan, shaking against me.
It does the job.
I convulse in his arms, my body becoming limp, my mind spacing out and my hands finally freeing their hold of his hair. I’m not trying to, but my internal wall is grabbing onto him with every pulse he delivers, elongating the waves of pleasure riding through me.
While I’m quite happy being held against the fridge, limp and useless, Miller decides he’s not so happy to hold me there. He folds down to the floor until I’m splattered on his chest, and then rolls over to get me beneath him. He watches me fighting to gain control of my short breath, then takes his mouth to my nipple and sucks hard, biting down and squeezing the surrounding flesh with his hand. ‘Glad you took me up on my offer?’ he asks, sounding confident of the answer I’ll give.
‘Yes,’ I exhale, drawing my knee up and willing some strength into my arm to lift and stroke the back of his head.
‘Of course you are.’ He kisses his way up my body until he’s at my lips, nibbling tenderly. ‘Shower time.’
‘Leave me here,’ I puff, my arms flopping to my sides. ‘I don’t have the energy.’
‘So I’ll do all the hard work. I said I’d worship you.’
‘You also said you’d fuck me,’ I remind him.
He releases my lip from his grip and pulls back, thinking hard. ‘I also said I’d break you in first.’
Surprisingly to me, I don’t even blush. ‘I think we can safely say you can tick that item off your list, so now you can fuck me.’ What the hell has gotten into me?
Obviously, Miller is wondering the very same thing because his eyebrows have just jumped up in shock, but he doesn’t say anything. Perhaps I’ve stunned him into silence. His brow furrows slightly as he starts to climb off me, and after disposing of the condom and wiping the bottoms of his feet, he quickly pulls me up and takes his customary hold of my nape. Then he starts guiding me towards his bedroom. ‘Trust me, you don’t want me to fuck you.’
‘Because what we just shared was far more enjoyable.’
He’s right, and though I know it’s stupid of me, I don’t want to add Miller to my list of meaningless encounters. ‘Your kitchen is wrecked.’ I point to the chocolate-coated floor and fridge, but he doesn’t follow my indication to look, pushing me onward instead.
‘I can’t look.’ His eyes turn dark, and he shakes his head. ‘I won’t sleep.’
I can’t help smiling, even though I know it won’t be appreciated. He’s a clean freak. He has odd ways, with the constant repositioning of things, but after being here and seeing that immaculate wardrobe, I think he might even be a little obsessive about it.
Just as we breach the entrance to his bedroom, I’m swiftly scooped up and carried across the room. I’m a little shocked, but the rightness of it prevents me from saying anything. He’s so strong and
‘After you.’ He sweeps his arm out, gesturing toward the mega shower space.
I’m hesitant, however I manage to find direction and shuffle forward, naked and coated in chocolate. I glace up at an impassive face as I pass him. He’s all formal and cold, a complete about-turn from five minutes ago.
‘Thank you,’ I murmur, stepping under the hot spray and immediately looking down, seeing chocolate water pooling at my feet. I’m alone for a few moments, keeping my eyes down until his feet appear in my field of vision. Even they are perfect. My eyes start a slow climb up his body, studying every perfect, hard inch, until I’m watching him squirt soap onto his palm. Those palms are going to be on me any second, but judging by the look on his face, this isn’t going to be a steamy shower scene. He’s concentrating too hard on the massaging of suds between his hands.
Without a word, he crouches in front of me and starts rubbing the shower cream into my thighs, slowly washing away the chocolate. I can do no more than watch quietly, but the lack of speaking is making me feel uncomfortable. ‘What do you do for a living?’ I ask, trying to break the awkward silence.
He pauses, but quickly picks up his pace again. ‘I don’t think we should get into personal chit-chat, given our arrangement, Livy.’ He doesn’t look at me, choosing to remain focused on my clean-up. I wish I had kept quiet because those words haven’t
Promised by Jodi Ellen Malpas / Romance & Love have rating 5.4 out of 5 / Based on43 votes