‘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.
‘I have rules,’ he says slowly, thrusting his fingers into me, pushing all of the air from my lungs. ‘You don’t get to touch me.’ He withdraws and wipes his fingers across my bottom lip, spreading my wetness everywhere before leaning in, getting as close as possible. ‘And I don’t kiss.’
I absorb his hard stare and his hard words. My restrained hands are preventing me from touching him, but his lips are close, so I lean forward to try and capture them. He pulls back, shaking his head, and then curls his hands around the tops of my thighs and grabs harshly, lifting me to his body. Like a man possessed, he yanks me onto him on a guttural bark, impaling me fully, no easing in and no soft words to accompany his taking of me. I scream in shock at his ruthless move, my legs hanging limply around his hips, but he doesn’t give me time to adjust. He lifts my body up and yanks me back down again. He’s completely merciless. He falls into an unforgivingly fast and brutal pace, hitting me repeatedly, over and over, shouting and barking on each and every strike. My head is limp, my screams loud, and my body in shock. It’s painful, but as he pounds on, the discomfort starts to break and pleasure begins to push its way forward, sending my delirious mind into despair.
‘Miller!’ I cry, yanking and pulling at my wrists in a vain attempt to free myself. I need to feel him, but I’m ignored, his grip increasing further, his h*ps hitting me harder. ‘Miller!’
‘Shut the f**k up, Livy!’ he shouts, following through his cold order with a powerful smash of his body into mine.
I force every useless muscle in my neck to solidify my droopy head, pulling it up and finding clear blue eyes full of purpose. He looks crazed and completely detached, like he’s not present in mind and his body is acting on instinct. There’s nothing in those eyes. I don’t like it. ‘Kiss me!’ I yell, wanting to draw the feelings that I know are there. This is unbearable, and not because of the ruthlessness of him smashing into me, but because of the absence of our usual connection. It’s completely gone, and I need it, especially when he’s taking me so aggressively. ‘Kiss me!’ I’m screaming in his face now, but he just squeezes my thighs further and pounds harder, the sweat dripping from his face. My pleasure has gone. I’m getting nothing from this, except the earlier pain returning, but it’s hurting physically and emotionally now. I’ve lost my grip of the bar above me, leaving the leather of the belt cutting into my skin, and his hold on the backs of my thighs is pinching my flesh. But my heart is hurting the most. I’m not feeling my usual comforted bliss or safety, and his denial to let me kiss him is killing me. He knows exactly what he’s doing. And I asked him to do it.
My eyes close and I drop my head back, not wanting to look at his face any more. I don’t recognise it. This isn’t the man I’ve fallen in love with, but I don’t stop this because in a screwed-up kind of way, this will help me get over Miller Hart, and the fact that he doesn’t chastise me for depriving him of my face only enflames the hurt further. The reasons for my stupid decision to do this are suddenly all I can think of as I blank out and accept his brutality. I think of all of the loving words he’s said to me, all of the tender touches he’s given me.
‘I’ll never do anything less than worship you. I’ll never be a drunken fumble. Every time I take you, Livy, you’ll remember it. Each and every moment will be etched on that beautiful mind of yours for ever. Every kiss. Every touch. Every word.’
Miller’s loud roar pulls me straight back into a room that’s cold and unwelcoming, despite the warmth and luxury of the surroundings. And something strange happens – something out of my control. I’m shocked, my body taking on a mind of its own and responding to his vicious strikes. I orgasm. But it passes with no element of pleasure attached. I’m attacked by one last round of thundering strikes before he raises me slightly to gain more leverage, then finishes on an ear-piercing bellow that resounds around the room. He holds himself inside me and drops his head back, his chest expanding at a crazy rate and sweat pouring down his neck. I’m numb. I can’t feel the pain of the leather or the agony in my heart.
‘Any man who’s done anything less than worship you should be f**king shot!’
My legs are pushed down from his waist, and he pulls out of me quickly, but he doesn’t start to release me. He leaves me on a quiet curse and goes into the bathroom, slamming the door viciously behind him.
All of the missing emotion from that encounter is made up for when I begin to weep. My head goes limp, my chin hitting my chest, and I can’t even find the strength to relieve the pain in my wrists by getting myself back on the bed. I’m just hanging lifelessly, my body jerking from my sobs.
Destroyed.
Empty.
I hear the door open, but I keep my head down. I can’t look at him and I can’t let him see that I’ve fallen apart. I goaded him, pushed his boundaries. He’s hidden this man from me. He’s fought his control the whole time.
‘Fuck!’ he roars, and I drag my heavy head up to see his face pointed towards the ceiling. His features are distorted . . . disturbed. He lets out another ear-piercing bellow and swings around, sending his fist crashing into the bathroom door and splintered wood crashing to the floor.
A suppressed sob escapes my mouth and my chin falls back to my chest.
‘Livy?’ His voice is softer but doesn’t ease my wretched state as I feel his hands working around my wrists. He wraps an arm around my stomach to hold me up while he unravels the belt, and I hiss in pain when my arms drop lifelessly to my side. ‘Livy, you let go of the f**king bar!’ He sits me on the end of the bed and kneels on the floor before me, pushing my hair away so he can see me. I pull my eyes up to meet his. My face is soaked with tears and Miller is just a blur through my glazed eyes, but the horror on his face is clear, even through my distorted vision. ‘Oh Jesus.’ He grabs my wrists, lifting my hands to his mouth, and kisses my knuckles repeatedly, but I flinch, pain searing my flesh from his hold, making his face fall further. Shifting his grip to my forearms, he studies the angry welts silently until I pull my arms away from him and stand on shaky legs. ‘Livy?’
I ignore the anxiety in his voice and pick up my knickers, pulling them on as fast as my wobbly limbs will allow.
‘Livy, what are you doing?’ he asks, moving in front of me to get in the field of my vision.
I glance up, seeing panic and uncertainty. ‘I’m going.’
‘No.’ He shakes his head and rests his hands on my waist.
‘Don’t touch me!’ I shout, jumping back to escape him. I can’t bear it.
‘Oh God, no!’ He swipes my dress up from the floor and holds it behind his back. ‘You can’t go.’
He’s wrong. For once I will find it very easy to walk away from him. ‘Can I have my dress?’
