‘Oh dear.’ His breath tickles my ear, and my eyes clench shut while I look for the poise I need to take him on. ‘You’re being driven by frustration. It’s the wrong fuel.’

Fuel? ‘What do you mean?’ I puff.

Releasing me, he places me back in position and brings my fists up to my face. ‘Frustration will make you lose control. Always maintain control.’

My eyes widen at his statement. I don’t remember seeing any element of control all of the times I’ve seen Miller’s fists flying, and judging by the fleeting look that passes over his face, he’s just considered that, too.

‘You don’t help,’ he says quietly, holding his hands out to the sides. ‘Again.’

Mulling over his words, I try to find some calming thoughts and my inner control, but it’s hidden deep and before I can locate it, my arm rockets forward again on impulse, doing nothing more than sending me into a physical tailspin, as well as a mental one. ‘Damn it!’ I curse, pushing my bum back when I feel his h*ps brush up against me again. There’s nothing controlled about this either, my body naturally reacting to the contact. ‘I can do it!’ I yell, annoyed, wriggling free of his grasp before I give in to temptation and turn to rip his shorts off. ‘Give me a minute.’ Taking some deep, calming breaths, I raise my fists to my face and my eyes to his. He’s regarding me thoughtfully. ‘What?’ I ask shortly.

‘I’m just thinking how lovely you look in boxing gloves, all sweaty and exasperated.’

‘I’m not exasperated.’

‘I beg to differ,’ he deadpans, widening his stance. ‘Ready when you are.’

His coolness is heating my annoyance. ‘Why are we doing this?’ I ask, thinking I desperately need to expel some of this pent-up frustration before I explode. My solo gym session was far more satisfying, even if I didn’t have Miller’s sharp physique to focus on.

‘I told you, because I love seeing you all exasperated by me.’

‘You always make me feel exasperated,’ I mutter, extending my arm fast and ending up, yet again, in the heated hardness of Miller’s chest. ‘Damn it!’

‘Frustrated, Olivia?’ he whispers, running his tongue up the edge of my ear. My eyes close, my breathing slowing to breathless gasps that have nothing to do with my exertion. His teeth bite lightly at my ear and shots of desire stab harshly in my groin, making my thighs clench.

‘What’s the point of this?’ I breathe.

‘You’re my possession and I have an appreciation for my possessions, which includes doing anything I can to protect them.’

The words are quite impersonal, but it’s my emotionally wrecked male who’s delivering them, and although it’s a peculiar way of communicating his feelings, I accept that it’s his way. ‘Does this help you?’ I ask, just locating the ability to voice my question through my fevered state that’s fast being diluted by anxiety. He has anger issues.

‘Immensely,’ he confirms, but doesn’t elaborate and instead escalates my fever by lifting me and carrying me across to a wall. I frown, not because I’d like an explanation, even though he’s confirmed my suspicions, but because I’m looking at dozens of coloured, plastic-moulded lumps protruding sporadically from the surface of the wall – starting from the base and staggering up to the ceiling.

‘What are they?’ I ask as he pushes me into a part of the wall that’s free from strange lumpy bits.

‘This’ – he reaches around me and takes my hands, removes the gloves, and slowly unravels the bandages – ‘is a climbing wall. Hold on.’ My hands are placed on two of the plastic moulds. I grip hard, and then I gulp as he gently takes my h*ps and pulls back. ‘Comfortable?’

I can’t speak. All previous pent-up, workout-related stress has made way for anticipation. So I nod.

‘It’s polite to answer someone when they ask you a question, Livy. You know that.’ He pulls my shorts aside, along with my knickers.

‘Miller,’ I gasp, slightly concerned by our location, feeling his fingers skimming my sex. ‘We can’t, not here.’

‘This room is booked out to me daily from six to eight. No one will disturb us.’

‘But the glass . . .’

‘We’re out of sight.’ His finger pushes forward and my forehead meets the wall on a deep inhale of shaky breath. ‘I’ve asked once.’

‘I’m comfortable,’ I answer reluctantly. I’m comfortable in my position, but not in my location.

‘I beg to differ.’ He circles deep, enticing a deep moan from us both. ‘You’re tense.’

Thrust!

‘Oh God.’

‘Loosen up.’ He eases gently into me, this time with two fingers, and his tender movement reduces my tenseness, softening my whole body. ‘Better.’

It is better. The continued slipping of his fingers into me is pushing me into a rapturous state, my mind no longer concerned by our location. I’m too lust-fuelled. I’m quivering. I’m . . . I’m . . . I’m . . . ‘Miller!’

‘Shhhh.’ He hushes me gently and withdraws his fingers, taking a firm but gentle hold of my hips. The loss of friction pushes me to insanity and I release one of the grips and bash the side of my fist into the wall.

‘No, please!’

‘Didn’t I tell you that I’d drive you crazy with desire on a daily basis?’

‘Yes!’

‘And am I?’

‘Yes!’

‘And you know it delights me, right?’

‘Fucking hell! Yes!’

He groans his approval and slips the head of his c**k across my flesh. Then he eases into me on a drawn-out hiss. My knees buckle.

‘Oooh.’ My body liquefies, depending on Miller to hold me up.

‘Steady,’ he breathes, coiling his arm around my waist to support my limp body. My chin drops lifelessly to my chest. ‘It would appear we’ve steered off course.’ His h*ps ease forward, each fraction deeper that he plunges sending me giddier until he’s fitting snugly within me and holding still. In my darkness, I see nothing, but the loss of sense is of no consequence. I can smell him, hear his fitful breaths, feel him, and when his hand slides up my front until his fingers are resting on my lips, I can lick him and taste him, too. ‘Would you like me to move?’ he asks, his voice rough and full of searing hot craving.

My mouth is busy lapping at his fingers, so I find some strength to stabilise my legs and use it to push my bottom into his groin. He inhales sharply. I bite down on his finger.

‘Olivia?’ He wants an answer.

I relax my bite and find my voice. ‘Move. Please move.’

‘Oh Jesus.’ His hand is in my hair, yanking my hair tie out, before strong fingers are combing through it, sending my waves tumbling freely. Then his palm encases my throat and tugs until the back of my head meets his shoulder. My lips part and I keep my eyes shut tight, my face pointing up to the ceiling. He’s still unmoving, yet my flesh is quivering incessantly with a tidal wave of crippling sensations that are getting set to send me delirious with pleasure the moment he begins to pump into me. I’m teetering on the edge already, Miller’s steady, pulsing c**k sending my internal muscles into spasm. Heavy breathing invades my ears. ‘I’m so happy that you’re my someone, Olivia Taylor.’