‘No bra,’ he muses, shrugging his jacket off and unbuttoning his waistcoat. His eyes are dragging slowly down my body, drinking me in. ‘Take your knickers off.’ His commanding tone has been used plenty before, but the soft edge has long gone. I don’t want to be turned on by it. I don’t want the throb between my thighs to intensify. I don’t want to find the conceited arsehole before me attractive. Yet I can’t prevent my body from responding to him. I’m shaking with anticipation. I’m a foregone conclusion. Even now.
I slowly push my underwear down my thighs and step out, then kick my shoes off. I’m naked, and when I return my eyes to Miller and see he’s now bare-chested, I forget any reluctance, being blinded by the pure extravagance of his torso. There really are no words, but when his trouser and boxers are slowly removed, I find one.
‘Ohhh . . .’ I breathe, my lips parting in an attempt to get some air into my lungs. His clothes are cast aside carelessly and he’s staring at me through his dark lashes as he slides a condom on.
‘Impressed?’
I don’t know why he’s asked. It’s nothing that I haven’t seen before, but it improves every time I’m confronted with it. Miller’s perfect cock, his perfect body, and his perfect face. It all screams hazard. It did before. I knew it then and I most definitely know it now.
‘Are you going to make me ask you again?’
I return my eyes to his and form some words. ‘Not a thousand pounds impressed.’ My cockiness shocks me.
His jaw tightens and he starts to approach, taking slow, even strides until he’s pushed up against my front, breathing down on me. ‘Let’s see what we can do about that.’
I don’t have time to respond. I’m pushed back to the bed until the edge meets the back of my thighs and I can go no further. I’m desperate to feel him, so I lift my hands and push my fingers into his hair, messing up his dark waves with a few circling caresses.
‘Get your hands off me,’ he growls. I can’t hide my shock at his severe order, my hands instantly falling away from his head to my sides. ‘You don’t get to touch me, Livy.’ He reaches forward and takes my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing hard.
I hiss in pain and cry out, but the shot of pain surprises me and falls into my groin, mixing with the pleasure. It’s a heady cocktail of feelings, and I have not the first idea of how to deal with them.
‘I’m going to drive you insane,’ he declares, producing a belt from behind his back. The sight of the brown leather makes my eyes widen and fly to his, finding an element of uncertainty. He’s unsure; I can see it.
‘You’re going to hurt me?’ I ask, the potential of the belt sending a shockwave of fear coursing through me.
‘I don’t hurt women, Olivia. Lift your hands to the bar.’
I look up, seeing the brown wooden bar stretching from one post to another and, relieved his intentions seem to be different from my thoughts, I lift willingly. But I can’t reach. ‘I can’t . . .’
‘Get on the bed.’ He’s brusque, impatient.
Negotiating the soft mattress is a task, but I eventually steady myself, without any offer of assistance, and hold my wrists to the bar. He’s going to bind me, restrain me, and while it’s a more appealing option than the thought of being whipped, I’m not entirely happy about it. I thought he’d f**k me. I didn’t expect the introduction of restraints, and I certainly thought I would be able to touch him.
His tallness allows him to reach the bar with ease, and he sets about weaving the leather between my wrists and around the bar effortlessly and confidently. He’s done this before. ‘Don’t fidget,’ he snaps when I start to wriggle, the leather cutting into the bone of my wrists.
‘Miller, it—’
‘Bailing on me?’ He raises a challenging eyebrow, victory gushing from his blues. He thinks I will. He thinks that I’m going to call a halt to this.
He’s wrong.
‘No.’ I raise my chin in confidence, my sureness strengthening when he loses the smugness.
‘As you wish.’ He pulls my legs down from the bed so I’m suspended, the leather instantly becoming taut and sharp around my wrists. ‘Hold onto the bar to ease the pressure.’
I manage to follow through on his command, linking my fingers over the bar. It alleviates the cutting of the leather into my flesh, making me more comfortable, but Miller’s severe words and harsh face do not. He’s only ever made love to me. He’s only ever worshipped me. I can see clearly that I’m going to get neither now.
He starts running his eyes over my naked, suspended body, clearly trying to decide where to start, then after staring at the apex of my thighs for a few moments, he places his hand on my thigh and starts stroking his way up until he’s brushing lightly over my clitoris. I draw in a long breath and hold it. This action is quite tender, but I’m under no illusion that I’m about to be worshipped.