Page 33 of Milo

Fuck.

With shallow breaths, I trail my hand up the length of his body and stand up, leaning into his ear. “What a shame… Because you'll never see me in that position ever again."

Milo’s eyes darken as he snakes his arm around my waist, yanking me flush against his firm body. His large hand weaves through the gold chains decorating my back. I stifle a contented whimper.

His touch is hot, scalding, possessive as he grunts, "You cannot even begin to fathom the kinds of positions I want to see you in, Kiara." He twirls a tendril of my hair between his fingers and adds, "Soon, you will be begging me to fuck you. It's written all over your face. You want me. So so bad."

Double fuck.

I let out a ragged breath, unable to form a coherent sentence as his fingers ghost down my spine and force a shudder. "No—" I stammer, wriggling in his arms. "I—I don't."

I can't.

"Yes. Yes, you do." His chest rattles against my shoulder as a low knowing chuckle spills from his lips. He releases me from his grasp and gives me an appreciative once-over. "Nice dress by the way," he hums, reaching for my hand. "But I told you to wear red."

I swallow as his fingers lace through mine. What is he doing? "I am wearing red," I whisper, attempting to gather my wit. I'm not going to suffer alone. "You just can't see it."

His gaze darts to the part of my body that's screaming to be touched, to be ravaged. "Fuck…” He tightens his grip around my fingers, his eye full of restraint. "Kiara..."

Satisfaction spreads across my face. I won't lose. Not today. "I'm getting cold. Let's go inside."

Milo shakes his head, looking at me like I took away his favorite toy. "You will regret teasing me like this," he states as he leads me into Aria. "We will continue this conversation later. For now, I need you to smile and not talk, understand?"

Thumping electro house music sounds around us, the deep harsh bass vibrating my heart, my teeth. "What is our relationship?" I ask as he adjusts his grip on my hand.

"You are my date.” Red and purple strobe lights blind me as we maneuver through a labyrinth of tables, Gio and Mateo on our tail. "Do not react when they speak Spanish. For all they know you're just an American."

"Okay," I mutter as we enter an area of the club that's littered with private alcoves. It's secluded here, slightly fewer people but it feels just as dirty, just as sinister.

I find myself squeezing Milo's hand as we approach the last tented seating area. Anxiety creeps into my chest as two men in black stand guard outside the table, their arms crossed, their expressions menacing.

I got this. This is easy. Don't talk. Only listen. I'm good at that.

Once they notice Milo, the two guards step to the side, nodding at him with respect as one of them gestures for us to enter the dim room. It's bigger than I thought it would be. My gaze bounces from the three men lounging on the plum velvet chairs in the middle of the room to the scantily dressed women perched on their laps. On the far side of the alcove, there are more people drinking, laughing, snorting cocaine off silver plates.

"Milo!" One of the men stands up, his voice deep, rough, like he's smoked his whole life. "Welcome, welcome." Milo detangles his fingers from mine to shake the hairy hand of the man who's wearing far too much cologne. "It's nice to finally have you back in Madrid, it's been far too long. Please sit."

"It is good to be back, Manuel,” Milo says in a cool tone as we sit down on a chaise across the table from the three men. Two of the men stare at me, their grins causing me much unease.

"Ricardo," Manuel says, looking at the greasy man to his right, whose face is shoved inside a blonde woman's tits. Classy. "A drink for our friends." He faces us, and asks, "Mezcal is, okay? It's a twelve year from Oaxaca. Very good."

"Kiara?" Milo asks me in a whisper. "Will you have a drink?"

"Mhmm.” I sidle closer to Milo. I don't belong here. He places a reassuring hand on my thigh as if sensing my discomfort.

"Hey!" Manuel shoves Ricardo who's in his own little world. "Get the fucking drinks."

"Relax, Kiara," Milo hums into my ear. "They are harmless."

"I'm not scared.” And I'm not lying. My discomfort is not stemming from fear. I know I'm safe. I have Milo. And I have a gun in my clutch.

Ricardo comes up for air, pushing the blonde girl off his lap as he wipes his mouth on his sleeve. His gaze lands on me for the first time as he grabs a bottle of liquor from a small side table, pinching two shot glasses between his fingers.

"It's strong," he says to me with a grin. "Be careful."

I take the shot from his grimy fingers, tossing him a forced smile as he hands Milo a drink.

"To friends.” Manuel holds up his drink in the air before all the men down their shots in one fluid motion. I take a small sip. I probably shouldn't get drunk. I need to stay focused. Coherent. Manuel frowns at me. "You don't like it?"

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