‘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 h*ps 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**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**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 h*ps 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 f**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, 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?’

‘No!’

‘Does it hurt?’

‘No!’

‘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.