Page 80 of Milo

"Coffee sounds great.” Anxiety thrums in my veins as I slip out of bed, my mangled nightgown rising over my thighs. A tiny breeze blows between my legs. My eyes widen. I am not wearing any underwear. Oh God.

"Is there a problem?" Milo lifts a brow, his covetous gaze dancing around the thin fabric covering my body.

"Not at all," I peep, circling the bed toward the bathroom. "I need to uh—freshen up."

My mind goes into overdrive as I change my clothes, brush my teeth, and attempt to comb the 'I got pummeled into oblivion last night' out of my tangled hair.

I had sex with Milo. A Don. The leader of Italy's most notorious mafia family. Surely, this will have consequences that extend past the bedroom. If you do this, you are mine. Only mine. What does that mean? In the moment, the possible repercussions of what I was agreeing to didn't matter, I didn't care. I was too wrapped up in his smell, his overpowering sexual magnitude, my own building desire. But now? Now I'm thinking clearly.

Sort of.

What does he want from me?

But more importantly...what am I willing to give him?

Yanking a dusty rose balloon-sleeve cardigan off the hanger, I slip it on, the soft fabric brushing against my midsection. I adjust the leather high-waisted skirt hugging my hips as I give myself an encouraging look in the full-length mirror. Relax. It'll be fine. Sucking in a confident breath, I traipse back into my bedroom.

"It might be a little cold now.” Milo peers up from the newspaper as I pour myself a cup of tepid coffee from the French press.

"Well, now it's an iced coffee.” I glance out the window, the looming grey clouds in the sky grabbing my attention. "I think it's going to rain."

Milo lets out a labored sigh as he scans my face. "Rain is good, tesoro. It is essential to the survival of every living organism. Such as with the sun, without rain, we would perish."

It's all about balance. Rain and sun. Hot and cold. Good and bad.

Right and wrong.

I nod slowly, skimming the top of his newspaper. Interesting choice. "Daily Telegraph? Any specific reason why you're reading a UK paper?"

Milo smiles, the warmth strong enough to thaw every iceberg, flood the earth, drown me.

With a smirk, he gently pats his thigh, inviting me to take a seat."For the crosswords. I could use some help."

"I'm not good at crosswords," I lie, tapping my nails against the coffee cup.

"I do not believe you for a second." He tilts his head. “Sit, Kiara. I'm almost finished."

"Fine."

I bite my lip as I tentatively perch on the tip of his knee, the texture of his trousers smooth against the back of my thighs. The aromatic dry cedar notes of his cologne drive me crazy as I inhale a tiny breath.

"Relax, tesoro," he chuckles, adjusting his position. He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to his chest. My skirt rides up. "You are very tense."

"Which one do you need help with?" I whisper as he sweeps my hair off to the side. His stubble brushes against my shoulder as he feathers kisses up the slope of my neck. His fingers glide along my exposed midsection and I shudder, squeezing my thighs together from his all-too-gentle touch.

"Fifteen down.” Milo’s heady breath blows against my ear, his teeth nipping at the soft flesh. Holy shit. "Five letters—" His hand drifts up to my chest, his fingers circling my heaving breasts. "The clue is—" I close my eyes, squirming on his lap as he rolls my nipple between his thumb and index finger. The pressure sends a flood of heat to my lower abdomen. "Invigorate."

Bastard.

"Rouse," I breathe, stifling a moan as he continues teasing, twisting my stiff peaks. "Does it fit?"

"Mhmm.” He drags his hand down my chest, past my stomach, his fingers gliding over my thigh— his touch so hot, so meticulous, so fucking arousing. "One more—" He slips his fingers up my skirt, curling them under the hem of my panties. My thighs spread to give him more room to explore, to play – to pleasure. "Patience, tesoro."

"Milo," I whimper, rocking my hips against his hand. "Please."

"Twenty-six across—" He expels an airy chuckle, smirking against my skin as he bites my neck. "Six letters—" He pushes past the red lace, cursing under his breath. A guttural growl rumbles in his chest as he swirls my pulsing sex. "So fucking responsive."

I bite my lip, arching into this touch as he slides two fingers into my soaking folds, his calloused thumb flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves.

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