Then, out of nowhere, music floods the silence. Soft music, with deep, meaningful lyrics. “I recognize this,” I whisper, hearing Miller humming the soothing tune in my mind.
It’s not in my mind.
My eyes open, and I wriggle until he’s forced to lift and I can spin over to see him. He stops humming and smiles at me, twinkling eyes and all, letting the music take over again.
“This song,” I begin.
“I might hum it to you from time to time,” he whispers, almost shyly. “Gabrielle Aplin.”
“ ‘The Power of Love,’ ” I finish for him as his body comes close to mine and pushes me to my back, his weight settling evenly.
“Hmmm,” he hums.
I’m still buzzing, still quivering, still pulsing.
An eternity of this still couldn’t ever be enough.
CHAPTER FOUR
My dreams are blissful. They are a repeat of the latter part of yesterday. My sleepy lids flutter open, my waking mind registering him close to me. Very close. I’m curled into his side, totally cocooned in his thing.
Carefully and quietly, I lift my left hand and search out my ring, sighing and savoring my mind’s insistence on reminding me of every word spoken and action played out.
Blissful dreams don’t only happen when you’re asleep.
Taking the opportunity of Miller’s deep slumber, I spend some private time tracing the planes of his chest. He’s dead to the world… at least most of him is. I watch in fascination as his cock begins to thicken when my touch drifts down to the sharp V stemming from his lower stomach, until it’s solid and pulsing, begging for some attention.
I want him to wake moaning in pleasure, so I tentatively start to shuffle down his body and cradle myself between his thighs. They open for me, without the need to push them apart, and I’m up close to his morning erection, licking my lips and mentally preparing myself to send him wild. Reaching forward, I flick my eyes up to his face as I take a gentle hold of the base, watching for any signs of life but finding nothing, just parted lips and still eyelids. I return my attention to the hard length of muscle in my grasp and follow my instinct, my tongue swirling the tip slowly, collecting up the bead of cum that’s already building. The heat of his flesh, the smoothness of his taut skin, the hardness beneath, it’s all so very addictive, and I soon find myself rising to my knees and sliding my lips down the length of him, moaning in indulgence as I work my way back up. My attention is centered solely on the delivery of meticulous licks and kisses. I spend an age soaking up the wonderful feeling of him in my mouth. I’m not sure at what point he starts groaning, but his hands suddenly in my hair alert me to it, and I smile around the slow drives of my mouth as it sheaths him, over and over. His hips start to slowly lift, meeting each of my advances, and his hands guide my head perfectly.
His sleepy mumbles are indecipherable, his voice broken and weak. My hand begins to stroke up and down, mirroring my mouth, doubling his pleasure. His legs shift, his head shaking slowly from side to side. Every muscle touching me has gone rigid, and the swell of him in my mouth tells me he’s close, so I increase my pace, my head bobbing, the feel of him hitting the back of my throat pushing on my own pleasure.
“Stop,” he breathes, continuing to push my head onto him. “Please, stop.”
He’s going to come at any moment, and this knowledge only encourages me.
“No!” His knee flies up, cracking me in the jaw, making me cry out at the flash of pain it causes. His arousal falls from my mouth as I shoot up, grabbing my face, applying pressure to ease the instant throb. “Get off me!” He’s upright, scrambling back until his back hits the sofa, one knee coming up, his other leg stretched out in front of him. His blue eyes are wide and full of fear, his body sweaty and his chest surging under his clear distress.
My body moves away on instinct, my shock and wariness not allowing me to move in to comfort him. I can’t even speak. I’m just watching as his eyes dart around, his palm over his chest in an attempt to ease the palpitations. The pain searing through my jaw is incredible, but my dry eyes won’t produce any tears. I’m on emotional shutdown. He looks like a frightened animal, cornered and helpless, and when his eyes fall down to his groin, mine do, too.
He’s still rock-hard. His cock begins to twitch, and he groans, his head dropping back onto his shoulders.
Then he comes.
And he whimpers dejectedly.
White liquid spurts up his stomach, across his thighs, seeming to pour from the tip forever. “No,” he murmurs to himself, his hands raking through his hair, his eyes clenching shut. “No!” he bellows, slamming his hands down to the floor, making me recoil in shock.