Page 22 of Milo

"Again, Kiara.” Gio grins as he gets in the guard position. "Until you can't stand."

"Or until you can't stand.” I grind my teeth. "For someone who smokes a pack of Marlboros a day, I'm surprised you're not passed out already!"

He shrugs, tossing me a smirk. "I have good stamina," he says in English. "Years of practice."

I roll my eyes.

"Can we go back to the range?" I ask in a cutesy tone, batting my eyelashes. I've learned I much prefer to handle a firearm rather than use my body to fight. Pulling a trigger doesn't result in nearly as many aches and pains as kickboxing does. "Please?"

Gio lets out a defeated breath, taking a step closer to me. Perhaps flirting to get my way isn't the most appropriate course of action but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

"One more round.” His eyes gleam with heat for a second before his gaze darts over my shoulder and he freezes, the fire dying out, replaced by fear. "Don Milo..."

I whip my body around to find Milo leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his black t-shirt, light grey sweatpants hanging off his hips, his dark eyes hardened, glaring at Gio.

"I will take it from here.” Milo hefts off the door and flicks two fingers in the air.

The gym empties within seconds, doors slamming as his men clear the room.

Shit.

Chapter 8

The Games We Play

His presence is like a vacuum, sucking all the musky air out of the room, making it hard to breathe. Making it hard to fucking see.

I don't want to be affected by this man, but his energy is undeniable. With a snap of his fingers, he can make the world stop, jump, rollover.

And honestly, that kind of control... it's fucking hot.

"You're back.”

My chest rises in my sports bra as he devours my glistening body, his greedy gaze bouncing along my soft curves.

And I like it.

I like it when he looks at me like that. It's like he's bestowing me with some of his all-encompassing power.

And in my position, I'll take all the power I can get.

My conversation with Luisa verified that I'm not welcome here. That I'm an outsider. Sure, everyone has been kind and courteous to me this past week, but they had no choice. But as long as Milo wants me, I hold some of the cards. The more power he gives me, the less power he has.

It's like a twisted game of tug-of-war; as long as my hands are on the rope and I'm still standing, I haven't lost.

I won't lose.

Blinking, I add, "How was?—"

"Show me what you have learned, Kiara," he rasps, reaching for the hem of his shirt. He slowly pulls it over his wide shoulders, purposely taking his time, knowing that he's drawing me in, sucking me into his black hole. I bite my lip, my mouth dry as I absentmindedly study his sculpted figure.

With a flick of the wrist, he drops his shirt on the padded floor. He strides toward me, shadows from the recessed lighting bouncing around the hard ridges of his chest, the ripples of his abs, the defined V that leads to the large mass bulging from his joggers. With every step he takes closer to me, a muscle on this perfect body twitches, so tempting, so fucking refined.

He licks his lips, reaching for the boxing gloves in my hands and tossing them aside. "Wha—" I clear my throat. "What are you doing?"

"Taking the training wheels off.” Mischief grows in his irises he leans into my ear, his chest flush against my breasts. His stubble grazes my jawline as he whispers, "Hit me, Kiara. I want to feel your hands against my body."

Power.

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