Page 77 of Rent: Paid in Full
The bed is big, a California King with crisp white linen, but still, it feels crowded. Miller is stark naked, and Jesus, there’s alot of skin. His skin and mine. He takes my hand and rubs his foot over the arch of one of mine, murmuring happily.
I allow it.
I’m still waiting. Still hurried. Hurried as fuck.
Why isn’t he making a move? This is Miller fucking MacAvoy. He should be on me or in me or down my throat, at least. Instead, he’s holding my hand.
My fucking hand?
My dick is throbbing. It’s beating with a dull pulse that’s rattling my brain. I’ve been hard on and off since we got into his car. Before then, even. I got hard the second I heard the wordsfreeandusenext to each other. I close my eyes and lie still. My skin is crawling with need. I use all my energy to keep my breathing steady and even. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
It does less than nothing to help.
“Night,” Miller croons, kissing me lightly on the cheek. “Sleep tight, baby. Tomorrow’s a big day for you.”
My eyes fly open.
Sleep tight?
Sleep fucking tight?
Is he insane? No man in history has ever slept fucking tight as horny as I am right now. It’s never happened. I don’t need Google to tell me that either. I know it.
Miller’s breathing slows and lengthens into a soft, happy purr. I toss and turn for hours, painfully aware of every inch of his body in its proximity to mine. I wake every time he rolls over, every time he breathes deeply or nuzzles his face into my neck. He’s all over me. He’s everywhere, touching me but not touching me enough.
Close, but not mine.
He’s all I can smell. All I can taste. All I can feel.
By the time the sun cracks through the curtains, I’m feverish and dying. Drowning in lust. I wait for as long as I possibly can, hours, it feels like hours, before getting up to use the bathroom to prep before Miller wakes so I don’t have to deal with his knowing looks and grateful glances.
I get back in bed, rousing a sleepy murmur from him as the mattress dips from my weight.
Miller wakes in a predictably good mood. He’s always chipper in the morning, and today is no different. If anything, he’s more chipper than usual.
“Aw, poor thing.” His voice is notably without sympathy as he pulls back the covers and witnesses my gargantuan erection. There’s no way to disguise it, so I don’t even try. “Are you horny, baby?”
“I’m…in a hurry. That’s all.”
“A hurry, huh?”
I realize my mistake instantly as Miller starts moving slowly. Slower than usual. He brushes my hair out of my face and places my arms, palms facing up, at the side of my head. I focus all my attention on the timber ceiling above me. Narrow, yellowed planks run horizontally. Small, dark knots in the grain cause a dappled effect that starts to rotate when I look at it for too long.
Miller is uncharacteristically quiet, completely silent except for the odd hum as he runs his hands over my body. It’s a light touch. So light it’s hardly even a touch. More like a suggestion. A hint. A slow, steady promise of what’s to come. Goosebumps erupt on my sides, quickly chased back and teased out again by soft fingertips and blunt nails. I try not to move, but my hands find their way under my pillow, fingers clasping handfuls of soft feathers, as the rest of me hardens beyond what I thought possible.
Miller crouches over me, legs astride my hips, still not touching. Not touching enough. Not nearly enough. He’s starknaked, with smooth skin and tightly wrapped muscle. Fuckboy perfection in human form. He watches his hands as they move over my body, lips quirking at the corners every time I quiver from his touch.
He takes his time untying my shorts, tugging at the tie, pulling it this way and that before yanking it loose. He takes even more time working my shorts off me. He tugs slowly, making sure the waistband scrapes down the length of my shaft, studying my face the whole time to see my reaction.
God, he’s making a meal out of it.
I do my best to lie completely still. My body and my face too. It takes every ounce of my strength and gives me plenty of time for regret. I regret many things. Many things, but most of all, I regret telling Miller MacAvoy I was in a hurry.
When I’m naked, he gets up and opens the curtains. It’s late. From the strength of the light, it looks like it’s around ten or eleven. Sun pours in, hitting tiny dust particles, refracting and sparking before bouncing off them. He comes back to the bed and kneels beside me, kissing me full on the lips but pulling away before my tongue finds his.
The urge to groan and attack him is strong.
I do my best to mask it with a smile I hope looks strictly professional.