His face slowly moves towards mine. ‘Thank you,’ he murmurs, and then he swallows me up with a long, unhurried, delicate kiss, our tongues swirling dreamily as he rises and pulls me to his kneeling lap.

‘I want to worship you,’ I mumble against his mouth, feeling him taking over with his worshipping ways.

‘Your request has been noted,’ he assures me, but doesn’t relent on the kiss that he has complete control over, his hands running over every square inch of my back. ‘And ignored.’ He lifts from the water, taking me with him, holding me firmly against him as he negotiates the stairs and carries me across his bathroom, blindly collecting a condom from the cupboard before he heads into his bedroom. But he bypasses the bed, making me frown while he keeps up the delicious pace of his tongue. We’re in the hallway briefly before Miller opens the door to his studio and carries me in. I smile, the disorder and chaos of the room warming me. He picks up a black device while holding me and presses a few buttons, and I nearly break down when Imagine Dragons’s ‘Demons’ begins to seep from somewhere.

‘Oh Jesus, Miller,’ I sob against his mouth, letting the words settle into the deepest part of me.

‘Let’s paint perfect,’ he breathes, resting my wet bum on the edge of the table that’s running the length of a wall. I feel my body collide with things, sending them scattering across the surface, but there’s no gasp of horror or rush to replace them.

Our kiss is broken, leaving me wheezing in his face as his lips part and he pushes me down to the cold table. The chilliness of the hard surface barely registers over my wet, blazing skin. I’m burning up. Spreading my thighs, he positions himself between them. ‘Shall we?’ he asks, reaching forward and circling a nipple, sending a thrilling surge of blood to the tip of my sex. He really is the Special One. I could cl**ax now.

I nod, pulling in a sharp breath when he tweaks one of my tingling nubs, only gently, but my br**sts are sensitive, hungry for his touch.

‘I’ve asked once.’ His voice is rough, his question serious as he removes the condom and slides it on, his jaw tense.

My back arches and my heels push into his arse, pulling him into me. ‘Please,’ I beg, forgetting all plans of me worshipping him. My hands grip the edge of the table, my eyes clenching shut.

‘You’re depriving me, Olivia.’ My nipple is taken and twirled between his thumb and forefinger gently. ‘You know how that makes me feel.’

I do, but he’s sucking all of the reason out of me. My head starts shaking and my hands leave the edge of the table, delving into my sopping wet hair. I’m losing my mind, and when his hand shifts down to the inside of my thigh and strokes a teasing circle close to my pulsing centre, I make my despair known. ‘Miller!’ My stomach muscles contract, pulling my shoulders from the table, and my arms fly out to the side, knocking pots of brushes and trays of paint everywhere. I’m too sidetracked to be bothered and Miller is most unconcerned by the added mess, his eyes glinting, oozing victory. I’m reduced to a convulsing mess of twitching muscles and erratic breaths. And he hasn’t even touched me in my most sensitive place yet. It’s all too much – his touch, my thoughts . . . the profound lyrics.

‘I make you feel alive.’ He drives two fingers into me, his action pushing all breath from my lungs. I collapse back down to the table, looking up at his straight face. I might be mindless with the pleasure he inflicts on me, but nothing would distort the vision of penetrating blue eyes as they watch me writhe under his touch. They are hooded, but each blink is executed as slowly as ever, taking an eternity to close before being drawn back open. ‘I make you wonder how you’ll survive without my attention to this exquisite body.’ Pulling his fingers slowly out, he circles his thumb over my twitching bud before surging forward again. ‘Scream my name, Olivia,’ he orders.

It’s almost impossible not to close my eyes, but it is impossible to bite back my scream. I cl**ax. My body goes into shock, my hands grappling at nothing on the table as all air rushes from my mouth on a loud, piercing wail of his name in hopeless pleasure. He watches me, his face remaining impassive and his eyes remaining victorious, while I ride out the throbs and contract persistently around the fingers he’s holding within me, deep and high. He keeps them there and lowers his torso over me, getting his face close to mine. ‘And I constantly wonder how I’d ever survive without the privilege of giving you this attention.’ He kisses me sweetly on the lips. ‘Especially this part.’ I let him devour me while he gently thrusts his fingers in and out, slowly helping me down from my high, leisurely working my mouth on constant hums of appreciation.

I could never worship him this well. I’m sure I couldn’t make him feel this good and safe and secure.

‘I’m going to take my time making love to you now.’ He nuzzles into my hair and peels his torso from mine, exposing my wet skin to the cool air of his studio. ‘I’m going to show you just how much you fascinate me.’

My eyes follow him up and we regard each other while he withdraws his fingers and wipes them across his bottom lip. Then he licks them slowly. Then he just gazes at me. For a long, long time. His close scrutiny doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable but, as always, it makes me wonder what’s running through that multilayered mind of his.

‘What are you thinking?’ I ask quietly, not resisting a little brush of my fingertip down the rippling muscles of his stomach.

He follows its path, letting me feel him for a time before taking my hand and lifting it to his lips. Each fingertip is kissed, my palm flattened, and my hand placed gently on my breast. ‘I’m thinking how lovely you look on my paint table.’

I smile mildly, and he starts to move my hand, encouraging me to follow his guidance and mould my breast. A moan trickles past my lips and I sigh, long and peacefully.

‘You look lovely everywhere.’ He moves his free hand down to his groin, gasping a little when he wraps his palm around the girth of his arousal. His jaw sharpens. ‘You’re just too f**king lovely.’ Looking down, he guides himself to my opening and brushes across my entrance. I start to pant, motivating him to deliver another teasing, feathery tickle. It’s too much.

‘No!’ I shock myself with my little outburst and Miller’s eyes flying to mine display his alarm, too. ‘Don’t drive me crazy, please!’

His stunned eyes drift into knowing.

‘I know it delights you, but please don’t torture me.’ I’m a desperate wreck and entirely unbothered by it. After today and everything that has happened, I don’t need to be tormented or teased.

He says nothing and slowly pushes into me, transferring his hands to my h*ps and lifting me slightly. My worry diminishes, being replaced immediately with a serene, blissful sensation of calmness. Taking my other breast, I relax and let him carry me to ecstasy – that place where our troubles and challenges don’t exist. That place I want to lose myself in for ever with Miller Hart. His worshipping. His mouth. His eyes. His thing.

His tall, powerful body pumps lazily into me, controlled, measured, his muscles rolling with each rotation of his hips, his lips parting as he watches me. There’s no strain right now, nothing but easy pleasure, but his talent for delivering such exquisite gratification will quickly send me delirious, the heaviness in my groin already beginning to fight its way to my epicentre. I want this to last. I want to go on and on, so I clench my teeth and squeeze my muscles to try and halt the inevitable, or at least delay it somewhat.