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.