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‘Soon,’ he says, nudging my head to the side, homing in on my throat and sucking on my clammy skin. ‘I promise you. I won’t let you down,’ he whispers into the crook of my neck, kissing softly before encouraging me to pull away from the security of his chest. He gazes at me, filling me with determination and strength. ‘I won’t let us down.’

I nod, and then let him lower me back to the table. My hands are released and he reaches to the side of me, collecting something and returning his hands to my stomach. I look down and see the tip of his index finger caked in red paint. Slightly bemused, I flick my eyes to his, seeing him focused on my tummy. Then he slowly drags his finger across my skin, starting to gently thrust into me again, reviving the lingering cl**ax. I begin to tingle and take immense satisfaction from watching Miller concentrate on his task while he effortlessly lets his body flow into mine.

He’s calm and slow in both of his missions, drawing on my tummy and making love to me. But I’m running out of time. ‘Miller,’ I gasp, my spine bowing, my fists balling. I’m tipping the edge, bubbling.

‘I love feeling you,’ he whispers, his h*ps bucking a little, enticing a yelp from me and a gruff shout from him. ‘You’re pulsing around me,’ he pants. ‘Fucking hell, Olivia!’

‘Please!’ I plead, my head beginning to thrash as I’m tossed into a whirlwind of intense sensations. I can’t escape it. I’m going to shatter. Both of his hands grab my thighs and start pulling me onto him, not incredibly hard, but considerably more powerful than his usual composed tactics. ‘Oh!’

I’m desperate to pull myself together, gain a bit of control amid my crazy pleasure, just so I can focus on his face as he cl**axes. I look up to him, going dizzy when he throws his head back, his jaw set to crack from the pressure of his teeth gritting. Now our bodies are slapping together, each collide spiking shouts of pleasure.

And then it happens.

For both of us.

Miller slams into me on a roar, stilling and pushing deep, and I scream his name. I burst. I can’t see straight, my internal muscles going into spasm to match my body.

‘Oh my God,’ I exhale on a long, satisfied rush of breath, finally gaining something close to normal vision, finding his chest pumping and his face dripping in sweat. Looking down to my stomach, I catch a glimpse of a few lines, but his palm is quickly covering the letters and smudging them, spreading the paint everywhere, the words now a big smear of red dye.

Then his body collapses onto me, his lips finding mine. ‘I lost it. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’ Paying some special attention to my mouth, he smothers me. Body. Mouth . . . Heart.

I smile and embrace him, taking him in my arms and returning his kiss. ‘There was feeling,’ I say quietly into his mouth. The absence of it during my encounter with the punishing escort was the issue, not necessarily how hard he took me. It was how unloving and detached he was.

His face hides in the hollow of my neck. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘No,’ I assure him. ‘The only pain I feel is when we’re apart.’

He slowly lifts, revealing his chest covered in paint. ‘We just painted perfect, sweet girl.’

I smile on a breathy exhale. ‘Hum to me.’

He matches my smile, giving me one of his most beautiful traits. ‘Until there is no breath left in my lungs.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

There’s something to be said about making the perfect cup of coffee, but I’ll struggle without the aid of an all-singing all-dancing coffee machine, and leaving Miller’s apartment without him is not an option right now.

I stand in my knickers and one of Miller’s black T-shirts, scanning the lengths of worktop in his kitchen looking for a kettle . . . and don’t find one. In fact, I don’t find much at all – no toaster, chopping boards, kitchen towels, or any kitchen-related gadgets, for that matter. Every available space is free from clutter. Deciding Miller’s obsessive tidy habit must mean he’s hidden everything away, I start opening cupboards on the hunt for a kettle. I work my way around the rows of base and wall cabinets, swinging each open in turn, getting more and more exasperated with each cupboard that I venture into. All of the contents are stored too perfectly, although it does mean I can quickly see what’s hidden within. But I still find no kettle. I close the last cupboard on a frown and begin tapping my fingers on the empty work surface, but I’m distracted from the mystery of an absent kettle when my skin starts to tingle mildly. My fingers pause and I smile, keeping my back to the doorway, the tingles building up into a delicious flurry of internal sparks.

‘Boom,’ he whispers onto the back of my neck, making every nerve ending explode. Firm hands slide beneath my T-shirt and take my na**d waist, turning me in his arms. I come face to face with a nude, sleepy Miller. ‘Morning.’ His lips move sleepily, too, hypnotising me momentarily.

‘Morning.’

He smiles, swooping down to claim my mouth. ‘I just had quite a shock,’ he says against my lips, nibbling between words.

‘Why?’

‘Because I just ventured into my wardrobe.’ He pulls back and eyes me while I press my lips together, shame and guilt attacking me. Oh God, he’s . . . calm. I relax but feel wary of his reaction to his shredded wardrobe. His head tilts. ‘Or I suppose rag shop is more apt now.’

‘I’ll replace them,’ I promise sincerely, thinking my mother’s mass of stored cash probably won’t even cover it. ‘I’m sorry.’