Page 89 of A Taste Of Darkness

“You look like a Milo.” I moaned when his covered erection pressed against my body. “Like the son of a club owner; Milo… Marucci.”

His lips crashed down on mine like he’d been waiting to kiss me for years, and they were still attached to mine when he pulled me away from the wall and walked us to his bedroom.

“Kind of insane to base your new name for your new life off of a girl you met once,” I noted.

He kicked the door shut behind us and finally set me back down, his breath as ragged as my own.

“I was hoping you’d remember, and that if we ever met again, you’d recognize the name and?—”

I laughed. “Fall hopelessly in love with you?”

Milo’s eyes rolled. “Not like that.”

“Hm… yes, because there’s falling in love, and falling in love?” I clutched his shirt in my hands and pulled him closer. “I like it. Nobody ever really listens to me, so you choosing a name that I made up at twelve might be insane, but… it makes me feel heard. Like, wow, you didn’t just hear what I said, you listened.”

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on my lips. “As long as I’m alive, you’ll always have someone who listens to you.”

I smiled, and for a moment I allowed myself to glance around his room. I’d never been in here before. I wasn’t surprised when it looked identical to the room I stayed in.

Cream walls, expensive flooring, and even more expensive furniture. Smaller windows than the ones at his penthouse in Toronto, but it smelled almost the same. Like expensive oak and his perfume.

The bed looked the same as mine, the paintings were different, though. The only other major difference to my room was the huge mirror facing the bed.

“What would anyone need a mirror of this size for?” I asked, to which Milo’s soft smile turned into a smirk.

“Let me show you,” he replied and held out his hand, which I took without a single thought in my mind.

Milo led me to the bed, then turned around to face me as we stood between the mirror and one side of the bed. His hands lay on either side of my jaw before he leaned down and pressed his lips on mine.

Slowly, his fingers trailed down my neck, to my back where he began to unzip my dress. My breath hitched as his fingers reached for my bra, unhooking it.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

My dress fell to the floor, and I pushed it further away while the strings of my bra slipped down my shoulders. Milo almost ripped that thing right off me and threw it on his bed, desperate to look at me.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I do,” he said in a low tone, a rasp in his voice.

I snuck my hands underneath his shirt and pushed the fabric up until just below his ribcage where Milo then helped me remove the shirt altogether.

My eyes instantly found his defined muscles and traveled over each ripple like it was the most fascinating view I’d ever seen. My hand lay on his bronzed skin, eyes locked with the most marvelous brown ones as I discovered most of his torso.

Milo simply stared at me and smiled as he let me touch him. When my hands reached the very beginning of his pants, aiming for the zipper, his dark eyes turned dangerous. Not in the sense that he looked angry, but there was something. Something lustful. Sensual. Seductive.

He let me unbutton his pants but drew the line when I tried to reach a hand inside. Instead, he completely bared himself to me, then aimed for my underwear as well, tugging it down my legs.

We were both naked now, and still, I remained oblivious to the reasoning behind the mirror. Sure, I had some assumptions, but I couldn’t imagine how a mirror was supposed to do anything. How it was supposed to make having sex any more erotic than it already was.

Milo’s fingers traced up my body, starting at my hips until the tips grazed the underside of my breasts. From there, he reached for my hands, sat down on the bed, and pulled me on his lap. His erection poked me, but I was too mesmerized by Milo’s seamless movements, overwhelmed with anticipation of what was to come, that I didn’t even think about commenting.

We were both facing the mirror, but I kept my eyes glued to his. At least I tried to.

“Don’t look at me, cuore mio,” he ordered and spread my legs.

My eyes fell to where he touched me, watched how his hands glided over my thighs, up my waist, aiming toward my chest.

He laid his lips on my neck, kissed me, bit me.

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