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20

KIT

W ith Blake, I didn’t object to sex. I enjoyed it, mostly, but didn’t especially seek it out.

With Miller…I don’t want to do anything else. I want him to cover me, destroy me, and do it all again. I want him to tell me his filthiest fantasies so I can make each of them come true.

I wake with him curled against my back and give a small, contented sigh. The sun is out. I have no idea how late I’ve slept. I didn’t realize how many empty spaces I held until I came here with him, but they’re slowly but surely getting filled in. I’m sleeping longer, I’m eating more, and I’m laughing more.

I’m definitely getting other spaces filled more too.

“Are you finally up?” he asks. “I’ve been waiting.”

“You could have woken me,” I say, reaching backward to pull him closer.

He nuzzles my neck. “I figured you needed the rest.”

“I think I’m good,” I say, pressing backward until his erection is resting against the cleft of my ass.

His groan grazes my ear. “We really need to get going,” he says, lifting my leg and pushing inside me. “But I’m incredibly weak where you’re concerned.”

“Get going where?” I ask. Other than eating at the hotel, we’ve entirely set our own schedule thus far.

“A boat tour,” he grunts, his hand firm around my hip as he thrusts inside me. “I booked it our first day here—I was worried you might get bored.”

His hand slides over my pubic bone to find my clit. The effect is so immediate it’s as if I’ve touched a live wire.

I can’t imagine how it’s possible to be bored with him.

A little after ten we arrive at the dock near the hotel to meet the boat, which takes us to snorkel over the coral reef and then delivers us to a mangrove, where we glide in glass-bottom kayaks over tortoises and stingrays.

As much as I’d just wanted to remain in bed, being in public with him like this reminds me how much I just enjoy him, whether he’s touching me or not. That I like the way he treats other people and the way he treats me too. His protectiveness on Kilimanjaro wasn’t an isolated thing. His hand is ready to catch me as I walk down a dock, as I climb into a boat.

We talk about his sisters and his mom’s family in Greece and his best friend, Gray, who sounds like a total asshole but the kind of asshole I’d enjoy. I tell him about Roger, my current and favorite stepfather, and my shock that he and my mother have made it as long as they have. “Your dad loves Roger,” Miller says. “You don’t really think your mom will leave him, do you?”

I shrug. “I think she might have, but she knows that Maren and I would go with Roger and Charlie in the divorce.”

He grins. “It’s kind of cute that you like them so much. I’ve only met Charlie a few times, but he seems like a good guy.”

This is still so weird. That he’s buds with my dad. That he knows Charlie.

“The Douchiest Man in Manhattan. That’s our nickname for Charlie, because he’s always sleeping with at least two women at the same time, but aside from that aspect of his personality, he’s wonderful.”

He raises a brow. “ Maren calls him The Douchiest Man in Manhattan?”

I laugh. “She’s surprisingly mean to him, for Maren, although I guess it’s me and Roger who call him a douche. She calls him The Handsomest Man in Manhattan behind his back but never to his face.”

“I wouldn’t want my wife calling another guy the handsomest, even if it were true,” he says, and my thighs clench. I know exactly how Miller would be as a spouse: equal parts loyal and possessive. He’d demand everything of you, but he’d give you everything in return.

I want that. And with every minute we spend together, I’m wondering how the hell I’m ever going to give it up.

* * *

I don one of the two nice dresses Elite sent along, paired with flip-flops, to go out to dinner that night. I barely recognize the girl I see in the mirror, the one with bright eyes and wild hair and kiss-swollen lips.

I walk out of my room to find him waiting in a fitted polo and khaki shorts. “Damn,” he says, rising, his eyes falling to the V of my dress. “Maybe continue letting Elite pick out clothes for you. This is way hotter than what you wore at the summit.”

I laugh, tucking my index finger into the collar of his shirt. “I sort of like the way they’re dressing you too.”

“Kitten, you’re looking at me in a way that will definitely result in you not getting fed,” he says, running his thumb over my lower lip.

I grin. “We can’t have that. I definitely want to be fed.”

He groans and reaches down to adjust himself. “God, you’re impossible. Get in the fucking golf cart before I bend you over that table.”

Which sounds pretty good too, but if I’m famished, I know he is.

As hungry as I am, even after we’re sitting at the restaurant with our plates before us, all I really want to do is stare across the table at him. He has the loveliest nose. I have a childish impulse to say it aloud, but it would sound too ridiculous, too infatuated, for something with such a limited shelf life, and something that is probably a lot more one-sided than I want to admit.

He reaches across the table and runs his thumb over my lower lip. “Have I ever told you how much I love your mouth? It’s like this little rosebud when you’re mad, and it’s like a peony when you’re thinking about something.”

I smile as my cheeks heat. Maybe it’s not so one-sided after all.

The water refills our wine. Miller feeds me a bite of his steak; I feed him several bites of my pasta. Somehow it’s already as if we’ve been together forever.

I smile. “I sure didn’t picture any of this while we were sharing a tent.”

He gives me a filthy smile. “I did. Repeatedly.”

I suck in a breath. “What did you imagine?”

His eyes are heavy-lidded. “A lot of things, although the one where I’m standing and you’re on your knees would have been hard to pull off in a tent.”

I raise a brow. “I’ve tried to offer that several times over the past two days and you turned me down. I sort of assumed you weren’t into it.”

His laughter is hoarse. “I’m into it. I just suspected it would, uh, be over too quickly.”

I take a sip of my wine and sweep my tongue over my lips. “The next time we’re alone,” I say, my voice suddenly husky, “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

He exhales, pressing his palms flat to the table. “I think we’d better get the check.”

The bill is paid and then we’re driving as fast as we can in a golf cart, his palm clenched tight around the steering wheel. I reach across the divide between our seats and run my hand over his erection. He huffs out a pained breath the second I make contact.

We stop in front of the house and he pulls my face to his, kissing me hard, biting my lower lip, then reaching into the bodice of my dress to run his rough palm over my nipple.

My breath skitters, and he removes the hand. “Out,” he commands.

I climb out and fake a yawn. “I think I’ll just read for a while then go to bed,” I say, walking toward the door.

His hand wraps around my bicep as he pulls me back to him.

I laugh. “Did I worry you?”

“No, Kitten,” he growls, “because you promised me something back at the restaurant and I’m going to make sure you keep your word.”

“Oh?” I ask, biting down on a smile, feigning innocence. “What was it you wanted again?”

He leans in, pressing his lips close to my ear. “Get on your fucking knees, Kit.”

God. There’s a rush of heat between my legs at those words.

We’re still outside, but it’s isolated enough that no one will see us, and I’m beyond caring if someone does.

I drop, reaching for his belt and then his zipper while he watches me with dark, drugged eyes. I pull his pants down, and then the boxers beneath them, before I bring his cock to my lips, licking the tip.

“That’s right, Kit,” he groans. “Just like those popsicles you love so much.”

I let my tongue run over his length, then circle the head. My hand slides over his base and he grows even harder than he was.

“Take all of it, Kit,” he demands, running a hand through my hair. “Take the whole thing.”

I open wide and take him as far as I can, until I’m gagging, before I pull back.

“ Again .” As if he’s no longer the Miller I adore but someone else, some fiercer version, desperate to watch me struggle.

I moan around his cock and press my hand between my legs as if I can dull the ache.

“Fuck,” he says, thrusting into my mouth. “Yes, Kit, make yourself come. You have no idea how good you look right now with my cock sliding between those lips of yours.”

My fingers circle faster and faster. I’m already close, just from his words, just from the desperate way his hips are jerking to get farther inside me.

He tugs at my hair. “Are you going to come for me, Kit?” he growls. “Will you come while I fuck that pretty little mouth?”

I cry out, half-strangled, as his cock hits the back of my throat.

“Swallow,” he gasps. “Fuck.”

He comes so hard I can’t keep up with it, so hard that the overflow spills out of my mouth and down my chest, and he watches from under those heavy-lidded eyes, still moving my head with his hand against my scalp, thrusting in and out, wreaking the last moments of pleasure from his orgasm.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, still breathing fast as he pulls out and helps me to my feet.

I shake my head. “I wouldn’t have come that hard if you had.”

He runs a thumb over my lower lip. “You are so perfect, you know that?”

I smile. “Have you forgotten about my sharp tongue?”

“Oh, right.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head and then lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his waist as we turn toward the house. “But I seem to like that tongue a lot too.”