‘Enter me.’

‘With what?’ he deadpans.

‘Your fingers,’ I breathe, seeing instantly that he doesn’t just want instructions. He wants exact, step-by-step commands.

‘Ooh, I see.’ He conceals his amusement well, glancing down at his hand hovering between my thighs. ‘Hadn’t I ought to check your’ – he pouts and thinks for a second – ‘condition?’

Damn him! I’m growing aggravated, my own fingers prepared to do the job if he doesn’t get on with it. ‘Miller, please.’ I immerse myself in darkness, closing my eyes in desolation. I’m bursting at the seams with need, the heaviness between my thighs pushing deep and starting to throb eagerly.

‘Focus, Livy.’ He pushes my thighs apart again when I attempt to close them to suppress the pulsing.

‘You make it too hard!’ I shout on a futile thrash of my body. Two big palms press into my shoulders, holding me still, and I open my lids to come nose to nose with a triumphant glimmer in deep, satisfied blues. My hand instinctively reaches up and grabs his hair, giving it a bold yank in frustration.

It has zero effect. He prises my fingers from his dark waves and places my hand on my tummy, giving it a little warning squeeze on a serious face. ‘I love your sass,’ he whispers, ghosting his lips across mine, flirting, and though I know I won’t get blessed with a heart-stopping kiss, my body responds and lifts in a vain attempt to catch them anyway.

‘You want to taste me?’ he mumbles, only allowing a slight friction of our mouths, denying me the full-on contact. ‘Do you want to swallow me up and lose yourself in me for ever?’

‘Yes!’ My frustration grows as he continues to refuse me the contact I’m demanding.

‘Do you remember who can sate this unyielding need?’

‘You,’ I moan as I squirm beneath the brief contact of his fingers at my entrance.

He pulls away from me quickly, his sanctimonious expression morphing into something else. I’m not sure what. But I can only compare it to glory. He looks like he’s struck gold. To anyone else, his face is expressionless, blank . . . untelling, but to me it’s spelling a million words of happiness. Miller Hart is happy. He’s content. And I know for sure that that has never happened in the history of Miller. ‘I don’t just want to be the man who can give you mind-blowing orgasms.’

My pleasure and musing is interrupted by his statement, and I immediately notice the glory in his eyes has fallen away. I’m a trifle confused. ‘You always say it,’ I argue quietly, my fizzing settling under his uncertainty. I’ve vowed to make him feel like more than a walking, talking pleasure machine, yet he seems to be happy with the praise he’s rewarded with when we’re intimate. He demands it, working me up into a frenzy and basking in the begging he draws. He deserves it, by God, he needs a medal, but I never considered for a moment that I might be making him feel used. He likes me pleading for his touch. It makes him feel wanted. Needed.

Everything dies within me when I consider the horrific thought of him pinning the same statement to every woman he’s taken. Does he deliver such compelling words to them? Probably. It’s his job. Does he make them feel as amazing as he makes me feel? I know he does.

Miller is brooding when in the heat of the moment, and he’s flaming hot when armed with a belt and a four-poster bed. ‘Do you express this much passion to every woman you’ve ever taken?’ My question shocks me, especially since I only planned on considering it silently. My subconscious wants an answer.

‘Everything you get from me is natural instinct, Olivia Taylor. I’ve never been fascinated before. I’ve never given all of me before. You get all of me. Every f**ked-up little piece. And I pray every second of every day that you’ll never give up on me, even if I do.’ He pushes his lips gently to mine and leaves them lingering for what seems like for ever, injecting me with strength, intensifying my love. ‘Keep me in this beautiful light place with you.’ He releases me and hits me with pleading eyes. ‘Don’t let me fall back into darkness, I beg you.’

I absorb his words, immobilised under his clear blue gaze. Hearing him reaffirm his feelings, express himself so well, should hold my contentment firm. But I heard the negative line in his statement. Even if I do.

I’m too aware of Miller’s recent actions. The right words from the wrong people could send him spiralling back into that dark place and only my strength can pull him back.

‘Stroke me,’ I order softly, ‘with your fingers.’ I take his hand and guide it to the apex of my thighs. ‘Then enter me and thrust gently.’

He nods in wordless acknowledgment and braces his hand on the counter as his touch finds me. My breath catches. ‘Let me taste you,’ he whispers, bringing our faces closer together.

My response is mechanical, no thoughts necessary, and I lift and seal our mouths on a groan, wrapping my arms around his neck. Every muscle I possess hardens in preparation, my thighs dropping further open, inviting more of him into me. His efforts are lazy and measured, two fingers gliding perfectly across my flesh and working me up deliciously. I’m breathless, my kiss becoming predictably harder as my pleasure builds.

I gasp, sucking at his bottom lip before letting my head fall back to the worktop.

His eyes are hooded, his laboured breathing matching mine, as he maintains the steady slipping of his fingers over my throbbing flesh. ‘Jesus, Olivia.’ His head drops limply as he finally breaches the threshold of my entrance with his fingers and puts some weight behind his caresses, pushing into me on a low moan.

My chest flies up on a delirious shout. ‘Miller!’

‘Fuck! I love hearing you scream my name.’ He withdraws and thrusts forward again, the power of his drive not just evident by my continued moans and cries, but clear on the cut edges of his strained face. I’m fighting the urge to squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to lose myself in dark pleasure, but more desperate to watch him. There’s wonder past the dark desire of his addictive eyes, but I lose the glorious sight when he dips and encases my tingling nipple with the heat of his mouth. It catapults me into sensory overload. I start to shake.

‘Oh God!’ My hands in his hair apply pressure, pushing him onto my breast, and my h*ps start lifting, meeting the pumping of his fingers. Every nerve ending is buzzing uncontrollably, my head shaking, my thoughts scattered. I begin to feel my cl**ax take hold, the pleasure dominating every inch of me shifting to one spot, set to explode. And with a nip of my nipple and a deep rotation of strong fingers within me, it happens.

The world ceases to rotate on its axis. Life stops. My mind goes blank. There’s a distant sound of groaning and once I’ve overcome the initial onslaught of harsh pleasure, I drop my head to the side in exhaustion and peel my eyes open to find Miller at full height, looking down at me as he strokes me softly between the thighs, easing me lightly down. His arousal is thick, pulsing and protruding proudly from his groin.

I don’t speak, mainly because I haven’t the energy, but I do find a little strength to reach to the side and take a gentle hold of him, wiping my thumb across the swollen head to smear the bead of cum that’s leaking from the tip. Miller hisses, the muscles of his chest quivering aggressively while he battles to cope with my touch. He’s pulsing incessantly, and I can see his heart pounding in his chest. It takes just one delicate swipe of my fisted hand around him to tip him. He knocks my hand out of the way and lifts to rest his iron length on my tummy, groaning, his head rolling as he spills all over me. The warmth of his essence coating me has my body relaxing back into the marble on a lengthy, gratifying sigh. I’m floating in a magical land of perfection.

‘Sleepy?’ His rough voice tickles my ears, and I hum, closing my eyes. His hand gently breaks away from between my thighs and rests on my tummy. Then he spreads his cum everywhere, up to my boobs and down to my legs. I’m coated. And I couldn’t care less. He dips and pecks my lips, encouraging me to open up to him. I let him drench my mouth with his attention. I could fall asleep here on this solid work surface.

‘Come on.’ He pulls me up to a sitting position and muscles between my spread legs, all the while keeping up our kiss. My arms are positioned over his shoulders, he cups my bum, and pulls me in. ‘You can help me make breakfast.’

‘I can?’ I blurt, making him pull back on an inquisitive frown. Messing up his worktop, his clothes . . . me. And now I can help him make breakfast in his perfect kitchen, where tasks are carried out with military precision? I’m not sure I’m up to it, and quite frankly, interfering with his obsessive ways to that extent kind of scares me.

‘Let’s not make too big a deal of it,’ he warns.

But it’s a massive deal. Huge. ‘You can do it,’ I offer, feeling a little overwhelmed. He’s given me so much already. I don’t want to push my luck.

‘You can’t shirk me that easily.’ He gives my cheek a reassuring flutter of his lips and pulls me down, turning me in his arms so my back’s pressed into his chest. His chin rests on my shoulder. ‘But first, a quick wash.’

He urges me forward with his palms resting on my tummy, his steps guiding mine until we’re standing before the sink and he’s turning on the tap. He dampens a towel, pumps in some liquid soap, and efficiently wipes down my front, then kneels down to swipe up my legs. It’s all I can do not to throw my head back and moan for more.

After washing our hands together, he leans over me and wipes the sink down while I look on with a smile. ‘To the fridge,’ he whispers, pushing me gently on until we’re before the giant mirrored doors. Miller’s nakedness is concealed. But mine isn’t. ‘Stunning view.’ He nips at my shoulder, keeping his eyes on mine, and lets his hand slip below my stomach to my entrance. I hold my breath and push my cheek into the side of his face, squirming. ‘So warm and inviting,’ he whispers, and then licks his bite mark on my shoulder and spreads my dampness with all four fingers. The slippery friction on my sensitive nub of nerves has me moaning as I watch his eyes darken. ‘You’re still pulsing, sweet girl.’

My bum pushes into his groin, causing Miller to mimic my sounds of ecstasy. ‘You wanted to feed me,’ I remind him, quite stupidly. I’ll take more worshipping over the mundane task of eating any day.

‘Correct, but I can’t promise I won’t make the most of your inviting condition while we prepare breakfast.’ He circles around my clitoris slowly, accelerating the dulling pulse.

Oh God, help me!

‘Miller,’ I squeeze my eyes shut briefly, retreating, my body folding in on itself to escape his inconceivably skilful touch.

He pushes his mouth to my ear. ‘I might make a habit of preparing our meals with my habit stuck to my chest.’

If he does that, then we might not ever eat. My need for him is my undoing and I make to turn.

And go nowhere.

‘Nuh-uh-uh.’ His hand pushes into the soft flesh of my tummy and his fingers walk up my front slowly until they are resting at the corner of my mouth. Our eyes hold as he wipes my wetness across my lips. ‘Lick.’

When his order should probably make me decline shyly, it has my craving multiplying instead. I follow through on his demand, lapping slowly at his fingers while he holds me in place, more with his thirsty eyes than with the firm clamp of his hand.

‘Good, wouldn’t you agree?’

I nod, but I’m more inclined to think that the flesh beneath the wetness is tastier.

‘Enough for now.’ He withdraws his fingers and slides his palms down my arms until he’s at my hands. ‘This could take some time.’

‘Only if you can’t keep your hands to yourself,’ I reply quietly, wishing I didn’t have to go to work so we could prepare breakfast all day.