‘Come here,’ he whispers, remaining still with no gesture or encouragement, only his quiet, commanding words.

‘I was going to make coffee.’ I’m a fool to think I can avoid his questions or concern for much longer.

‘I’ve asked once.’ He pushes himself to his elbow and cocks his head. His lips are pressed into a straight line, and his crystal blue eyes are burning through me. ‘Don’t make me repeat myself.’

I shake my head mildly on a sigh and slip back between the sheets, crawling into his chest while he remains still and allows me to find my place. Once I’m settled, his arms encircle me and his nose goes straight to my hair. ‘Better?’

I nod into his chest and stare across the planes of his muscles while he feels me everywhere and takes deep breaths. I know he’s desperate to comfort and reassure me. But he hasn’t. He’s allowed me my quiet time and I know it’s been incredibly difficult for him. I’m overthinking. I know it, and Miller knows it, too.

He pulls out of the warmth of my hair and spends a few moments arranging it just so. Then he focuses worried blues on mine. ‘Never stop loving me, Olivia Taylor.’

‘Never,’ I affirm, guilt settling deep. I want to reassure him that my love for him shouldn’t be of any concern – none at all. ‘Don’t overthink.’ I reach up and drag my thumb across his full bottom lip and watch as he blinks lazily and shifts his hand to clutch mine at his mouth.

He flattens my palm and kisses the centre. ‘It’s a two-way street, gorgeous girl. I can’t see you sad.’

‘I have you. I couldn’t possibly be sad.’

He gives me a smile and leans forward to plant a delicate kiss on the end of my nose. ‘I beg to differ.’

‘You can beg all you like, Miller Hart.’ I’m quickly seized and pulled onto his front, his thighs spreading so I’m cradled between them. He clenches my cheeks in his palms and reaches forward with his lips, leaving them millimetres away from mine with hot air spreading across my skin. My body’s reaction isn’t something I can help. And I don’t want to.

‘Let me taste you,’ he murmurs, searching my eyes.

I push forward, colliding with his lips, and crawl up his body until I’m straddling his hips and feeling his mood, hard and hot and wedged under my bum. I hum into his mouth, grateful for his tactics to distract me. ‘I think I’m addicted to you,’ I murmur, cupping the back of his head in my palms and pulling impatiently until he’s sitting up. My legs find their way around his waist and his hands palm my bum, pulling me farther into him while we maintain the smouldering slow dance with our tongues.

‘Good.’ He breaks our kiss and shifts me back slightly before reaching over to the cabinet and grabbing a condom. ‘Your period must be due soon,’ he observes, and I nod, reaching to help him, taking it from his hand and ripping the packet open, just as eager to commence worshipping as Miller. ‘Good. Then we can get rid of these.’ It’s rolled on, I’m reclaimed, lifted, and then he clenches his eyes shut as he guides his arousal to my damp opening. I slip down, taking him to the hilt.

My moan of satisfaction is broken and low. Our joining sends every trouble away, leaving room for nothing but unrelenting pleasure and undying love. He’s buried deep, holding still, and my head has dropped back as I dig my nails into his solid shoulders for support. ‘Move,’ I beg, grinding down into his lap, my breath stuttering with need.

His mouth finds my shoulder and his teeth grip gently as he begins guiding me meticulously on his lap. ‘Feel good?’

‘Better than anything I can imagine.’

‘I concur.’ His hips drive up as he grinds me down, pulling pleasure from both of our heaving bodies. ‘Olivia Taylor, I’m so fucking fascinated by you.’

His measured rhythm is beyond perfection, working us both up slowly and lazily, every rotation edging us closer to explosion. The friction against his groin on the tip of my clitoris when he brings me to the end of each swivel has me whimpering and panting, before my body is journeying back around, relieving the delicious pressure, only briefly, until I’m back at that wondrous pinnacle of pleasure. The knowing in his gaze tells me it’s all so very purposeful, the constant slow blinks and the parting of his lush lips only intensifying my desperate condition.

‘Miller,’ I gasp, dropping my face into his neck, losing the ability to keep myself upright on his lap.

‘Don’t deprive me of that face, Olivia,’ he warns. ‘Show it to me.’

I pant, licking and biting at his throat, his stubble scratching at my sweaty face. ‘I can’t.’ His expert worshipping never fails to render me useless.

‘For me you can. Show me your face.’ His command is harsh and delivered on an upward bolt of his hips.

I yelp at the sudden deep penetration and fly upright again. ‘How?’ I cry out, frustrated and delighted all at once. He’s holding me in that place – the one between torture and otherworldly pleasure.

‘Because I can.’ He flips me onto my back and re-enters me on a shout of satisfaction. His pace is increasing, and so is the force. Our lovemaking has become harder in recent weeks. It’s like a light has switched on and Miller’s realised that taking me with a little more aggression and force doesn’t make our intimacies any less worshipful. He’s still making love to me. I can touch him and kiss him, and he reciprocates, responds, says continuous loving words as if reassuring himself and me that he’s in full control. It’s unnecessary. I trust him with my body as much as I now trust him with my love.

My wrists are seized and held firmly above my head, and he braces himself on his toned forearms, blinding me with the acres of cut muscle on his torso. His teeth are clenched, but I can still detect that mild beam of victory. He’s happy. He’s delighted by my clear desperation for him. But he’s equally desperate for me. My hips rise and begin to meet his firm pumping, our centres clashing as he withdraws and sinks back in, over and over.

‘You’re clenching around me, sweet girl,’ he pants, his wayward curl bouncing on his forehead with each collision of our bodies. Every nerve ending I possess begins to twitch at the onslaught of pressure accumulating at my core. I’m trying desperately to fight it back, anything to prolong the stunning sight of him above me, dripping wet, his face etched in a pleasure so intense it could be confused with pain.

‘Miller!’ I shout, frenzied, my head beginning to shake but my eyes still holding his. ‘Please!’

‘Please what? You need to come?’

‘Yes!’ I gasp, and then suck in air when he pelts forward, pushing me up the bed. ‘No!’ I don’t know what I want to do. I need release, but I need to stay in this faraway place of raw abandon.

Miller groans, allowing his chin to drop to his chest and his fierce grasp to release my wrists, prompting them to shoot to his shoulders. My short nails dig in. Hard. ‘Fuck!’ he roars, his pace picking up further. This is the hardest he’s taken me, but there’s no room amid my earth-shaking pleasure to be concerned by it. He’s not hurting me, although I suspect I am him. My fingers are instantly aching.

I let off my own little round of expletives, absorbing every pound until he abruptly stops. I feel him swell within me, and then he rears back slowly and pushes forward smooth and slow on a groan. It sends us both tumbling into an abyss of indescribable, wonderful sensations.